Unravelled (16 page)

Her eyes narrow and she drops her gaze. “Everyone’s asking me that, like I’m about to fall apart,” she mutters. “I’m
fine
.”

I feel a brief stab of guilt, but it’s not enough to curb my curiosity. “Have you seen Spencer at all since…?”

“No,” says Lebz, shooting me a warning glance. “And good riddance.”

Kelly raises her head. “I’m getting a headache. I’ve got some pills in my…”

“I’ll get them!” Lebz is on her feet in a fraction of a second. “I’ll be right back!” She shoots me another warning look, as if she’s afraid I might bite Kelly in her absence, then hurries off.

It feels strange sitting alone on the bench with Kelly. I’m not sure we’ve ever been alone before. I eat my food, making a conscious effort not to look at her, even though I’m dying of curiosity. I want to check her eyes for tell-tale circles, scan her body to determine whether she’s regained the weight she lost, examine her aura to find out how she’s really feeling now that Spencer’s gone.

“This feels so weird,” she repeats softly.

I look around, thinking Wiki might have returned, but she’s talking to me.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be going back to my friends. I just needed a break, you know?”

Now I really feel guilty. Is it so obvious that I resent her presence? I give myself a mental dressing down. “Look, Kelly, I don’t mind. You’ve had a hard time, and Lebz is your friend. So if you want to hang out here, hang out.”

She sighs. “I know you don’t like me, Connie. You’re not the only one.” She tosses her head, as if the thought makes her proud. “But I’m not that bad.”

“I never said – ” My indignant comeback is ruined by Wiki’s arrival.

“Hello, Kelly.” He sits beside her on the bench and offers her a friendly smile, a genuine one that puts mine to shame.

“Hey, Wiki.” She peers at his books. “What are you reading?”

“Oh, this one’s about the impact oil drilling has on the environment, this is an interesting book I found on etymology, and this is a sci-fi novel by Isaac Asimov.”

“You must have a lot of assignments,” she remarks.

Wiki laughs.

“He’s reading those for fun,” I inform Kelly.

She stares at him, but instead of looking horrified as I expected, she seems impressed. Lebz returns with the headache pills. Kelly and I ignore each other for the rest of Break, and when she leaves, she doesn’t say goodbye.

***

The worst part of the final term of Form Five is that point when everyone starts talking about university, and the future, and what they’re doing to do. While most of the students will be going on to Form Six, especially the ones who want to study overseas, some of us will end our journey with Syringa in a couple of months.

I made this decision long ago, despite Dad and Ntatemogolo’s attempts to convince me otherwise. I know that doing Form Six will give me more opportunities and allow me to go to any university I want. But I’m not an academic. I don’t want to go to Harvard and study for some fancy degree. I want to stay in Botswana. I need to be here, not just because it’s home, but because I’m starting to grow into my gift and leaving will disrupt that.

Besides, I still have no idea what I want to study. I’ve always planned to go to UB; since my father works there my fees will be waived, which means one less thing for Dad to worry about. Most Syringa kids would rather die than go to UB, but it’s good enough for me.

Lebz and Wiki are both going on to Form Six – a given for them, since they have plans to jet off into the big wide world. I try not to picture my life without them. I try not to think about the future at all, but even though school has only just started again, that’s all Lebz and Wiki seem to talk about.

“I’m leaning towards public relations,” says Lebz, as we sit on our bench.

“That would suit you,” nods Wiki. “You’re good with people. I’m still not sure what I want to do. I thought of engineering, but I’m also really interested in the social sciences. Law, maybe, or international relations, or even psychology.”

“Ooh, you’d be a great psychologist,” remarks Lebz.

I munch on my chips sullenly. I have nothing to contribute to this conversation. Unlike my friends, I’m not sure what I’m good at. Other than sneaking into other people’s heads, of course, but I’ve yet to hear of a university that offers a degree in telepathy.

“I think Connie would make a good teacher,” says Lebz out of the blue, and I almost choke on my food.

“I’m a lousy student, and you think I can teach?” I stare at her, shaking my head incredulously.

“You could be like your grandfather,” she persists. “Teach history and folklore and stuff.”

“I hate history.”

“You could try journalism,” Wiki suggests. “You’re always trying to uncover the truth about things.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Supernatural things,” I remind him. “I have no interest in regular news.”

Lebz and Wiki exchange loaded glances. They think I’m deliberately shooting down their ideas, but I’m not. I honestly don’t see myself having that kind of career. Getting up every morning, going to an office, dealing with mundane, day-to-day matters…I don’t see how that could work. For other people, sure, but not for me.

It’s not just because I’m gifted. Ntatemogolo found the perfect career doing something he loves. Rakwena is going to be a great physicist. I guess I just haven’t spent enough time thinking about it.

“There’s lots of time for you to figure it out,” says Lebz.

“That’s true.” Wiki glances at me to make sure I’m not utterly despondent. “You still have several months. For now, you should probably just focus on exams.”

“And the Cresta Crew.”

Lebz frowns. “Are we still worried about them?”

Trust her to lose interest in the Crew just because Kelly is out of Spencer’s clutches. I roll my eyes. “Of course.”

“Because of Rakwena,” Wiki explains, giving Lebz a pointed look.

“Oh, ja. Rakwena.”

The conversation has soured my mood, and I’m in a bit of a funk for the rest of the day. After school I walk Lebz home. I feel like taking a walk, so I double back past the school and take the long way, going around the main highway.

Brooding and intense is not a good look for me, but with all the things going on in my head I feel myself turning inward. It’s not just the Cresta Crew and Rakwena’s secret, or my missing anklet, or my indecision regarding my future. I suppose I’m just feeling a bit lost, and trying to decide whether there is a point to anything I’ve done.

Well, I did save the girls from the Puppetmaster. That’s something. But even if I talk to the Cresta Crew, what happens next? If I uncover Rakwena’s secret, what am I going to do with it? Is this what I want to be doing for the rest of my life – digging up one magical secret after another?

I always thought that gifted who embrace their powers end up doing great things with their lives, like my grandfather. Besides being a minor celebrity, he helps people. Not in an abstract way, either – he makes a real, tangible difference. Will I be able to do that one day?

I think of my mother suddenly, and feel an ache in my chest. She was a co-ordinator for an NGO that sourced funding for different causes around the country. She and Dad met at a seminar, or a lecture – some boring event that they both went outside to escape.

As a child I had no real comprehension of my mother’s job – I understood that she helped the community, and that was enough. The older I get, the more certain I am that I must have idealised her, because no one could be that beautiful, or kind, or cheerful. I always miss her, but today I feel it more than ever. I wish she was here to give me advice.

I don’t notice the person in front of me until I walk right into him. “Oh, sorry – ”

Duma takes a step back and grins. “No problem.” Most people would have held out their hands to prevent a collision, but his are safely in his pockets, as if he’s afraid to touch me.

I return his grin. “How are you, Duma?”

“Fine.” He resumes walking and I fall into step with him.

We’re quiet for a moment, and my initial pleasure at seeing him fades as I remember what he is – what he could be. Not an incubus, thank God, but something close. Like a tame tiger. You think it has grown to love you, and then one day it mauls you to death.

I listen to the cars rushing past and squint against the sunlight. I want to trust him. My instincts tell me I can trust him, but how do I know that my instincts haven’t been duped by his supernatural charm? “Tell me, Duma – how is it that you always seem to know where to find me? Is that your gift? Tracking people?”

He smiles, apparently pleased by my guess. “You know I can’t tell you.”

I sigh. “Temper still hasn’t agreed to meet me?”

“He’s agreed.”

I stop in my tracks and turn sharply to face him. “Really?”

He gives one solemn nod. “You’re to come to the house. Alone, of course.”

I’m stunned. I never expected to be invited to their home. It seems almost like a trap.

“The others no longer see you as a threat,” Duma continues. “In fact, you could be an ally.”

“An ally?” I frown. I’m not sure how I can be useful to a pack of psychic predators. No, scratch that. I’m a telepath. I break into people’s minds, and they steal people’s energy. We could be the perfect psychic heist team.

“Yes.” Duma seems excited by the idea. “You’re probably the only person who can help us…um, more about that later.”

“No offence, but I’m not sure I want to help your cell,” I tell him honestly.

He looks at me sharply. “My what?”

“Cell. That is the right term, isn’t it?”

His jaw tenses, and I see I’ve struck a nerve. “Friday, after school. Meet me at Main Mall. I’ll take you to the house.”

“OK.”

He nods curtly. “Good. I’ll see you then.”

“Duma.”

He stops, but doesn’t look at me.

“I’m not bluffing. I know your secret.”

He’s quiet for some time, staring out across the highway. Someone rides past on a bicycle, forcing us closer together. Finally Duma heaves a weary sigh. His shoulders droop, the tension gone from his body. He looks exhausted, as if he’s been carrying the world on his shoulders and no longer has the strength to continue. “I hope so,” he whispers.

He checks the street for cars, then steps into the road. I watch him walk away, and in that moment I believe I know who he is. Inkolosi or not, Duma’s a good kid with a good heart. I don’t know how I can help him, but I’d like to. I think, for some reason that I can’t explain, that helping him and his cell would be the right thing to do.

***

I decide not to tell Rakwena about the meeting. He’ll only try to stop me from going, and that won’t help anyone. I do tell Lebz and Wiki, of course.

“I’m nervous,” Lebz admits on Friday at school. “I know you think they won’t hurt you, but we don’t really know who they are.”

“Or what they’re capable of,” adds Wiki, looking at me over the rim of his glasses. “You might think Duma is a sweet kid, but maybe that’s part of the plan. Maybe they want to lure you into a trap and then get rid of you so you can no longer go sticking your nose into their business.”

I wince. “I’ve thought about that. I don’t think that’s what’s going on. I think Duma’s telling the truth – they want my help.”

“With what?” asks Lebz, in exasperation.

I shrug. “Who knows? Maybe they want me to help them get to Rakwena. Maybe they think if I trust them, he’ll trust them, too.”

“We don’t know what they want from him, either.” Wiki shakes his head. “I’m not sure I like the idea of you going to their house all by yourself.”

I give him a grateful smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll sense any danger before it comes.”

My friends don’t look convinced, but they know better than to try to talk me out of it. After school the three of us linger at the gate until Wiki’s father comes to fetch him.

“Be careful,” he warns, before leaving.

Lebz insists on coming with me to Main Mall. I shoo her away as soon as we arrive, just in case Duma is watching. The last thing I want to do is make him nervous; he might change his mind about the meeting and I’ll be right back where I started.

She’s reluctant to go, but eventually she gets on a combi and heads to BBS Mall. I linger near the back of the Cresta President Hotel, my eyes scanning the open area of the mall. I think it’s a fitting spot to wait, both because of the Cresta connection and because it’s right in the middle of the mall. A moment later I spot him emerging from the supermarket carrying a large shopping bag.

He lights up when he sees me, his expression a mixture of pleasure and relief. “You made it.”

“Of course. And naturally I had to wait outside the hotel.”

For a second he looks puzzled. “Oh!
Cresta
President Hotel.” He winces. “Don’t mention that stupid Cresta Crew thing to the guys, OK? They hate it.” He inclines his head in the direction of the main road. “Follow me.”

We walk in silence. The air is charged with significance, as if this is a portentous moment in both our lives. Stop being melodramatic, I chide myself. It’s just an introduction to a magical species you had never heard of until recently. No big deal.

Duma doesn’t say a word as we walk to Extension 9, just three streets from where Rakwena lives. He leads me into a small, quiet side street, and then stops in front of a desolate-looking house on the corner. The yard is covered with dense vegetation – trees, grass, bushes – and the front of the house is obscured by foliage. The perfect hideaway.

There’s no wall around the property, no electric fence. Just an ordinary chain-link fence like the one around our house. An old house, then, and safe enough that the Crew don’t feel the need for extra security.

I follow Duma through the gate and across the grass, past the spotless but low-key minivan parked under a tree, and round the back of the house. We emerge onto a beautiful paved veranda. Apart from the car and the lack of dust and cobwebs, this house looks completely deserted. There’s nothing on the veranda, and not a single sound comes from inside.

Duma opens the screen door. “Here it is,” he says softly, and pushes open the main door.