Unravelled (23 page)

“Stop it!” I shout, fed up with his games. “Stop lying to me. You’re a drifter, you’re part of Temper’s cell! I
know
!”

Rakwena’s smile slowly fades, as if he’s been injected with something and he can feel it taking effect. He seems to shrink before my eyes, closing in on himself, shoulders hunching forward, head drooping. For a moment I want to slap him for daring to act injured, but when he raises his head his eyes are burning with anger.

“They’re lying.”

I don’t know what I expected to hear, but definitely not that.

“They’re lying! They’re just trying to punish me for not helping them, don’t you see?” His eyes are wild now, desperate. He takes a step towards me. “Whatever they told you is a lie. I
told
you not to trust them!”

I back away, staring at him in horror. Really?
Really?
Even now he can’t bring himself to tell me the truth. I don’t even recognise the boy standing in front of me. Fury fills my chest, burning a path up my throat. I fight it down, but suppressing it only makes it hurt more. “You really think I’m stupid, don’t you?”

He’s breathing hard, sparks bouncing off his fists, and I’m not even sure he heard me. “They had no right. They can’t do that, they can’t break the code. I’ll report them. They had no right!”

“They didn’t tell me!” I yell, infuriated by his reaction. Where’s the contrition? “They protected you, even though you don’t deserve it. I figured it out for myself – I’m not as brainless as I look!”

His eyes widen. Ah, there’s the contrition. It’s late to the party, but I guess I should be grateful it turned up at all.

“Connie…” He holds out his hand and I snatch mine away.

“Don’t touch me.”

Everything makes sense now. It’s so clear that I don’t understand how I missed it all this time. I made fun of him for cutting his hair so regularly, thinking it was just part of his obsession with hygiene, but really it was his way of disguising how quickly his hair grows. He fits the description perfectly – tall and handsome, except for the scar. From the first time he spoke to me I felt drawn to him. That must have been the irresistible part at work. There was his father, the handsome psycho. There was the way he kept losing it whenever I brought up the Cresta Crew. And last but not least, there was that episode in the Puppetmaster’s house last year, when Rakwena kissed me and wouldn’t stop. He had missed a few doses of his medicine, and his natural instincts kicked in.

Oh… The medicine. The one he told me he’s taking to “correct a chemical imbalance”. And I bought it, fool that I am. It must be some kind of antidote, something that suppresses his drifter urges. He has a whole case full of it and injects it into himself twice a day so he doesn’t turn into a werewolf at the sight of the full moon – so to speak. Now I finally understand why he kissed me like that, and why he was so torn up afterwards. Stupid Connie – I thought he felt bad for not being a perfect gentleman, but he was afraid he was regressing, turning back into a drifter.

“Connie, please listen to me.” Rakwena’s desperate voice seems to be coming from somewhere far away. Europe, maybe, where his ancestors were born – or not, depending on which theory turns out to be correct.

I’m in no mood to listen. It feels as if all the blood in my body is rushing up to my ears. I stand still, trying to gather my thoughts, trying to stop the world that has gone spinning off course.

“It’s almost gone. The serum is working – it’s only a matter of time before I’m completely normal. Connie?”

Ah. Not medicine – serum. It’s not the sort of thing you can pick up in a pharmacy. He must have a regular supplier. Another piece of the puzzle falls into place, and my heart sinks. There’s only one person I know who is smart enough to cook up an anti-drifter potion, and right now I really wish he wasn’t my blood.

That’s
how Ntatemogolo met Rakwena. Rakwena needed someone to help him fight his nature, so he hunted down the wisest man around. My grandfather, who tried to convince me to stay away from Rakwena, dying to tell me the truth but bound by his professional ethics. How did this messy soap opera become my life?

“Connie?”

I look at Rakwena, then wish I hadn’t. His eyes are full of doubt and despair. In a soap opera this would be the part where I rant and rave about his betrayal. Tears would streak down my carefully made-up face and my eyes would be wide with turmoil. And he would start bawling too, begging me to forgive him, claiming he could never live without me. Despite his heartfelt plea, I would shake my head sadly and walk away, and the credits would roll, until tomorrow.

But this is not a soap opera. There is no script. There is no director to tell me how to feel or act, how to deal with the chaos in my head and heart. I know only two things right now. One – Rakwena is under my skin. Two – he lied to me. If he was anything like his father he would have used the truth to his advantage, but he’s more like his mother, the human who went crazy when the magic got too magical. Except he’s not human. Part of him is something else, and I don’t know if I can handle that.

I take a long, deep breath. “How could you keep this from me?” My voice is dangerously low. “Don’t,” I warn him as he opens his mouth. “Let me finish. You should have told me.” I take another deep breath, fighting tears. My chest feels tight. My hands are shaking. “After everything we’ve been through, I thought we trusted each other!”

“We do,” he cuts in, despite my warning. “I know you might think that you can’t trust me anymore after this, but you can, I swear!”

“I’ve
always
trusted you,” I tell him, my voice rising with anger. “You were the very first person I told about my telepathy! But you obviously don’t trust
me
. It’s just one secret after the other! Don’t you see how hypocritical that is?
You’re
the one always talking about embracing your true self, and
you’re
the one lying about who you are!”

“It’s different, Connie,” he whispers.

“I’m not done!” I snap. “Not only did you lie to me from the start, but you tried to cover it up!”

“Connie, please – ”

“Tell me something.” I look into his eyes as he nods furiously, willing to say anything to win me over. “If your cell had never come here, if I had never figured out the connection, would you have told me you were a drifter?”

He doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t have to. I can see it in his eyes. For the first time I can read him like a bloody poster, and it’s the only answer I need.

“Get out,” I whisper.

His eyes widen in dismay. “Connie…no, please, let me explain. I – ”

“Get
out
!” I turn away from him and clutch the edge of the sofa, afraid my knees are going to buckle. “I’m not doing this now. I can’t. Just go!”

He’s quiet for a long time. Then, after what feels like forever and a couple of hours, he slinks off, closing the door behind him.

I wait until I hear his car pull away before I allow myself to crumple to the floor. My head is throbbing so hard there are spots dancing before my eyes. Deep breaths, Connie. I lean against the back of the sofa, taking in huge gulps of air. Do I want someone who has to take a serum to suppress his nature? Is it really, as he says, turning him into a regular person? Do I
want
him to be a regular person? I don’t know. At this point I’m not sure it matters.

After everything we’ve been through, he couldn’t tell me the most important secret in his life. Knowing that hurts me more than any stupid mistake he could make.

Here come the waterworks, gushing out of my head. Damn it! I scream, but it only makes me cry harder.

“Stop it. Stop it! Stop crying. Pull yourself together. He’s just a boy.”

It takes me a minute to realise that the voice is mine. I scramble to my feet, stagger to the bathroom and strip my clothes off. I need to wash this insanity out of my pores so I can think. I can’t function on this bawling heartbroken princess level – I need to get back to being Connie. Connie doesn’t do heartbroken. Connie’s too smart for that.

It takes a good long while for the tears to stop. After the shower I change into my pyjamas and check my face in the mirror. My eyes are a little red, but nothing too dramatic. I feel better. That is to say, I feel numb, which is better than feeling like I’ve been hit by a tidal wave.

I need to think, but not tonight. Tonight I need Rachel McAdams. I know I’m escaping, but my boyfriend lied to me for a year about being half-mysterious-magical-creature-of-questionable-origin. How am I supposed to digest something like that without a hefty dose of blessed, mind-numbing entertainment?

I’ve just put
State of Play
into the DVD player when I hear Dad’s car pulling up outside. He comes in with a large flat box in his hands. Pizza! Bless you, Dad.

“Hi, love,” he says brightly. “I got us a treat.” He squints at the TV through his glasses. “Did the movie just start? I like this one.”

“I was just about to press play,” I tell him, taking the box. It smells like heaven. “You’re lucky – I almost picked
Mean Girls
.”

He convulses in a melodramatic shudder. “What a close call. Let me get us something to drink and I’ll be right there. I could use a good movie – those third-years gave me hell today.”

I open the pizza box and peer inside. It looks even better than it smells. He reappears with two cans of fruit juice and the two of us settle on the sofa, peaceful and content, for the moment.

My dad can be quite surprising. He has no idea what just happened, and no clue about the crazy life I lead in the world of the supernatural. And yet, despite being a logical scientist without a precognitive bone in his body, when my other world kicks me in the stomach he gives me exactly what I need to make it better. I focus all my attention on the movie, the pizza and Dad’s comforting presence, and push that lying son-of-a-drifter into the farthest reaches of my mind.

***

I’m floating through that moment after waking, sleepy and content, when reality slams into the back of my head like an iron rod and I wonder why I got up at all. Even after I’ve been up for hours the sting remains.

Rakwena. Lies. Half-drifter. Lies. Secrets. Did I mention lies? My head is throbbing with the same thoughts over and over again. He sent me about a million messages. When I fell asleep my crystal was glowing, and when I woke up it was still glowing.

Dad has already left by the time I come into the kitchen for breakfast, which is just as well. I stand in the kitchen, staring at the fridge, then decide I’m not hungry after all. I think about calling Lebz, but I don’t feel like reliving yesterday’s events just yet. There is, however, someone else I must speak to.

I lock up the house and head out. When I arrive at my grandfather’s house, he’s sitting on the doorstep. He’s expecting me, which means Rakwena got to him first.

“Come inside,” Ntatemogolo says softly.

I follow him into the consultation room. I feel as though all the energy has been sucked out of me. I just sit there, silent.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I wanted to tell you.”

I nod. I don’t trust myself to speak. He finishes his cigarette, crushes it on the floor and begins.

“I was in South America when Mmabatho Langa sought me out.” His voice holds a note of admiration. “Rakwena had already passed his ninth birthday – when his powers matured – and she no longer knew how to deal with his mood swings and constant urge to conquer. I knew very little about his kind then. It took me months to develop the serum, and I have been making it for him ever since.”

He falls silent, and the tension becomes too much for me. I clear my throat. “Why didn’t his clan come for him when he was of age?”

He shakes his head. “No one can force him to take his place, and it was taken for granted that the bond would draw him. But the serum weakens the bond. He feels it, but he can resist it. As soon as his cell leader was of age, they decided to come to him.” His voice softens. “An incomplete cell is weak and vulnerable, but one must join willingly. And he wouldn’t go. So they tried to gain access to him through you.” Ntatemogolo looks at me. “Try to understand, my girl. His mother sacrificed everything to give him a normal life. She poured her soul into finding a way to relieve him of the burden of his blood. To return to the cell would be treachery in his eyes. He has to fight it – it is all he knows.”

I swallow, tears pricking at my eyelids. I feel overwhelmed by emotion. I’m sad for Rakwena and his mother, for the drifters, for myself. It all seems like a huge tangled mess that can’t possibly be set right.

“You must forgive him, Conyza.”

I stare at him in amazement. “What?”

“The boy cares for you. Everything he has done is a result of his painful past – not a reflection on your relationship. Forgive him, my dear.” His tone is coaxing now, soft and needling. I don’t think I’ve ever heard my grandfather talk like this before.

I remain silent, uncertain how to respond. Ntatemogolo never approved of our relationship, now suddenly he’s cheering us on? I remember the conversation Rakwena and I had before his father came back, about Ntatemogolo trying to manipulate him. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but there’s something in my grandfather’s manner that makes me think he’s trying to manipulate me, too.

Then I remember Emily. With everything that happened yesterday, she completely slipped my mind.

“Emily was here,” I blurt out.

He looks completely caught off guard. “What?”

“Emily. The Puppetmaster’s soldier. She was inside this house. I came to look for you and I saw her. Somehow she got in and out through a locked door, then jumped the fence.” I study his face. He seems surprised and alarmed, but not angry.

“She didn’t see you.” It’s not a question.

I shake my head. “But if she could get into your house, she could get into mine. She must be the one who stole my anklet.”

He nods slowly, as though the implications are finally starting to sink in. “It is possible. Yes. But let me worry about her. You have enough to deal with.”

“But – ”

“Conyza. I will handle the Puppetmaster’s little soldier. You must take care of Rakwena. Go and see him. Find a way to move past this little obstacle.”