Unravelled (14 page)

As I stare out the window, I realise I’m holding my breath. I have no idea what to expect today. By the time I reach Ntatemogolo’s house, the roads are a little busier. People are going off to church, or coming back from a night out. I greet his next-door-neighbour, a middle-aged woman, as she closes her gate on her way out.

I let myself into the yard, run up the steps and knock on the door. I know he’ll be up. Ntatemogolo is a big believer in making the most of the day. He opens the door and ushers me in. He’s got a cigarette in his mouth already, and is fully dressed.

“Have you eaten?” he asks me, and I nod. “Good. I want you to work hard today, and you will need your strength.” Yep, that sounds more like the grandfather I know.

“Before we start, there’s something I have to ask you.” I follow him into the consultation room.

“Ah, yes – the reason for all those calls.” He sits on the mat. “We’ll discuss that later.”

“But Ntatemogolo – ”

“I said later. Sit down.”

Aarggh! How am I supposed to concentrate on plastic cups when my head is swimming with questions? I sit, dropping my bag on the mat behind me, and resign myself to more suspense. “What are we doing today?”

“I told you I wanted to show you something.” Ntatemogolo opens his goatskin bag and removes a small object. It catches the tiny stream of light coming in from under the door and glints.

“Is that a ring?” I ask in wonder.

He nods and holds it out. “Put it on.”

“It doesn’t belong to a dead person, does it?” I take the ring from him. It’s made of copper, large and heavy. A man’s ring, for sure. Strangely, I’m not getting anything from it. It just feels cold.

“Just put on the ring, Connie.”

Uh-oh. I have a bad feeling about this. “I’d rather not.”

“Why? Are you picking up some negative energy?”

“No, but…” I can’t put my unease into words. I don’t want to put the ring on. It feels fine in my hand, almost normal, but almost isn’t good enough.

“I’m trying to find out what magic is locked inside it,” says Ntatemogolo. “Your gift is growing strong – I’m sure you will pick up something if you put it on. If you sense something unpleasant, you can just take it off. I am right here, remember?”

He’s right. I feel silly now. It’s just a ring. I hesitate a moment longer before sliding the ring onto my thumb, the only finger it might fit. It starts small, in the base of my belly. It’s not a real sensation, not yet. It’s more like watching the feeling from a distance, sensing it rushing towards me. My stomach muscles knot in anticipation, steeling against the imminent onslaught – and then it hits, like ice cold water in my skull. No, not water, something more viscous, something that spreads over my brain and drips slowly down my spine.

It feels like…like feeling nothing. I don’t know how to explain it – my mind scratches around in the darkness for words, but there are none. It feels like being taken over by numbness. I stare into Ntatemogolo’s eyes, willing him to help me, but he says nothing. He just watches.

After a moment the feeling fades, sucked back into the ring. I remove it, eager to get it off my finger, and place it in my palm. Ntatemogolo peers at me through narrowed eyes.

“How do you feel?”

“I don’t know. Fine, I guess.” I blink a few times. “What is it?”

“I was hoping you could tell me,” he says softly, holding out his hand.

I drop the ring into his palm. “You don’t know at all?” That seems impossible. How could he think I would know what he doesn’t?

“I found it the other day,” he explains, turning the ring over in his hands.

“But you must have some idea what it is, or where it comes from.” I lean closer to stare at it.

Ntatemogolo shakes his head. “A mystery for another day.” He puts the ring back into the goatskin bag. “All I can say for sure is that it was used in some kind of magic. But who used it, and for what, I can’t tell. Can you?”

I can hear my heart throbbing in my ears at the notion of a supernatural mystery. I shake my head, and find that it feels heavier than usual, as though I’ve developed a sudden cold. I blink a few times. “It could belong to a
sangoma
.”

“Perhaps.”

“Or maybe someone used it to bewitch someone else!”

“Perhaps. But never mind; we will figure it out in time.” He pushes the bag aside. “Now, what was it you wanted to tell me?”

“Oh.” It takes me a minute to switch gears; my thoughts seem a little foggy now. “Ntatemogolo, what do you know about the incubus?”

He doesn’t seem surprised by the question. “Why do you ask?”

“I think there might be at least one here in Gaborone.”

He looks worried. Very worried. Clearly the incubus is not just a story. “Tell me everything.”

I take a deep breath and start at the beginning, from the day Lebz first told me about the Cresta Crew. I tell him about the party, my conversations with Duma and Kelly’s unusual behaviour. Then I tell him Wiki’s theory.

He’s quiet for a long time, thinking. Finally he says, “They’re not incubi.”

My body sags with relief. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. There have never been incubi in these parts, and in fact it has been a very long time since such creatures have been seen anywhere. Some think they’re gone from our world entirely.”

“Good.” I exhale slowly, and allow myself a small smile. “Lebz will be happy to hear that. But now it means we’re back to square one – no clue what these guys are.”

“Not exactly.” Ntatemogolo strokes his beard thoughtfully and lights a cigarette.

The relief I felt earlier dissipates. “What do you mean?”

“There’s another being, a shadowy thing, not well-known at all. Most people have never even heard of it, and those of us who have don’t know very much. They keep to themselves. They are dangerous to humans, but humans are also dangerous to them, and so they usually prefer to lead reclusive lives.”

I frown. “What are they called?”

“There are many names for them. It is said that they call themselves drifters because they never stay in one place for long. In some places they are called desmodons. Mostly, especially here in Southern Africa, traditional doctors call them inkolosi.”

I frown at Ntatemogolo, but there’s no hint of a smile on his face. I have heard a lot of strange monster names, but this is something else. How am I expected to be afraid of something called inkolosi? It sounds like a brand of traditional beer.

“When I first heard of them they were very, very rare,” he explains carefully. “But their numbers are growing.”

I feel a headache coming on. I rub my temples. “I’m sorry, Ntatemogolo, but I don’t understand. What exactly is this inkolosi?”

He shrugs. “Those of us who study these things suspect it might be a hybrid, but no one knows for sure – not even the inkolosi themselves. One theory is that the inkolosi are the result of an experiment.” He scowls in disgust and flicks ash from his cigarette. “An experiment performed long ago by European scientists who came to Africa in the eighteenth century.”

What is it with these Western scientists? You’ll never hear of curious Africans tampering with leprechauns. Our policy is not to touch things we don’t understand – in case they bite. I lean forward, intrigued.

He sighs, as if remembering a story he was told long ago. “They captured some thokolosi and took them to Europe.”

I can’t help it – I have to giggle, picturing ladies in Victorian costumes running around the streets of London with a hairy beast in hot pursuit. Poor things. They would probably waste garlic and salt and other perfectly good foodstuffs trying to exorcise the thokolosi, completely unaware that all they needed was a pile of bricks. The little devils are puny, so the higher your bed is, the safer you are. Simple.

My grandfather gives me a look that wipes the smile off my face.

“This is not a joke, Conyza,” he snaps. “It’s a very serious thing to tamper with the balance of nature – or supernature, for that matter. The thokolosi doesn’t belong in Europe any more than the wood nymph belongs in Old Naledi.”

“Sorry,” I mumble.

“As I was saying, the creatures were taken overseas. What happened next is uncertain. For a long time no one heard anything about them. Then, over a century ago, rumours began to circulate about a new kind of monster.” He pauses to look at me. “A combination of two creatures.”

I nod slowly as I try to put the pieces together. It takes longer than usual, as though the paths in my brain are blocked. Now that stupid name makes sense. “So you think the inkolosi are a new species created by cross-breeding?”

He shrugs, drops his cigarette onto the cement floor and grinds it under his heel. “It’s all speculation. They exhibit characteristics of both the incubus and the thokolosi. For one, they are said to have very strong sexual desires.”

I cringe and fix my gaze on the far wall. There are some things a girl never wants to hear her grandfather say, and “sexual desires” is one of them.

Oblivious of my mortification, Ntatemogolo plunges on.
Ag
, man. Did I really just say
plunges
? “Like the incubus, they use the energy they steal from their victims. Because their powers are so strong, they can obtain energy from something as simple as holding someone’s hand, or brushing against someone’s arm as they walk past. Their hair also grows very fast and very long.”

I think of Rapunzel’s ridiculously long and lustrous dreadlocks. I think of Kencer, and all the manic kissing – and who knows what else – they’ve been doing since they got together. She’s already getting weaker. How much longer until she fades away altogether?

I get a shiver across my back. What a horrible way to go, bit by bit, without even knowing that it’s happening. I’d rather be hit by a combi and get it over with. “Kelly was unconscious when we found her at the party. Was that Spencer’s fault?”

“The boy might have had too much to drink and lost control,” Ntatemogolo muses. “Alcohol makes all gifted stronger and less inhibited. But the inkolosi absorbs psychic energy, so they thrive in environments where hormones are raging.”

Hmm. Rather like the average teenage boy.

“Any form of intense emotion yields a lot of psychic energy,” Ntatemogolo goes on. “But this sort of behaviour, partying and drinking, attracts unwanted attention. I am surprised that these boys have been allowed to roam freely.”

“As far as I know, their parents aren’t even in the country.”

He frowns. “This boy must be stopped before he does irreparable damage to your friend.”

“She’s Lebz’s friend,” I mutter, and then feel petty for saying it. “I don’t know how to stop him. They don’t like me much, except for Duma, and he won’t give anything away. He’s afraid of Temper, their leader.”

“Then this Temper is the one you need to talk to,” Ntatemogolo suggests. “It’s his job to keep the rest in line. Surely he’s not happy with Spencer’s behaviour.”

I sit quietly, digesting everything I’ve heard. Ntatemogolo is right. Now that I know their secret, I have leverage. I shake my head lightly. The heaviness is worsening. I can’t be getting sick. I never get sick. But I feel so…odd.

“The last time we spoke, you said I was different,” says Ntatemogolo suddenly. “What did you mean?”

I look at him, momentarily thrown off. “Oh. You were just not yourself. But you seem fine now. Did something happen?”

“Yes,” he says softly. “But I’ve sorted it out.”

“Good.” I get up, surprised to find that I’m somewhat shaky on my feet.

“Are you all right?”

I nod. “I think I’m coming down with something. Anyway, it looks like I’m the one with things to sort out now.”

“Be careful,” he says.

I nod. It’s good to see him back to normal. I hope one day he’ll tell me what happened during his trip, but for now I have to focus on the Cresta Crew, and the secret they’ve been trying so hard to keep.

I take a deep breath and walk to the door. My legs seem fine now, but my head is still heavy and my thoughts move sluggishly through my head. “Ntatemogolo, is there something tainted in this room? Some object touched by a very troubled client, or something?”

“No. Why?”

“I feel strange.”

“You’ll be fine,” he says. “You’d better get going.”

I nod and leave, but I’m a little hurt by his offhand manner. This doesn’t feel like a premonition. It feels sort of like the opposite of a premonition – like peering out at the world from behind stained glass, like seeing less instead of more.

By the time I get home the feeling has faded, and I almost think I must have imagined it. Almost.

***

Despite Ntatemogolo’s decision to consult on the Salinger project, the tension between him and Dad only seems to escalate. I hear Dad speaking tersely into the phone when I emerge from the bathroom in the morning.

“That’s ridiculous! Yes, I know, but there’s no way we can change all our plans at the last minute. Tell him that the meeting will be on all afternoon. If he can take a few minutes out of his precious schedule to attend, good. If not – tough luck. Understood?”

I linger in the corridor in my bathrobe. “Trouble in paradise?”

Dad scowls, clearly unappreciative of my teasing tone. “Your grandfather is an egomaniac.”

He is, isn’t he? But who can blame him? The man is a highly-respected academic, an expert in his field, and gifted to boot. It’s a wonder he’s remained even remotely grounded. I don’t say any of this to Dad, of course. I know how difficult Ntatemogolo can be, especially when it comes to my father.

I shuffle into the living room in my slippers. “What happened?”

“We’re supposed to have our first meeting today.” Dad runs a hand through his hair. “It’ll be the first time everyone involved in the project will meet in person. I sent your grandfather the agenda ages ago. He never mentioned a scheduling conflict. But a moment ago he called my assistant to tell her that the meeting will have to be rescheduled because he has personal matters to attend to. Rescheduled!”

He shakes his head, unable to believe that anyone can be so unreasonable. “There are going to be fifty-odd people at this meeting, and some of them have come from very far away to attend. And he thinks we should shuffle things around because he has ‘personal matters’ to deal with. The gall of the man!”