Unravelled (22 page)

“Hold on.” I frown thoughtfully. “If the cells are gender-based, what happens when you fall for another drifter?”

There’s an awkward pause. “We don’t build relationships outside the cell,” says Temper.

I blink at him, baffled. “But how do you make baby drifters? Magic?”

There are a few chuckles. Temper turns to Mandla with his eyebrows raised, and Mandla shrugs and rolls his eyes. I guess he must be the resident birds and bees expert.

“Every season – a season is seven years – the matriarch selects donors and surrogates,” Mandla explains. “So we’re all related to the kids in our cell – but we’re also related to the other kids born in our season.”

There is no appropriate response to this revelation, so I just listen, amazed and a little disturbed.

“After the babies are born, they’re assigned to a specially selected couple. When they turn nine, their powers mature,” Mandla continues. “That’s when they feel the bond and a new cell is formed. When the cell leader – the firstborn – turns twenty-one, we leave our parents and live with our cell.”

“No matter how old you are?” I ask incredulously.

“Yes.” It’s Temper who answers this time. “But the age difference is never more than seven years.”

I feel like I’ve just walked into a sci-fi movie. “I still don’t understand why you don’t do it the normal way. It’s not like you’re robots.”

“It’s impossible,” says Mandla softly. “We don’t operate that way.”

Oh, that’s a good one. I start to laugh, then stop when I notice their uncomfortable expressions. Apparently Mandla isn’t joking. He looks to the others for assistance, but they’re all preoccupied with studying the furniture.

He sighs. “There’s no attraction between drifters. We can’t conquer each other. Desire uses up a lot of power, so our bodies won’t waste it on someone that can’t replenish our energy. We only get attracted to non-drifters.”

That’s the strangest thing I’ve ever heard, but it makes a twisted kind of sense. I wonder how the donors manage to perform the terrible task of procreating… Actually, I’d rather not know.

“I suppose it must sound rather clinical to you,” Temper muses. “In the past drifters often mated with regular people, but it never ended well.”

I nod slowly, thinking of Kelly again. I’d rather not go there. I’m just glad the drifters learned from their ancestors’ mistakes. I look at Temper. “All drifters are gifted, right? That’s what you mean when you talk about your powers – your gifts.”

Temper nods. “We have different abilities, like other gifted people.”

That’s what I was hoping to hear. A smile spreads over my face. “Show me.”

Temper gives me a stern glance. “We’re not players in a freak show.”

“Oh, come on – it’ll be fun! I’m the only non-drifter you know who will be impressed instead of terrified.” I wriggle my eyebrows, and something resembling a smile makes a fleeting appearance on his face. “Besides, don’t you want me to know what you can do to me if I blow your cover?”

“A brief demonstration,” he concedes. “Who wants to go first?”

They all start pointing at each other. I’m about to suggest that Temper start things off when there’s a faint popping sound in my ears, and the world falls into silence. I can see them talking but can’t hear their voices. Another pop, and my hearing returns.

I grin around the room. “Who did it?”

Temper returns my grin, looking a little embarrassed.

“He can also hear the sound of an engine starting four streets away,” says Elias, with a proud glance at his leader.

“Wow.” I regard Temper with renewed respect, then turn to Mandla.

Mandla stares at me, unblinking, and my body tenses as I wait for the effects of his gift to hit me. Is my body going to start moving involuntarily? Am I going to levitate? But it’s not my body he’s targeting – it’s my mind. My first instinct is to block him, but I lower my guard and let him in, curious to see what he’s going to do. Slowly I feel my control slipping as he takes over. He moves in with such skill that I barely sense his presence in my head. I don’t even realise what he’s done until the haze is complete, wrapping me in a dense, dreamy mist, so pleasant that I almost don’t want to wake up.

His exit is just as unobtrusive, and when I return to the present and focus on his face, I feel a little light-headed. Oh, he’s good. Elegant and patient, not like my battering-ram technique.

“You have to give me lessons,” I gasp, and everyone laughs. “What was that? Some kind of trance?”

Mandla nods. “A distraction for when people ask questions I don’t want to answer.”

“Nice.” I shake my head, still feeling a little woozy. “Spencer?”

Spencer sits up with a cocky grin, and before I have a chance to prepare myself the ground trembles beneath my feet. It begins as a slight tremor, then increases until my chair starts to buck like a horse trying to throw its rider.

“OK, I get the point!” I cry out, clutching the armrests of my chair. “You can make the earth move. I’m sure the girls love that.”

Spencer chuckles. “It’s a hallucination. It has its limits, though. I can only work with what’s in front of me.”

“I think that’s good enough,” I reply, still shaken by my imaginary near-death experience. “What about the twins…” My gaze strays to the empty seats at the other end of the room. “Where did they go?”

“Here,” someone whispers in my ear, making me jump.

Elias is right beside me with a smug expression on his face. I smile.

“I knew it,” I tell him. “But where’s the other one?”

Reetsang appears in front of me all of a sudden, wearing a different shirt. He’s obviously been to his room to change.

I laugh, delighted. “You’re faster than a speeding bullet!”

“Not quite,” remarks Mandla wryly.

“Hey, close enough,” protests Reetsang, adjusting his shirt. “Cool,
né
?”

“Super-cool,” I assure him. It’s cute how excited they are. After all these years of hiding their powers, it must be nice to show off for a change. I turn to Duma. “Your turn.”

He gives me a rueful grin. “Sorry, Connie, but I can’t demonstrate my gift. Not here, anyway.”

“Should we go outside?”

The others snicker.

“It’s not like that.” Duma scratches his ear. He reminds me so much of a puppy that I have to refrain from petting him on the head. “My gift helped me find you.”

“Oh! You
are
a super-tracker!”

He smiles. “Sort of. I can sense gifts.”

I frown. “What do you mean? Do you get weird vibes, like me?”

He shakes his head and his features settle into a thoughtful frown. “It’s hard to explain. I can see a map in my head leading to the gifted. Different gifts are different colours. So maybe I’ll see a red line and know that there’s a telepath nearby. With you, it was more like two lines intertwined, because you’re a telepath and a medium.”

I stare at him in awe. “Can you sense all kinds of gifts, or just the ones you’re familiar with?”

“All kinds. Any gift. Even if I don’t know what it is I’ll see it, and I’ll be able to find the person who has it.”

“Like Cerebro,” I tell him with a smile.

His face lights up, but the baffled expressions on the faces of his cell brothers tell me they’re not familiar with the Marvel universe.

“The machine in X-Men,” I explain. “The one that hooks up to Professor X’s brain and locates all the mutants in the world. You know, the – ”

“We get it,” Spencer interrupts impatiently.

Do I detect a note of jealousy there? I’m quick to stroke his ego; I don’t want to create any inter-cell rivalry. “But your hallucinations are just like, uh…” I rack my brain for another comic book reference. “The Scarecrow in Batman.”

Spencer looks confused, but appeased. I’ll bet he has no idea who the Scarecrow is. Just as well, because I’m not entirely sure I haven’t got my superhero wires crossed.

“OK, one last demonstration,” I announce, holding out my hand. “Who wants to conquer me?”

Their reaction isn’t quite what I expected. Every single of one of them recoils in horror as if I’ve asked them to perform a colonoscopy on me. I stare at their wide eyes and snarling lips, and realise I’ve committed yet another faux pas.

I drop my hand into my lap. “What did I do this time?”

“Connie, we wouldn’t conquer you even if we could,” says Temper softly.

“Not even if you were on the brink of death?”

He and Mandla exchange glances.

“Ha!” I give him a smug smile. “I knew it. If you were dying, you’d be happy to get a boost from me. Besides, I’m gifted. My energy must be first-class, right?”

“It makes no difference,” Temper sighs. “We can’t conquer the gifted.”

Now that’s an unexpected twist. “Why not?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. It just doesn’t work.”

“I don’t believe it.” My gaze travels around the room. “That makes no sense! All your gifts work on me; why shouldn’t you be able to conquer me? Here, try.” I hold out my hand again, but no one wants to touch it.

“There’s no point,” says Duma. There’s a nervous edge to his voice now.

“So you say, but I want proof. Touch my hand.”

He shakes his head, and I know he’s hiding something. Why won’t he just prove his point? Instead he’s looking at my hand as if it might bite him. They all are. I can’t believe it! They’re scared to touch me, and it’s not because I might donate a little psychic energy to the drifter cause. They’re scared something
else
will happen.

They’re not going to co-operate, that much is clear, but I’m tired of being the outsider. I want to know what they’re hiding, and there’s only one way to find out. I reach out and grab Duma’s hand.

His eyes widen in horror. The others inch forward, poised to…do what, exactly? It’s too late to stop me. Just before Duma yanks his hand free I catch a glimpse of it, feel it. Electric. Unmistakable. No…it can’t be…but a moment later Spencer provides verification. Anxiety has made him tense up and ball his hands into fists, and I can see it forming on his knuckles.

A blue spark. Bright and blinding, simmering on his skin. The same blue spark that jumped off Duma’s hand and sent a painful jolt through me. Exactly like Senzo’s. Almost like Rakwena’s.

The truth hits me so hard I gasp, staring at the six faces in front of me. All the little clues I closed my eyes to rush at me at once, slamming into my head. And in that moment I realise that deep down, in that quiet, dark place where the seed was growing, I must have known all along.

Rakwena is one of them.

Chapter Ten

All six of the drifters are frozen in place, staring at me in dismay. Now I understand why they didn’t want to touch me – they didn’t want to give away their brother’s secret. Because that’s what Rakwena is – their brother. The missing member of their cell. And that’s why they’re weak, why they came here to find him. They need him to make their cell complete.

I get slowly to my feet and hoist my schoolbag onto my shoulders.

“Connie, wait.” Duma’s voice is plaintive. “It’s not what you think.”

“Don’t bother,” says Spencer dully. “It’s too late now; she knows.”

Yes, I know. The deep, dark secret that was so terrible that no one could tell me, the secret that should never have been a secret. I don’t understand how Rakwena could keep this from me. I bury my head in my hands, feeling like a complete fool. His father! A drifter right under my nose, and I was too blind to notice the signs. Rakwena is part drifter.
My
Rakwena. How did I miss it? With all my super-senses, how did I not know?

I back away towards the door. No one tries to stop me this time. I hurry out of the house, my head spinning. I head back to the Main Mall in a daze. Rakwena couldn’t trust me enough to tell me who he really is. What does that say about him? Will there always be another secret lurking in the dark, waiting for me to stumble upon it?

I don’t even know how I make it home, but I find myself walking up the driveway just as Auntie Lydia is leaving.

“Are you OK, dear?” she asks, peering at me.

“I had a long day.” I put on a weak smile that seems to convince her.

“Get some rest,” she suggests. “There’s food on the counter.”

I close the door after her and lean against it. OK, Connie. What now? I take my bag to my room and return to the kitchen to have some food, but even though Auntie Lydia’s rice and chicken looks and smells divine, I can’t bring myself to eat it. My stomach is heaving. I put the food in the fridge for tomorrow.

I have to talk to him. I sit down at the dining table and pull my phone out of my pocket, but before I can type out a message I hear a car pull up outside. My heart lurches. I know it’s him even before I get up to look out through the window.

He comes up the driveway and knocks on the door. I know why he’s here. He feels guilty for brushing me off all week and wants to make up for it. It’s Friday evening – he might suggest we go out. He’s not going to tell me how he’s really feeling about his father’s presence in Gaborone, or even consider telling me the truth about his heritage. He’s going to be sweet and attentive – and dishonest. As usual.

Now I’m angry. Hurt and confused and still in shock, but more angry than anything else. Did he really think I’d never figure it out?

He knocks again, and I get up to open the door.

“Hey.” He beams, genuinely glad to see me. He pulls me into his arms and holds me close, and I try very hard not to pull away. “I’m glad I caught you. I’ve missed you.”

“Could have fooled me,” I reply, in a voice like acid. I close the door and walk slowly to the kitchen, then change my mind and walk back to the living room. Best to stay away from sharp utensils in my current frame of mind.

He follows me. “I know I’ve been kind of moody this week. Forgive me?”

Forgive? Fat chance. I have a strategy. I’m going to play it cool and get him to confess. It’s very clever, but I never get the chance to try it out. I take one look at him and the words come tumbling out. “I know your secret.”

“Didn’t know I had a secret,” he chuckles. Almost completely carefree, if I discount that little sliver of nerves that mars his laughter. He’s nervous because he thinks I’m still annoyed with him. It hasn’t even occurred to him that I might know the truth.