Unravelled (21 page)

I bite thoughtfully into another chip and nod for him to continue.

“Lebz hasn’t dated anyone for a while – actually, she hasn’t dated since
you
started dating. For years you only had us, and now you have Rakwena. Even Kelly is taking notice of you.”

Well, there’s a reason he’s a genius. What he’s saying makes a lot of sense. I didn’t think about it – let’s face it, I never think about things until I have no choice. “What should I do? Should I talk to her?”

Wiki shakes his head. “You know Lebz – she’ll get over it. She just needs to realise that you’re not becoming popular on purpose.”

I shake my head in disbelief. Why would I want to be popular? Two good friends are a handful as it is. I clear my throat. “And, uh…how are things with you?”

He smiles. “Fine, Connie. Relax – you’re not turning into a selfish brat.”

I’m relieved to hear that, but maybe I’ve been taking too many things for granted.

“Back to the problem at hand.” He raises his eyebrows at me. “What are you going to do about Rakwena and the drifters?”

I sigh. For a moment it was comforting to have nothing more serious than typical teen issues to worry about. “I’ll have to tell them I need more time.”

“Do they have time? If the problem is as serious as they say…”

He doesn’t have to complete the thought. The last thing we need is another drifter running amok the way Spencer did. Hopefully if we put our heads together we can find a temporary solution, because Rakwena is far too angry right now to even think about helping the Cresta Crew.

***

I’ve been trying to reach Ntatemogolo for the past few days, but his phone is off. I decide to stop by his house after school, just to make sure everything is OK. It’ll be the first time I’ve seen him since Rakwena shared his concerns regarding Ntatemogolo’s odd behaviour, and I’m a little nervous about bringing it up. I have to confront him, though. He’ll see right through me – he always does.

The house is quiet when I arrive, and the front door is locked. I try to peer in through the crack in the curtains, but it’s obvious no one’s home. I walk round to the back, just to make sure that door’s not open. It’s not. I heave a disappointed sigh. I’m about to turn the corner when I hear a noise. I’m certain it’s coming from inside the house. I press my ear against the back door.

There it is again – soft, but unmistakeable. Someone is moving around in there. I raise my hand to knock, but an instinct stops me. Instead I raise myself up on tiptoe and peer through the edge of the window, through the flimsy kitchen curtains.

For a while I see nothing, and then I spot a figure crossing the kitchen doorway. I can’t see properly in the dim light in the house, but it’s enough. The figure is petite, thin. Childlike. Definitely not my grandfather.

Fear sings in my head, and for a moment I can’t think past it. Emily. Emily, the Puppetmaster’s child soldier! The fear recedes slightly, far enough for me to function. What is she doing in my grandfather’s house, and how did she get in?

There’s no time to ponder these questions – I hear soft footsteps approach and fling myself around the corner, scraping my hands on the rough bricks. I take several steps backwards, crushing weeds beneath my school shoes. Somehow I feel it’s vital that the intruder doesn’t see me.

The back door opens and closes. The figure walks across the small backyard. I only catch sight of her as she nears the back fence, choked with weeds and bushes. Between this fence and the neighbour’s high concrete wall is a narrow dirt path.

Emily doesn’t look back, but I know it’s her. Her black skinny jeans are dusty, and her sneakers are splattered with mud. Under her arm is a package wrapped in a nondescript green plastic bag. She vaults over the fence with ease, lands on the path and walks away. Her gait is brisk, but not anxious. She has somewhere to be and isn’t expecting any trouble. And she’s taking something with her. Something she stole, no doubt, from this house.

I emerge from my hiding place and try the kitchen door. I didn’t hear the key turn, but it’s locked. I stand there, debating the best course of action. Emily just waltzed into Ntatemogolo’s house, took something and waltzed out. I have to admit, Ntatemogolo’s house is easy to break into, but the point is, what does my grandfather have that the Puppetmaster wants?

My thoughts reach back to the anklet, which I still haven’t found. Is it possible that Emily took that as well? And if so, why?

Rakwena’s theory is starting to look more plausible every second. What if the Puppetmaster got to Ntatemogolo while he was out of town? What if he found some way to control him, or mess around with his head, and that’s why Ntatemogolo’s behaviour has been so erratic? And what if Emily stole my anklet so that the Puppetmaster can use it to find a way to control
me
?

***

By the following day, I still haven’t heard from my grandfather, and I’m getting worried. After seeing Emily I can’t help fearing that he is in danger. If that’s not bad enough, Rakwena is avoiding me, and I know it’s because of his father. He never wanted me to know about Senzo in the first place. Now that the skeletons are out of the closet, I think Rakwena’s having a tough time dealing with it. He hates the thought of being seen as weak or unable to control his emotions, even with me.

On the plus side, Lebz has chosen to overlook my supposed egomania and has resumed her place on our bench. Despite her aversion to “my drama”, she has plenty to say when I fill her and Wiki in on the latest developments.

“But your grandfather is so smart,” she keeps saying, as though that makes him immune to attack.

“The Puppetmaster is smarter,” I point out.

Wiki has been quiet. He sits still on the bench, staring into space.

“What are you thinking?” I ask.

“It’s too messy,” he replies cryptically.

“Huh?” Lebz looks up from adjusting her school shirt.

Wiki sits up straight. “The Puppetmaster has an ordered mind. Everything he’s done so far proves that. He doesn’t just make random decisions at the drop of a hat. He plots and plans, and then puts his plans in motion. Stealing trinkets from you and your grandfather is beneath him. Why would he bother? And how do we know Emily was stealing from your grandfather, anyway? How do we know she wasn’t planting something?”

“Oh,” me and Lebz gasp in unison. “I didn’t think of that,” I admit.

“We know the Puppetmaster is involved,” says Wiki. “We know he’s up to something and doesn’t want you interfering. Which means you’re in a position to interfere, which means whatever he’s planning is going to happen right here. Which means…”

“He’s back in town,” I whisper.

“Or coming back,” says Wiki, “and paving the way for his arrival.”

“And the arrival of his army,” adds Lebz with a shudder.

The army I saw in that premonition, all those months ago. I swallow. Rows and rows of soldiers. I thought five kids was a lot to handle, but droves of bewitched adults is another story.

I close my eyes and rub my temples. This is too much. What with the drifters, Rakwena’s dad and Ntatemogolo’s behaviour, I can’t possibly deal with the Puppetmaster again. My gift is stronger now, but not that strong.

Lebz squeezes my shoulder. “It’s going to be OK. Just focus on one thing at a time.”

I open my eyes and nod. One thing at a time. I’ll start with the drifters.

***

When I arrive at the drifters’ house I’m expecting to find only Temper and Mandla, but everyone’s home.

“Don’t you people go out anymore?” I ask, dragging a chair from the dining table into the living room.

“It’s safer not to,” Temper tells me. He’s sitting on the sofa with Mandla again, while the twins sit across the room and Spencer and Duma take the remaining armchairs.

“It’s getting more difficult for us to be around people,” Mandla explains. “Especially Spencer. He hasn’t conquered in a week.”

My eyes roll in Spencer’s direction. He looks OK, though slightly subdued. “Why don’t you go hit a club or something? Even if something goes wrong, everyone will be too drunk to notice.”

“That’s what I said,” says Elias, glancing at Temper.

“I’d rather wait to hear what Rakwena has to say.” Temper looks at me, expectant.

I sigh. “I haven’t spoken to him yet. I was going to, but something happened.”

Stony silence. The six of them exchange glances.

“I told you,” Spencer mutters. “As long as his father’s here, we can forget about seeing him.”

I turn to him in surprise. “How did you know about his father?”

Nobody answers me, but I didn’t really expect them to. Of course they know about his father – they make it their business to know everything about people who concern them.

“It’s not the end of the world,” I tell them. “I’ll talk to Rakwena when things calm down a bit. The situation with his father is complicated.”

They’re not taking my news well at all. Their frustration is palpable.

“Well, there’s nothing we can do about that,” says Temper finally.

“It’s for the best,” says Reetsang. He actually seems relieved, and I remember that he was against the idea of sending me as an emissary from the start. He said it wasn’t the way things were supposed to be done. I haven’t yet figured out what he meant by that.

Elias glares at him, but no one responds. Temper rubs his forehead, and I feel a stab of pity. It can’t be easy being in charge, especially with the “challenges” they’re facing. Duma gets up to leave the room and returns shortly with a bottle of Coke and glasses for everyone.

I clear my throat, hoping I can distract them with a little prying. “I’ve been wondering… You move around so much – how do you even build a cell?”

Temper takes a deep breath. I can tell he’s still disappointed, but making a valiant effort not to show it. “As we mature, we start to bond with other kids in the clan, and that’s how the cell is formed. We never know who our cell brothers will be until we feel the bond.”

“How big is your clan?”

“There are twelve cells in our clan so far; six male, six female.”

I raise an eyebrow. “What’s with the gender prejudice?”

Temper shrugs. “That’s just how it works.”

Hmm. That seems to be the explanation for everything in their world. “And who’s in charge of the clan?”

“Each clan is headed by a matriarch. There’s also a council, made up of the leaders of all the cells in the clan. The council has clout, but the matriarch has the final word.”

These people are very well organised for a race that only sprouted up a century or so ago. “What about conquering?” I venture. “How exactly does it work?”

“We have a four-week cycle,” Temper explains. He seems glad of the distraction now, and speaks with the practised eloquence of a born leader. “Our powers decline fast – four weeks without a conquest will deplete our reserves completely.”

“And if that happens?”

“We die.”

I balk at this. “You
die
?”

Temper nods. “A drifter can live without food for a long time, but without our powers, we’re finished.”

I let out a low whistle. “Hectic. What if you can’t find a conquest?”

“There’s always someone,” says Mandla. “We can get by on a moderate conquest every three weeks, or one or two light conquests a week.”

“And moderate means…?” In spite of myself, my gaze slides in Spencer’s direction. I’m sure what he and Kelly were doing was anything but moderate.

“Physical contact in any situation where the heart is pumping and there’s a rush of adrenalin or dopamine,” Temper replies. “A kiss, a punch, a firm grip.”

“Elias likes to give chicks rides on Temper’s motorbike,” Reetsang chimes in, and Elias throws a half-hearted punch at him. “A fifteen-minute ride can last a whole cycle.”

I lean forward in my chair, fascinated. I feel like a fearless anthropologist, learning the secrets of a long-lost tribe.

“But it’s safer to take small, frequent conquests so your powers are always high,” adds Mandla. “It’s also easier – bumping into people, shaking hands. Holding a girl’s hand is one of the best ways to power up.”

“Of course,” I remark dryly. “What a great excuse to flirt.”

“Ah, flirting is useless unless there’s physical contact,” says Spencer, surprising me. “You can’t conquer without actually touching someone.”

I smile, pleased that my distraction has paid off. The mood in the room has definitely lifted. “Does it work through clothing?” I direct the question at Temper, but Spencer answers. Temper doesn’t appear to mind.

Spencer shakes his head. “Not unless there’s serious tension. If someone’s pissed off I can get a boost from pushing him, but I’ll get more if I punch him.”

“We try to limit the violence,” Temper cuts in, eyeing Spencer with disapproval. “Grabbing someone’s arm is a good boost, and it makes them feel weaker so the fight is less likely to escalate.”

I frown a little. “It can’t be easy coming up with situations where you can touch people without drawing attention to yourself.”

“You’d be surprised,” says Reetsang with a grin. “We do lots of contact sports –boxing, martial arts. And we take dance classes.”

I laugh. “Dance classes?”

“Sure. Any place where you get to hold onto someone for an hour is good.”

“OK – no need to make us sound like perverts,” grumbles Temper.

The others chuckle.

“Speaking of perverts…” I clear my throat. “What are the rules regarding sex with regular people? I mean, if you can conquer just by shaking someone’s hand, what happens if you sleep with them?”

“Nothing good,” grumbles Spencer, and I experience a pang of pity.

“Sex is extremely dangerous for everyone concerned,” says Temper gravely. “The girl could die, and the drifter could lose control of his powers and self-destruct. That’s why dating is discouraged. Older drifters have a lot more control, but even for them, long-term sexual relationships are discouraged. In the rare cases where they happen, the drifters usually leave a few months between each conquest.” He smiles at my dubious expression. “Long-distance relationships, obviously – otherwise there’s too much explaining to do.”