Crowned (16 page)

The doorway has shrunk, leaving just a thin gap in the warping wall. My mind tells me there’s no way I can make it through, so I close my eyes and let my gift lead me. I run forward, right into the impossible opening. My head swells, my body stretches, and a sharp pain shoots down my side…and then I’m out, tumbling onto the sand. I land on my hands and knees in the gravel.

I open my eyes and get to my feet. The house is gone, and I’m standing in an empty yard. My jeans are dirty and I skinned my palms with that rough landing, but otherwise I’m fine. I reach out for the Puppetmaster. He’s gone.

The warehouse. What could that mean? A real warehouse, or another illusion? I push open the gate, step out into the street and then close the gate behind me. On my way towards the bus stop I stop two people to ask if there’s a warehouse in the area. Neither of them have any clue what I’m talking about. Of course, there’s no reason it has to be here. Didn’t Thuli say he found the Puppetmaster in a house in Gaborone North?

The area is quiet and far enough from town that he could hide a few people there without attracting attention. I make a quick decision. Instead of heading back to work I get off the combi at the stop near the traffic lights and turn left into Gaborone North.

It’s a long, dusty walk down the dirt road. I don’t even know what I’m looking for. The house could have been an illusion set up for Thuli’s benefit. On second thoughts, I doubt the Puppetmaster would waste his precious time. He probably does have a house. Emily has to sleep somewhere. But how am I going to find it?

Use your gift.

I stop in my tracks. The green-eyed girl again. Connie Who Knows. I stand still, my mind reeling.
Who are you?

She doesn’t respond. Now that I know these new thoughts aren’t mine, I don’t want to let them lead me. Nevertheless, she was stating the obvious – I have to use my gift unless I want to spend all day wandering around. I take a deep breath and resume walking, sending my gift out into the ether. I don’t sense the Puppetmaster, but I do sense something. It’s a thin, weak thread that might snap any minute, so I follow it quickly, past the police station, down, down, down the road.

After some time it grows stronger, and I can identify it. It’s a signature; the energy people leave in places and on objects. There are other signatures, but this one is far stronger. After walking for about twenty minutes I can almost taste it on the air – ashy and dry. It’s old. If it is the Puppetmaster, he hasn’t been in this area for some time.

It’s not long before I’m standing in front of the last house on the dirt street, panting from the brisk walk. It’s a simple house, the concrete wall unpainted, the black gate forbidding. But it’s not the physical structure I’m interested in. The energy here is strong, though faded, and it doesn’t feel like the Puppetmaster. He’s vibrant, eager. If I had to describe him as a colour he’d be purple with streaks of red, but on the wave that comes off this house I catch a whiff of anxiety, and the sense that his power has waned.

I stand in front of the gate, thinking. He’s weaker. Whatever he’s doing is depleting his energy, making it difficult for him to move around. That’s why he hasn’t been home in a while. He’s at the “warehouse”, and it costs him too much power to leave. If I’m right, the warehouse is probably somewhere between this house and the one in Block 8.

This is both good and bad. Good because it makes him vulnerable. Bad because it means he’s found something worth the risk. From what he said during this morning’s meeting, I can only think of one thing that fits that description.

I double over and rest my hands on my knees, feeling suddenly faint. He thinks I’m the Definitive, the vessel that contains the Ultima. Somehow kidnapping gifted and causing an energy surge is part of his plan to reach her. But I’m
not
the Definitive. I think I’d know if I had enough power to bring all the gifts in the world together. Sure, something is going on inside me, what with the growth of my gift and Connie Who Knows, but it’s not what he thinks. It can’t be.

The question now is how does he plan to use me to get to the Ultima? Even if I did contain her there’s no way I’d give in without a fight. How does kidnapping gifted help him? And what was all that stuff he said about restoring the balance of power?

I don’t know what to think. My instincts tell me he truly believed everything he said at the meeting, but I can’t allow myself to forget who he is. The Puppetmaster is a master manipulator; that’s why I gave him that nickname. Maybe there is no Ultima, and all the information Wiki found was planted. Maybe the Puppetmaster wants me to believe I’m the Definitive so he can use me. He’s a liar. I know this for a fact. How can I trust anything he says? How do I know his life story isn’t another elaborate deception?

Nothing makes sense any more and my head is starting to spin. I consider breaking into the house, but the fact that I’m standing here and he hasn’t shown up on my radar means he’s probably not worried. The place I need to find is the warehouse.

I rub my temples and start back towards the bus stop. It’s lunchtime, and I need to get back to work. As I walk a familiar sharp pain shoots down my arm. I wince. Maybe the pain isn’t real, either. Maybe none of this is real. I push my feet into the ground, absorbing the sensation of my shoes sinking into the sand. I stretch out my sore arm, twisting it this way and that. It feels real, but I’m not sure I trust my senses.

Trust your gift.

Blood pumps loudly in my ears, almost overwhelming me.
Stop it,
I tell Connie Who Knows.
Stop talking to me. Go away and leave me alone!

By the time I reach the combi stop, I’m still trembling.

* * *

It’s been a few days since I spoke to Rakwena, and I’m starting to worry. Shouldn’t the council have come to a decision by now? And even if they haven’t, doesn’t he miss me? Ugh, that sounds stupid and needy. I’ve never been needy.

I spend the rest of Friday working on the puzzle box, to no avail. I keep expecting Connie Who Knows to pop up and put in her two cents, but she doesn’t. I told her to go away and it appears she took my words to heart. I’m relieved. To be honest I’m also a little disappointed. Her presence was unsettling, but now that she’s gone I wonder whether I’ll ever find out where she came from.

On Saturday I meet my friends at a restaurant in Airport Junction Mall. Lunch is on Kelly’s stepdad. Lebz and I arrive together by combi and walk from the bus stop. She looks adorable as always, and walking beside me – in my scuffed sneakers and somewhat wrinkled shirt – only boosts her appeal.

“Talk about a jam-packed week,” she says, shaking her head. “First Henry Marshall comes home with amnesia, then you have a magical fight with Thuli, then Rakwena finally calls, then Emily spills the beans about the Ultima, then you meet the Puppetmaster and find out he basically runs Rakwena’s life, and probably yours too, then you find his house!”

I don’t respond. I don’t feel much like talking.

Lebz slips her arm through mine. “That’s why you need ungifted friends. Sometimes you just need to relax and forget about all that drama.”

Forget? I wish I could, but the unease has become a constant, like a cold I can’t quite shake. We join Kelly and Wiki at the restaurant and settle into our seats. As glad as I am to be with my friends, I can’t stop thinking about Connie Who Knows, the kidnappings and yesterday’s meeting.

“Are you OK, Conz?”

I blink and look into Kelly’s concerned face. I really wish she would stop calling me Conz. “I’m fine. Just thinking. What were you talking about?”

“We were wondering what’s going on in the parking lot,” she says, jerking her thumb over her shoulder.

I look out through the open door of the restaurant and see the crowd gathered in the parking lot a short distance away. More people are wandering towards the commotion.

“Probably an accident,” says Lebz, leaning back to peer out.

“It’s not an accident.” I’m already on my feet. There’s a funny sensation in my stomach, a mixture of hope and dread.

Lebz and Wiki don’t need to ask – they can tell that I suspect something supernatural is afoot. Kelly looks confused, but when the other two get up she follows suit. We hurry out of the restaurant.

The crowd has swelled and I have to push past a number of people before I make it to the centre. Their thoughts and emotions rush at me, making my head throb. They’re afraid, confused, worried, curious. No one seems to know what’s happening. I wince against the onslaught, and before I reach the ring of empty space in the middle I know what I’m going to find.

There’s a young man lying on the tar. His eyes are open, but he seems weak and disoriented. Jafta. My heart surges with sudden, inexplicable grief. It passes as quickly as it came, and I come forward to kneel at his side, afraid that he might be hurt.

He groans. “What happened?” His emotions are bouncing all over the place. His barrier is battered, but there’s nothing behind it but confusion.

“Don’t you remember anything?”

He shakes his head. He sits up slowly, his eyes swivelling in my direction. “Do I know you?”

“Sort of.” I help him to his feet.

My friends have already formed a protective circle around us. We lead him away to a quiet corner.

“How do you feel?”

“I have a headache, but I’m fine.” Jafta’s eyes narrow. “Was I in an accident? Did somebody hit me?”

I shake my head.

He scowls. “
Eish
, my head is killing me. Do you have some pills or something?”

Kelly, who is always packing, produces a couple of aspirins. Jafta then asks for money to buy a drink, money for transport, and an extra twenty bucks to buy more medicine. Lebz looks like she’s about to give him a piece of her mind but Kelly hands over the money without batting an eye.

Jafta seems fine physically apart from the headache. It’s clear that he’s lost his memory like Henry Marshall, but something else isn’t right. I get the sense that he’s incomplete, as though he forgot part of his body in the place he just left. The wave of grief hits me again and tears sting my eyes. What the hell is going on?

“Jafta, are you sure you’re OK?”

“Ja. I have to go.” He rubs his eyes and looks around him. “Hey, where’s my sketchbook?”

“Did you have it with you?”

“I…” He frowns. “The old one got lost a while back so I bought a new one. I had it just now, by the road…” He blinks. “I thought I found the old one. Do you have it?”

I shake my head; he’s still disoriented. It must be the side effects of the Puppetmaster’s memory wipe. My gift inches closer and tumbles into Jafta’s head, standing in the ruins of what was once a solid barrier. I didn’t plan to enter his thoughts. It just happened, as though my gift anticipated my desire. Speaking of gifts, I should be able to sense his. Even when it’s not in use I should be able to pick up its signature, but there’s nothing. His head is strangely silent. My heart starts to pound. My stomach turns violently, forcing me to swallow hard.

“Somebody give me a pen and paper,” I call out.

Wiki gives me a pen and a folded up receipt from his pocket. I hand them to Jafta. “Draw.”

He blinks at me, his expression blank.

“Draw!”

“
Eish
, OK!” He takes the pen and paper with trembling fingers. Consciously he might not remember what he’s been through, but on some level he knows things aren’t as they should be. He places the receipt in the palm of his right hand and starts to do a quick sketch of a scorpion. It takes mere minutes. When he’s done he hands back the pen and traces his finger along the lines of the sketch. His hand freezes. The image should be imbued with energy, and it’s not.

He raises his eyes to mine. They’re wide now, and filled with fear and disbelief. I feel his pain as though someone has punched a hole right through me. He makes a small anguished sound, drops the drawing and bolts. A trio of kids spring apart as Jafta ploughs through them and flees across the parking lot. I don’t try to stop him. I’m too horrified to do anything more than stare after him until Lebz takes my arm and pulls me back towards the restaurant, ignoring the curious glances of the people around us.

“What was that all about?” Lebz hisses once we’re out of earshot.

I swallow hard before responding. “When he was taken he was gifted. And now he’s not.”

The Puppetmaster isn’t just manipulating his victims’ gifts. He’s stealing them.

* * *

Kelly’s stepdad comes to fetch her at three. Our lunch has been strained and subdued, all four of us preoccupied with what we witnessed in the parking lot. We tried to make light-hearted conversation, but it’s hard to talk about the latest school gossip when you’ve seen the gut-wrenching despair on the face of someone who has lost part of himself.

I barely touch my food. I know what Jafta felt in that horrible moment when he realised he wasn’t the same. I felt it too, and yet the emotion my gift allows me to experience is just an echo of his pain.

I turn to Kelly as we walk her to the car. “I need a favour.”

“Sure,” she says, without hesitation.

I pause. “I need to meet Henry Marshall.”

For a moment I think she’s going to ask why, but she doesn’t miss a beat. “That might be difficult. Since he got back he’s been in hiding because of the press. He doesn’t want to see anyone.”

I expected that. “Tell him Lerumo Raditladi’s granddaughter needs to speak with him urgently. If he asks to make direct contact, give him my number. Explain that my grandfather is out of the country and asked me to set up a meeting for tomorrow. I won’t take much of his time.”

Kelly frowns, but doesn’t question me. “OK. I’ll do my best.”

“I’ll owe you. Thanks.”

“No, I think this will make us even,” she replies with a grin. She’s talking about Spencer. All I did was confront the drifters and kick up a fuss. In the end it was the drifters who got Spencer to end things with her, not me.

She plants a quick kiss on Wiki’s cheek, waves and gets into the car. Wiki and his possible future father-in-law have a brief but pleasant exchange, and then the car shoots out of the parking lot.