Crowned (9 page)

What? Where did that thought come from? Break it open, indeed. Who am I, the Incredible Hulk? Despite my scepticism, the thought persists. I try to brush it aside. My gift is growing, but it’s not that strong. I can’t break barriers – I need a crack. I focus my gift, drawing all the filaments together into one point, centred on a spot in the barrier.

No. Target the entire barrier.

The voice echoes inside me. It’s the strangest sensation. It sounds like me, but calmer, steadier. I listen, waiting to hear it again, but all is quiet in my head. This must be related to my growing gift. I take a deep breath. I’ve never thought of targeting a barrier all at once. The logical thing to do is find a weak point. Then again, logic hasn’t got me anywhere so far. I shift tack, letting my gift spread across the barrier until the entire glowing ring is encircled by my energy. I breathe in and out, in and out…and then strike, squeezing hard.

I keep up the pressure, though I see no sign of the barrier weakening. Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze… The barrier shatters in my mind’s eye, revealing the concealment. I sneak inside where I can see the stitches holding it together. I pick them apart one by one. I lift up the book and open it. Words appear on the pages, faint at first, then bold and clear in black ink. I laugh, thrilled by my success.

I flip the book over so the open pages face my grandfather. “Ta da!”

His jaw drops. He stares at me, speechless, and licks his lips. “How?”

“Thinking outside the box,” I reply with a smug grin. “See, all this time I was looking for a crack. That’s my usual technique – look for the crack and force my way through it. This time I spread my energy across the whole barrier instead of one point, and it was much more effective. Like a bomb rather than a bullet.”

“Graphic, but fitting,” he says wryly. He’s quiet for a while, then says, “Let’s try another one.”

I feel almost invincible. I thought only Rakwena’s energy could make me feel that way. It’s good to know that I can be awesome all by myself.

* * *

I leave Ntatemogolo’s house giddy with triumph. I passed every test he set me. I’m eager to tell my friends, but my SMS won’t go through. I have to wait till I get home to call them and arrange a Skype chat for tonight. I’m surprised to find Dad home when I get in; he usually stays in the office till late, working on the Salinger project.

“Your friend came by to deliver a gift,” he says as I head for the fridge.

“Which friend?” I reach for a bottle of water and pour myself a tall glass, then walk back to the living room.

Dad’s sitting at the computer table in the corner, tapping away. “Emily. I didn’t want to ask if she was
that
Emily, but she did have a sort of strange, jaded look about her.”

“She’s
that
Emily.” Why would she be here in broad daylight? Why would she come to the door and talk to my father like a normal person rather than sneak around at night like the creepy foot soldier she is?

“God, should I have kept her here? Called the police? Isn’t she presumed dead?”

I gulp down my water. “No, no, and yes. The police wouldn’t believe you, Dad.”

“But…her parents…”

“I know. It’s one of those situations you have to let go.”

He scowls. “You seem to have a lot of those in your world.”

I can see where this road is leading, so I take a quick detour. “What did she bring? Is it an envelope?”

Dad shakes his head and points to the dining table. I turn, and wonder how I missed it. A rust-orange gift box with a yellow ribbon sits in the middle of the table, looking cheerful and innocuous. A present from the Puppetmaster? Why?

I walk over to pick it up. “Did she leave a message?”

“She just said to give it to you. It’s not ticking, but I’m not sure that means much.”

I lift the lid. Inside is an exquisite wooden jewellery box with small flowers carved into it in painstaking detail. I gasp in wonder.

Dad leaps to his feet. “What? Should I get the fire extinguisher? Salt? Garlic?”

I laugh. “It’s just a jewellery box. No danger.”

He comes forward to take a closer look. I hand him the box, then turn back to the packaging, searching for a note. There isn’t one. What does this mean? I haven’t done anything for the Puppetmaster. At least I hope not.

“This is a puzzle box,” says Dad, turning it over before handing it back to me.

“A what?” I study it, fascinated.

“You know, a box with a secret mechanism. My gran used to collect them. You have to figure out how it works before you can open it.”

I smile, understanding. It’s a test, like Ntatemogolo’s book. The Puppetmaster has made it clear how important my progress is to him – maybe he’s hoping to speed it up by giving me another magical code to crack.

Dad looks uncomfortable. “Why would the Puppetmaster send you this? Are you sure there isn’t something dangerous inside?”

I shake my head. My gift – or the anklet – would have alerted me if the box was dangerous. “This is his way of testing me. He likes doing stuff like that. I’m going to change and then start working on it.”

“What about dinner?”

“I’m not hungry,” I say, already halfway to my room.

“I was talking about me,” he calls after me.

“Oh – I’ll whip something up in a minute.”

I close my bedroom door and gaze at the box. I’m excited. After the success I had at Ntatemogolo’s, I think I’m up to the Puppetmaster’s challenge. Then I remember the Skype chat.
Eish
. I’ll have to start on the puzzle box afterwards.

I change quickly, dash to the bathroom to wash my face, then go to the kitchen to make a quick potato salad and fish fingers. Not quite Master Chef-worthy, but food is food, right? After serving Dad and myself I turn on the Wi-Fi, rush back to my room, turn on my laptop and log into my Skype account. It takes ages for the internet to come on. Military exercise, my foot.

Wiki’s already online by the time the page loads. I initiate the call and a few minutes later I see his face on my screen. “How goes it, Connie?”

“Good. Where’s Lebz?”

There’s a serious time lag before his response, but at least he’s not breaking up. “Probably admiring the purchases she made earlier today. She and Kelly went shopping.”

“Hang on – there she is.”

“What’s the big news?” she demands, a few seconds after I pick up. “Did Rakwena make contact?”

Sigh! “No. I haven’t heard from him.”

“That jerk! How dare he leave you hanging like this?”

“Calm down,” says Wiki quietly. “I’m sure he has his reasons.”

“We’re not here to discuss Rakwena,” I remind them quickly, discomfited by the sudden burst of longing in my chest. Must not think about Rakwena. Must not think about Rakwena! “Look what I got!” I hold up the puzzle box for them to admire.

“Ooh,” gasps Lebz, as I knew she would. “That’s gorgeous. Where did you get it?”

“The Puppetmaster sent it. It’s a puzzle box – I can’t wait to start working on it!”

There’s a brief silence. Wiki clears his throat. “Why did he send it?”

“To test me, obviously! You know how much he wants me to grow.”

I can tell by the expressions on my friends’ faces that if they were in the same room they’d be exchanging those knowing glances I hate.

“Isn’t your grandfather training you now?” asks Lebz, a trace of acid in her tone.

I sigh impatiently. “There’s nothing wrong with an extra challenge.”

“This isn’t about helping you make progress,” says Wiki. “The Puppetmaster wants to be in control of your training.”

“He can want it, but it’s not going to happen.” I put the puzzle box down. “It’s just one test. It’s not a big deal.”

I can tell by the ensuing silence that my friends don’t agree with me, and I’m not in the mood for a lecture. I had a good day and I’d like to ride the wave a little longer, so I use my tried and tested tactic for avoiding uncomfortable conversations. I change the subject. “Thuli’s gifted, by the way.”

“What?” says Lebz, reaching towards her laptop to turn up the volume.

“Thuli Baleseng, our dear friend, has got himself a gift.”

Wiki exhales loudly. “OK, you’re going to have to start at the beginning.”

I oblige, and by the time we say goodnight they’ve forgotten all about the Puppetmaster. But I haven’t.

I reach out to him as I lie in bed, turning the puzzle box side to side.
I suppose I should thank you.

He wastes no time in responding.
You’re welcome. Do you like it?

It’s great. What’s the occasion? Did I steer some poor soul onto your path?

He chuckles, but I get the sense that his attention is divided.
You did so well with the first box of secrets that I thought you’d appreciate a fresh challenge.

Is this your way of trying to get into my good books?

Am I in your good books?

No.

I didn’t think so. I’m sure it would take more than a puzzle box.

I tap the wooden panel on the left side of the box.
I don’t sense any psychic energy in this thing.

Of course not. I’m not an amateur.

I find myself smiling, and immediately twist my features back into a scowl. A thread of fear coils tight around my throat. I’m starting to enjoy our talks. I know I shouldn’t, but there’s something special about being able to communicate telepathically with someone who can talk back. I value this exchange of energy. He’s the only other telepath I know and, like it or not, that connection matters to me.

You’re thinking too much,
he says, and I panic, wondering whether he’s found a way into my innermost thoughts. But I can feel his presence on the outside, in the safe zone.

Would you prefer I didn’t think at all? I thought you needed me at my best.

I do.

What exactly do you want from me?

I’ll tell you soon, I promise. I must go – evil machinations to oversee, and all that.

I roll my eyes.
You realise that nothing you do can change how I feel, right? You’re still my enemy. You always will be.

If you insist. Goodnight, my dear.

Wait! Where is Henry Marshall?

There’s a pause.
Safe.

You haven’t hurt him?

He’ll be home soon. You have my word.

He leaves my mind and I set the puzzle box down on my bedside table. He’s telling the truth…but he’s also lying. There are things beneath the surface that he hasn’t revealed.

I lie still and listen to my heartbeat, and the certainty comes up from that old, primal place inside me, the place that recognises the strange dreams I’ve been having. I’ve always been able to sniff things out – that’s what my gift is all about – but this is different. Something’s changed. It’s more than my gift growing. Once again I get the eerie feeling that I’m not alone.

I don’t know what to make of this sensation. It’s not like having an intruder in the house or even in my head. It’s as much physical as supernatural. It’s as though something is stirring inside, and it has important things to tell me.

What it tells me now is that the Puppetmaster cares about me, but he cares about something else more. I can’t trust him, even when he speaks the truth. I have to be extra careful. If I don’t watch my step with him, I’ll fall.

I turn to look at the puzzle box. Maybe I’ve already fallen.

Chapter Four

My first conscious thought when I wake up is that I should have had a more sensible dinner. My stomach is cramping and my head feels woozy. I feel my gift buzz behind my eyes and shut them against the pain. I’m having another premonition. I can hardly believe it – so soon after the last one! Then I can’t think any more – I’m distracted by my stinging eyes and contracting muscles. My head jerks upwards, and for a fraction of a second my whole body freezes. I keep my eyes closed and the images flow in, like shaky, unclear clips from a home video.

I hear footsteps before the image comes into focus – the sharp click-click of heels on tar. I see solid calves, stylish brown shoes. There’s a shadow in the corner of my eye, deformed and threatening. The woman stops. She turns to run, then she’s falling through the earth. I hear the air rushing past her, her ragged, frightened breath and something else, like a voice from far away. As she’s falling, someone passes her. He’s falling upwards, returning to the place she just left. She catches a glimpse of a face. Henry Marshall.

I open my eyes. My breathing is still coming in gasps. Though the images weren’t in focus, the sounds were clear and crisp. That’s new. I shake my head slowly and take a deep breath to steady myself. Henry Marshall is coming home, and someone else is about to take his place.

I stay still for a moment, trying to decide what to do. Call the police? No, of course not. What would I say? “Hi, I had a premonition that an unknown woman is going to vanish from an unknown place at an unknown time. Could you take care of it?” I don’t think so.

Premonitions are tricky. Popular fiction would have us believe that it all gets mapped out in a medium’s mind, the details fall into place and hey, presto – the crime is solved. In reality premonitions are often fragmented and frustrating, influenced by everything from the medium’s emotions and perceptions to those of the people close to her. In other words, my blind spots can easily get in the way of my second sight.

For all I know, the woman is being spirited away at this very moment. I send my gift back into my memory, searching the premonition for any lingering threads. A place would be enough…but there’s nothing. All I have to go on is what I’ve been given. A woman, a shadow, a deep, dark hole, and Henry Marshall’s face.

I drag myself out of bed, squinting at the sunlight sneaking in between my curtains. Dad’s just coming out of the bathroom, dressed to go out.