Unravelled (34 page)

I dash to the phone and dial Lebz’s home number, clutching the paper under one arm. Rita picks up, and it’s another agonising few minutes before I hear Lebz’s voice.

“Hey, Connie.”

“I thought you always bought the
GC Chronicle
!” I blurt out, still staring at Emily’s innocent face.

“I haven’t bought it for a few weeks – I’ve been too busy with school. Why? Something interesting in it?”

“Emily. She’s officially missing!”

Lebz gasps.

“Just listen – this is what the story says.” I skim through the article, picking out the important details. “She’s been living with her family in Francistown. She was last seen five days ago, when her mother dropped her off at school. When she went to fetch her, Emily was gone, and no one’s seen her since. Her cell phone is off, and she hasn’t called or communicated in any way. At first they suspected she had been kidnapped for ransom, but there’s been no call, no note – nothing. The police fear the worst.”

Lebz is silent on the other end as we both digest the information. The police might think she’s dead, but I don’t. I can sense the direction Lebz’s mind is taking long before she utters the name that’s hanging in the air between us.

“The Puppetmaster took her.” Her voice is a fearful whisper. “Oh, God, she’s probably
living
with him now!”

An involuntary shudder runs through me, but I try to keep my tone calm and reasonable. “Not necessarily. We know he’s still using her, but why would he take her away from her life completely and arouse suspicion? Maybe she
was
kidnapped. Her dad’s a lawyer – I’m sure he has enemies.”

“But it makes sense,” she says. “You saw her just a few months ago! We know she’s the Puppetmaster’s protégée. Maybe she finished her magic soldier training and decided to stop pretending to be a normal girl.”

I swallow. I don’t want this to be what we think it is. As horrible as it sounds, I’d rather Emily was kidnapped by a regular criminal, the kind of criminal you can predict. The kind without the ability to control her thoughts and actions.

“Maybe he took her away so he can have her all to himself,” Lebz continues. “Maybe her family was getting suspicious and Emily decided to leave before they found out what she was up to.”

“Or she could have run away,” I suggest hopefully. “Kids run away all the time. She’s probably hiding somewhere with a friend, or maybe a boyfriend. Right?”

“I don’t think she ran away, Connie.”

I sigh, the glimmer of hope fading. I have to face facts. Everything I know about this girl tells me she’s with the Puppetmaster right now. Working for him is one thing. All the girls in Emily’s former clique worked for him before, but afterwards, when he released control, they went to their own homes and led normal lives. If Emily is living with the Puppetmaster…the thought makes my stomach turn. What would that entail? Does he treat her like a daughter, or like a servant? Or like…I don’t even want to think of the other possibilities. She’s just a kid!

“What are we going to do?” I groan helplessly.

“What
can
we do? We don’t even know where the Puppetmaster is! It’s been a while since you saw her. They could be on the other side of the world already. We’re going to have to leave this one to the cops.”

I know she’s right. I also know that the cops will never find her. Her family might never see her again – and if they do, she won’t be the daughter they know. The Puppetmaster wants his number one soldier at his side for whatever he’s planning. I just wish I knew where he was!

“Call your grandfather,” Lebz suggests.

I sigh. “I’ve been trying. He’s still out of town.”

“He’s always out of town,” she mutters.

We lapse into silence, the reality of the situation settling on our shoulders.

“Connie… I don’t think there’s any way to save Emily this time.”

I bite my lip and try not to imagine the worst, but it’s difficult. And even though I know it’s illogical and somewhat narcissistic, I can’t help feeling that this is my fault. I should have seen the signs earlier. I should have realised that Emily was the Puppetmaster’s favourite among the girls, and not Amantle. If I can’t protect people, what’s the point of being gifted?

***

“
Ke
Lerumo. If it’s urgent – ”

I hang up and toss the phone across my bed in frustration. Ntatemogolo has been known to fall completely off the radar when he’s wrapped up in a supernatural assignment, but this is different.

There’s also Emily’s disappearance to contend with. I’ve been following the story, hoping for a breakthrough, but nothing new has surfaced. She’s still missing, and the police are no closer to finding her.

I lie back against my pillow. I should be excited; in a few days I’ll be turning eighteen. Eighteen is the Holy Grail of youth. I lift my left leg and pull up my tracksuit pants so I can admire the anklet in the dim light of dusk. When Ntatemogolo gave it to me, along with the wooden chest and the objects in it, he said it would protect me from “those who have no scruples”. I hope it’s true.

The last of the daylight is fading. I lower my leg and contemplate taking a nap, then decide I’m not that tired. I lie still, letting my gift swirl around the room, then close my eyes and let the power move further out. I hear voices from the street, and I direct my gift at the speakers. I pick up on their emotions, then drag my consciousness away and move further still.

What am I looking for? Emily? I couldn’t find her if I tried, not while she’s in the Puppetmaster’s camp. I can’t cast my gift too far. She’d have to be nearby for me to sense her; even then she might block me. I have no psychic connection to her, no trail I could follow.

I open my eyes. Wait a minute. I have no connection to Emily, but I have one to her master. We’re both telepaths, both capable of controlling the minds of others. If I send a message to him on the ether, he might be able to pick it up. I close my eyes again and try.

Puppetmaster? Are you there? Or maybe I should call you John? Mr Kubega? Listen to me. This is Connie Bennett. I know you have Emily. I want you to let her go. If you make contact, maybe we can work out some kind of arrangement. She’s an innocent girl. You told me you had no use for the girls, remember? When Rakwena and I set them free from your spell, you said we could take them. And now you’ve taken Emily back, and you had no right. Release her. Or else.

It seems a silly message, but I don’t know what else to say. I open my eyes and wonder whether it will reach him, and whether he’ll respond.

***

He doesn’t. I’m not suprised. When has the Puppetmaster ever done what I wanted? My birthday comes, a sunny day that feels like any other. Dad buys me a novel, Auntie Lydia stops by to drop off a pretty red skirt; apparently eighteen is a good year to start dressing like a girl. She’s still on maternity leave, and I’ve missed her. Even though I haven’t worn a skirt since I was about six, I’ll treasure her gift anyway.

In the late afternoon Lebz and Wiki come over to take me out for dinner, but I’m struggling to get into the birthday spirit. I leave them in the living room and head back to my room to pick up my handbag.

I see the blue glow of the crystal as soon as I step into the doorway. It’s shining in the fading light of the room. It’s been glowing on and off all day, a reminder that Rakwena is thinking of me.

Exactly a year ago, to the hour, I was with Rakwena in this house, admiring the crystal for the first time. True to the terms of his agreement with the cell he hasn’t made contact. Keeping the crystal is cheating, because it’s the purest form of communication we have. I don’t care, though. I like knowing that he thinks about me. I pick up my handbag and leave the room, closing the door behind me.

Later that night, when I’m lying in bed, my thoughts turn to the contents of the magic box. Bits of jewellery, a vial of liquid, a feather…and my tooth. What does it mean? My thoughts swirl around in circles, leading me nowhere.

I get out of bed and go to sit at my desk. I open the box and stare inside for a while, then reach for the wooden chest my grandfather gave me. Two boxes of magical objects, one for good, one for evil. If only there was something in the chest that could help me figure out where my grandfather is!

I open the chest and run my hands over the contents – Ntatemogolo’s note, the jar, the bronze bell. The bell is the only object in here that has no supernatural significance. The jar purges my mind of negative energy, the anklet protects me, but all the bell does is produce a soothing sound.

Oh.
Oh
. The truth dawns on me, and I immediately feel like the biggest idiot on the planet. Stupid, stupid Connie! Of course the bell has a supernatural significance, otherwise it wouldn’t be here! When has Ntatemogolo ever given me a normal gift? I fumble for the note, unfold the paper and read the words again.

The bell, according to the note, is to be used to clear my mind. I assumed Ntatemogolo meant that figuratively. It never occurred to me, through all the drama and chaos and confusion of the last few months, that my mind needed literal clearing, the way a cluttered room needs cleaning.

I carefully lift out the bell, place it on the desk and pick up the slim gong inside it. Softly, so as not to wake Dad, I tap the gong against the side of the bowl. It sends out a clear, pure sound that goes right into the depths of my consciousness. A soothing sound, when I’m not paying attention, but now that I’m using it with clear intent, I sense the difference. I feel it working, like a fan blowing the dust away.

I ring it again, and once more. Cobwebs tear away from corners, clouds lift and for the first time in ages I can see clearly. Pieces fall into place. I remember the way Ntatemogolo reacted when he saw me holding the box. He wasn’t surprised to see it. He seemed to know exactly what it was. He was far more worried about me taking it away. Not at all the behaviour of a victim. No, it was far more like the behaviour of the person pulling the strings.

I ring the bell again and the sound clears another path through the rubble in my head. My thoughts have been muddled by recent events, but they had help. Someone was stirring the pot, whipping up a murky brew that kept me from accessing my gift as readily as I should have. The Puppetmaster. It always comes back to him! He didn’t want me figuring things out, so he clouded my thoughts. And because I was looking in all the wrong places, I didn’t realise that the power was in my hands all along. But how did he do it?

I ring the bell again, and the answer comes to me. The copper ring. That strange feeling that came over me, as though the ring had climbed into my head and touched my brain – that was the Puppetmaster tampering with my thoughts, clouding my judgement. No wonder it took me so long to figure out Rakwena’s secret. Everything has taken longer, because the truth had to fight its way out of the mist.

I ring the bell one last time. Clarity, complete and blinding, descends on me. Now I realise what I’ve been missing. The piece of the puzzle that eluded me, that turned everything upside down and made the mystery impossible to solve.

I had it all wrong. Ntatemogolo didn’t come home from his trip brainwashed, bewitched or otherwise altered. Ntatemogolo didn’t come home from his trip at all. But someone else did. A shapeshifter. A telepath. A Puppetmaster.

Chapter Seventeen

My mind is so clear in the following days it’s beginning to unnerve me. I feel as though I’ve stepped behind a curtain into a world that looks and sounds like the world I know, only everything is in sharper focus.

I’m lying on my back on my bed, gazing at the ceiling and noting each tiny crack in the paint. Funny how I never saw those before. The different elements of the Puppetmaster’s plan have been categorised and filed so that I can see the bigger picture. It was a simple plan, one I would have spotted if I hadn’t let him fill my head with fog. He was waiting for an opportunity to get closer to me. He could have engineered one, but it seemed wiser to let fate take its course. After all, he knew that Ntatemogolo was chasing a lead, waiting for important information to come to light.

As soon as the news he was hoping for came, Ntatemogolo left to pursue the lead and the way lay open. Somehow Ntatemogolo was delayed and couldn’t return home. The Puppetmaster had his chance, and he took it. It was easy for him to play my grandfather – if my suspicions are correct and he has been monitoring us for some time, he would have some idea of our habits and the nature of our relationship. Of course, there would be things he wouldn’t get right. Like smoking.

Ntatemogolo has smoked for years; it’s like a reflex action for him, whereas the Puppetmaster had to make a conscious effort to remember to do it. Another idiosyncrasy he struggled with at first was the way Ntatemogolo speaks to me. Immediately after his return, the Puppetmaster kept calling me “my dear”, and using my full name. Ntatemogolo calls me “my girl” and hardly uses my full name unless he’s angry.

The Puppetmaster couldn’t go to Serowe because while he may know plenty about the dynamics of Ntatemogolo’s relationship with me, it’s unlikely he knows anything about Ntatemogolo’s relationship with his other relatives. So he stayed away, playing it safe.

He needed Emily to run errands for him, but it couldn’t have been easy finding ways to bring her into Gaborone from Francistown without arousing the suspicion of her parents. Finally he decided to “kidnap” her. This raised a host of other problems, however – people might spot her in Gaborone, the police would be on the lookout and her family would do all they could to find her. He hasn’t resolved that one yet, but he has a plan. I wouldn’t be surprised if a “body” is discovered soon.

Once the Puppetmaster had me convinced that he was my grandfather, he moved on to the second phase of his plan – convincing Rakwena to overdose on the serum. If he wanted Rakwena dead, I have no doubt that he could have come up with far more effective means, and he wouldn’t have come to fetch me to help save him. No, his aim wasn’t to kill Rakwena, but to observe what would happen, to see how far he could push before Rakwena started to break.