Unravelled (18 page)

“We age well,” adds Temper, with a grin. The transformation is remarkable – instead of a brooding, intimidating giant, he now resembles a teddy bear. “But everything dies eventually.”

I am, I admit, disappointed. What’s the point of being a magical being if you can bleed and suffer and die just like the rest of us? “Can you turn yourselves invisible by swallowing a pebble?” I ask. That’s supposed to be one of the many tricks in the thokolosi handbook. If these guys are really the descendants of the incubus and thokolosi, I assume they have a few magical gifts from each ancestor.

The mood in the room shifts as if someone turned a dial. Temper turns away in disgust. Uh-oh.

“Did that skill not make it down the genetic line?” I tease, in an effort to get them laughing again.

It falls flat. They wince in unison, and I get the feeling I’ve insulted them again. Geez, these people are touchy. I can’t open my mouth without ticking them off.

“Did I say something wrong? You’ll have to tell me, otherwise I’ll probably say it again. Is it taboo to talk about your origins?”

“Do you like being told you’re descended from apes?” Temper growls. I half expect him to bare his teeth and try to bite me.

I recoil, puzzled. “It doesn’t bug me. If it’s true we might as well accept it, and if it’s not, there’s not much point getting upset about it. Is that the problem? You’re offended by the theory that says drifters are a hybrid of the incubus and– ”

Suddenly Elias is scowling into my face, his fist centimetres from my nose.

“Elias. Chill.” Temper’s voice holds a trace of annoyance. “She doesn’t know any better.”

Elias backs down, but his expression is stormy. Obviously I hit a nerve. To be fair, I wouldn’t be proud of my heritage if I were descended from a sexual predator and an ugly, hairy magical slave. Apes are cool. Thokolosi…not so much.

“No one knows how we came to be,” Temper explains with exaggerated patience. “We don’t accept any of the current theories. The first recorded drifter community was formed on African soil from stragglers. Where they came from, no one knows. One thing is for sure.” He gives me a stern look. “We are
not
thokolosi.”

“Sorry.” I offer him a sheepish grin.

“Have you ever seen a thokolosi?” asks Spencer, speaking up for the first time in a while. “They’re disgusting. We’re people. Maybe different from other people, but still people. We have a pulse. We bleed. If we get sick, we go to the hospital. Just like you.”

I gulp, suddenly feeling like a representative of all the bigots and xenophobes in the world. “I…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

“Thank you, Spencer,” says Temper. “She gets the point.”

Spencer falls silent, but I can sense his agitation. After a moment he leaves the room.

“You see why we need you?” Duma leans over the armchair to look into my eyes. “This isn’t how we are. Reetsang walking out like that, and Spencer struggling to control his emotions – it’s not right. And it’s getting worse. The longer we’re without…” His voice trails off. He looks at Temper, then sighs and straightens up.

Ah, yes. The mysterious something that Rakwena has, the elixir that will solve all their problems. Hmm…elixir. I think of the medicine Rakwena takes for his chemical imbalance, and wonder whether that’s the miracle cure they’re after.

“I’ll try.” I lift my hands helplessly. “That’s all I can do. I can’t promise anything – he’ll probably ignore me – but I’ll try.”

“That’s all we need,” says Temper, relieved. “Thank you.”

“It’s getting late,” remarks Mandla. “She needs to get home.”

He’s right. I was so engrossed in our discussion that I didn’t notice that the light is fading. I get to my feet.

“I can give you a lift,” Mandla offers. “We wouldn’t want your father to worry.”

My father? I glance at Duma. Someone’s been a very dedicated spy. I wonder what else he knows about me. When I leave, even Elias says goodbye. I don’t think he hates me as much as he did at first, but I’m not holding out for a lifetime friendship.

Duma and Temper walk us out. Duma’s eyes are shining with hope. Poor thing – it couldn’t have been easy for him, seeking me out, knowing I could possibly blow his cover. I wonder why they picked him, the youngest and most emotionally vulnerable, to play mediator. Maybe they knew he was the only one I’d warm up to. I want to give him a hug, but when I step forward he retreats, keeping his hands behind his back.

“Oh, ja.” I laugh. “I guess I don’t want you to hijack my psychic energy. I need it as much as you do.”

He smiles and says nothing.

“We’ll have to meet again,” I say, raising my gaze to Temper’s face. “I still have a lot of questions.”

He nods. “Now that you know where we live, you can come by. Alone, of course. Or with…”

“Rakwena.
If
he agrees.”

I thank them for inviting me and for divulging so much, then climb into the passenger seat. My head is buzzing. I’ve just spent my afternoon chatting to six magical beings. Humans – according to them – but more like mutants, or some breed of human that comes from somewhere else…another planet, maybe. Ooh, Wiki would love that. And who knows? Since no one is sure how these drifters turned up, they could be aliens. I can’t wait to see my friends and share everything I’ve learned.

I’m still worried about Rakwena, but for a different reason now. What is the sacrifice Temper mentioned? It must be huge.

The journey is quiet; both Mandla and I have a lot to think about. He doesn’t even ask for directions to my house. When he pulls into my street, I just shake my head. Duma is thorough, I’ll give him that. I thank Mandla for the ride and climb out of the car.

“Oh, Mandla. One more thing.”

“What is it?” His eyes are clear and bright, though wary.

“I’m sorry for being so suspicious of you guys,” I tell him, and I hope he can see how much I mean it. “I jumped to conclusions when I didn’t have all the facts.”

“You still don’t have all the facts,” he reminds me, as the car rolls into the street.

Chapter Eight

I want to keep my promise to the Cresta Crew, but broaching the subject with Rakwena isn’t as simple as it seems. I know all too well how quickly my sweet, understanding partner in crime can turn sullen and mulish. I don’t want to upset him, and there’s no way to bring up the drifters without doing so.

On Saturday morning I sleep in, hoping the extra rest will clear my head. It doesn’t. I finally get up at eleven and stumble to the bathroom. I stall for as long as I can. Dad leaves the house shortly after I emerge from the bathroom, and I make myself an elaborate breakfast and watch TV for a few hours. Then I study – or try to study – for a while. By two, I decide I should at least make an effort to see Rakwena.

I head down to Rika Electrics, where he’s still working his shift. We only get snatches of conversation in during the lull between customers, but I enjoy watching him work, and I haven’t had a chance to do it in a while.

Rakwena is good with gadgets. They speak to him, in much the same way that thoughts and emotions speak to me. I lean against the counter, pretending to listen to Gao, Rakwena’s co-worker, ramble on about some new phone they’ve just got in stock. My focus is really on Rakwena, who is examining a faulty iPod.

His long fingers move over its surface with the kind of caution I reserve for the set of delicate champagne glasses at home. His eyebrows are drawn downwards in a thoughtful frown. My breath hitches a little as I watch him. Maybe it’s because I know that electricity flows under his skin, powerful enough to fling a man across a soccer pitch, yet gentle enough to feel like butterfly kisses on my fingertips.

This boy has become far too important to me. It’s as if his blue light has seeped right into my soul, binding us in a way I can’t explain, a way that scares me. I can’t give a name to this connection we have. Sure, we’re dating. We’re…ugh…“in love”, I suppose, like young couples the world over. But it’s more than that. We share the same spirit, and perhaps that’s the reason I’m the only person who can control his energy, the only person who can absorb it and transform it.

I want to pretend I never spoke to the Cresta Crew, but I’m convinced Rakwena needs to do whatever it is that they want him to; not just for their sake but for his, too. It feels like the right move, and yet I can’t shake the feeling that it won’t end well for me. Maybe I’m the thing that Rakwena has to sacrifice. I don’t
want
to be sacrificed.

He knocks off about an hour after I come in, and the two of us walk across the African Mall to get something to eat.

“You didn’t have to come all the way over here, you know,” he tells me, though I can tell he’s pleased that I did. “I would have stopped by your house.”

“I know, but I missed Gao,” I tease, and he laughs.

“I’m glad to see you.” He pulls me back from the road as a car speeds round the bend. “I wanted to ask you something.”

I look at him. “Ask away.”

“Your grandfather.” He hesitates, and I can tell I’m not going to like the thread of this conversation. “Remember how you said he was acting strangely when he got back from that trip? When he decided to work with your dad, and all that?”

I nod slowly. We step into a fast food restaurant and head to the counter to place our order.

“Did he ever explain what the problem was?”

I think back. “He said something happened that he had to sort out.”

Rakwena places the order, pays for the food and leads me to a table at the corner. “And he sorted it out?”

“Yes…”

“And he’s back to normal?”

I regard him through narrowed eyes. “OK, spit it out. What’s going on?”

“It’s just…” He swallows. “I went to see him the other day and he didn’t seem normal.”

“Why did you go to him?”

Rakwena purses his lips. “I needed advice,” he replies finally. “Nothing to worry about. Anyway, he didn’t seem at all like himself.”

I raise my eyebrows at him. “I’m going to need a little more than that.”

He sighs, scratches his head and rolls his eyes. “OK, listen. You know I went to see him before he left, right? Remember you sensed that I had been there?” He waits for my nod before continuing. “Well, when we spoke that time, I asked for advice on a…personal matter, and he was very clear about how he thought I should handle things. You know what he’s like. When he knows, he knows. But the next time I saw him, his advice was completely contradictory! He was adamant, and he was saying all these things that made no sense. It’s just…strange. He’s not usually so flaky, is he?”

I’m far more interested in the “personal matter” Rakwena and Ntatemogolo discussed, but I can tell Rakwena is genuinely concerned and needs my input. “My grandfather is the least flaky person on the planet. He says exactly what he means, and he’s usually right. Maybe while he was gone he had some time to think and decided the advice he gave you before was wrong.”

He shakes his head. “That doesn’t make sense. For example, you know he doesn’t approve of our relationship. Well, imagine if he suddenly told you he wants to help us run away together. What would you think?”

I frown. “That he’s suffering from amnesia or something. You’re saying this mysterious advice he gave you was completely ridiculous?”

“No, but it was the direct opposite of what he said before.”

“Did you follow it?”

“No. Not yet.”

I heave a weary sigh. “It would be easier if you just told me what he said. I can’t give you any useful feedback if I have no idea what’s going on.”

He shoots me a sidelong glance. “Nice try. I said it was personal.”

“About your gift?”

“Personal, Connie.”

“Your mother?”

“Connie!” He glares at me in frustration. “I think something’s not right with your grandfather.”

“I think you’re overreacting,” I retort. Our number is called; I get up to fetch the tray of food.

A nagging feeling has started in the pit of my stomach, but I brush it aside. It’s true that I was also worried about my grandfather for a while, but since then he’s gone back to normal. For the most part. I remember the strange things he said the day I asked about Rakwena’s secret, and the way he looked at me. But that was just me. I was upset because he was keeping the secret, that’s all.

I place the tray on the table. “You’re reading too much into one piece of advice,” I tell Rakwena.

“I don’t think so.” He opens his package and takes out a thick chicken drumstick. “Since he got back, has he done anything unusual? I mean after that first day. Has he suddenly changed his opinion on anything, or told you to do something different from what he told you before?”

I’m about to say no when I remember my missing anklet.

“There is something!” he says triumphantly.

“It’s nothing.” I bite into a hot chip, pondering. “Before he left he told me to wear that anklet he gave me for my last birthday. I forgot all about it. When he got back he said I didn’t need to worry about it anymore. You know, I still haven’t found that damn thing.”

The look on Rakwena’s face makes my insides twist with unease. “Something strange is going on with that man, Connie. I don’t know what really happened on that trip of his, but I think it changed him. And not necessarily for the better.”

I let out a choked laugh. “That’s crazy.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

I know he’s right. I’ve sensed that something is different with my grandfather, and I haven’t quite been able to put my finger on it. Something big happened while he was away, something that affected his behaviour. I don’t know what it means.

I take a deep breath. “If he wanted to tell me what happened, he would have.”

“Maybe he can’t tell you. Maybe he’s in some kind of trouble.” Rakwena chews thoughtfully for a few minutes. “He was different. I know it. The way he tried to get me to see things from his point of view…I felt…I don’t know.”

“Manipulated?” What? Where did that come from? “I didn’t mean that,” I backtrack quickly, feeling guilty for even thinking it. “He would never try to manipulate anyone.”

“No, that’s exactly right!” Rakwena’s eyes are wide with realisation. “I felt like I was being manipulated, like he was trying to get me to do something I knew I shouldn’t.”