Crowned (7 page)

He chuckles.
I was waiting for that one. I wanted a keepsake, and a lost milk tooth was something you wouldn’t miss.

Ugh. What a creep.
How did you get it? Did you stand around outside my house, looking through the rubbish?

That’s a new question – no more addendums. You might want to use your questions more wisely.

Fine. Number three: what do you know about Henry Marshall’s disappearance?

I know that it happened.

That’s not a proper answer.

I know it happened in the afternoon in a busy shopping area.

Were you involved?

You’re out of questions, my dear. I said three.

That’s not fair! You didn’t tell me everything you know!

You didn’t ask me to tell you
everything
I know. Frame your questions better.

Arrggghh! This man – this monster – is impossible! He tricked me! I don’t even know why I’m surprised – that’s what he does. At least I know now that he has information on the disappearance. He’s probably behind it. I glare at him, willing to him to display some remorse, but he doesn’t. That would be evidence of a conscience.

I clear my throat. “Whatever your plan is, at some point you’ll no longer be here to keep it going.”

His smile is indulgent.
I don’t need to live for ever. I don’t
want
to live for ever.

Even without the anklet I sense the ring of truth in his words. If he doesn’t intend to be around for all eternity, why is he building an army? What does he think he’ll achieve?

Footsteps sound outside the room and a moment later Emily appears in the doorway. She’s taller, and through her black leggings and shirt I see limbs that are long and toned from all that fence-jumping. She still has that pretty face I remember, but there’s a sly, cynical light in her eyes. She senses my probing and her barrier goes up.

“It’s time,” she says.

The Puppetmaster nods. “Show Conyza out and come to the warehouse.” His voice is the same as I remember, soft and a little high-pitched. He turns to me with a smile.
Thank you for coming. I’m sorry to cut this meeting short, but I have pressing matters to deal with. I’ll see you soon.

He disappears before I have a chance to ask any more questions. I turn to Emily. I don’t understand this girl at all. The Puppetmaster befriended her pal Amantle under false pretences and gave her a set of bewitched necklaces that placed her clique, including Emily, under his control. He sent them gallivanting around town, pushing them until their bodies almost broke. It took a lot for me and Rakwena to break the spell, and now Emily is right back in the Puppetmaster’s clutches. Her family thinks she’s dead. There’s a tombstone with her name on it and she’s acting like she doesn’t have a care in the world.

“Stop looking at me like you’re going to cry,” she says wryly. “I chose to come back.”

“Why?” My voice echoes in the empty building.

Emily starts down the corridor and I hurry after her. “Because he’s right.”

“About what?”

“Everything.” She moves quickly, almost running down the stairs. When she reaches the bottom she turns to face me suddenly and I almost walk right into her. She takes a step backwards and grabs my arm to steady me. Her grip is stronger than Rakwena’s. I pull my arm away.

“Emily, the man is a lunatic! He bewitched you and your friends and made you do all his dirty work. You were guinea pigs, a trial run for his zombie army.”

“Zombie army.” She shakes her head, amused. Amused! “John has been around for ages – do you really think he hasn’t tried to build an army before? He wasn’t testing his methods. He was testing
you
.”

“Me?”

She winces. She’s said too much. “Everything he’s doing is for the greater good. You’ll see.” She waves a hand towards the gate.

“I think we need to talk about–”

“Next time,” she interjects, then glances up.

I follow her gaze and suck in my breath. The walls are staring to fade. The illusion is coming apart.

“He doesn’t like to wait.” Emily starts up the stairs again. Where is she going?

“Wait! What about Rakwena?”

She stops. “It took him a while to adjust but he’s fine.” She looks down at me. “Don’t worry. John would never let anything happen to either of you. You’re far too important.”

“Emily–”

She flickers, running up the fading staircase, and then passes out of sight. I hurry through the doorway. When I turn to look over my shoulder, the house is gone. The gate opens just enough for me to squeeze through, then closes behind me. I can feel the Puppetmaster’s energy rise into the air and depart from the premises.

“Well?” asks my grandfather, when I climb into the car. “How was it?”

My head is swirling with jumbled thoughts as I tell him what happened. “What does that mean?” I ask, when I reach the end of my report. “The greater good? How can building an army of unwilling, brainwashed ungifted be for the greater good?”

He shakes his head. “You see what he is doing, don’t you? He is trying to win you over.”

“He’ll never win me over.”

Ntatemogolo starts the car in silence. He doesn’t even nod his agreement.

I glare at him, indignant. “He’ll never win me over!”

He glances at me. “Am I the one you are trying to convince, or yourself?”

I have a retort on the tip of my tongue, but it seems wiser to keep quiet. The meeting threw me off. My enemy thinks he’s my friend. He is cruel and calculating, probably guilty of kidnapping a gifted, and yet one of his victims returned to him of her own free will. He’s done terrible things, but as I stood beside him in that room he was almost a normal person. He was polite, even gentle, and it wasn’t an act. What does that mean?

Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe it was an act and Emily is suffering from a supernatural version of Stockholm syndrome; I’m not sure. I’m not sure of anything any more.

Chapter Three

The University of Botswana, fondly (sometimes disdainfully) referred to as UB, is quiet on Saturday morning. Dad’s office, hidden on the top floor of the Biology building, is cluttered in that way unique to academics. Papers upon papers, stacks of books he hardly uses, and copious handwritten notes that seem obsolete next to his computer.

I hitched a ride to UB with Dad so I could meet my friends at the nearby Riverwalk Mall, and decided to stop at his office to check my email. There’s nothing from Rakwena. It’s only been a few days and I know there’s a good chance he hasn’t checked his mail since he left Botswana. The cell said no outside contact; I’m sure they take that seriously. But he was inducted last month – he’s officially part of the clan now, and there’s no need to keep him cut off from the influence of his telepath girlfriend.

I’m not even sure I’m still his girlfriend. Did we break up? No one said the words “it’s over”, but our actions implied it. Maybe we are over, but that’s no reason not to contact me, if only to make sure I haven’t been hacked to death in my sleep. Doesn’t Rakwena care about me any more? Is he too happy in his new life to ruin it by reaching back into the past, or is something else going on that I don’t know about?

Maybe it’s better he doesn’t contact me. Rakwena’s cell brothers were open about the role flirting with girls plays in topping up their energy levels. What if he’s romancing his way across South Africa, dropping kisses left and right?

“Are you all right, love?”

Dad’s looking at me, an anxious half-smile on his lips. His hair’s been cut and stands up at the front like he’s a member of a pop band. The circles under his eyes have faded, but he hasn’t lost the nervous energy he’s been giving off since he learned the truth.

“I’m fine. Just thinking.” I sign out of my email account.

“No news from across the border?” Sometimes Dad can be surprisingly perceptive.

“Nope. But he’s probably busy.”

“What with assimilating into a community of magical beings and all.”

I smile. “Right.” Dad has left two browser tabs open to international news, and one of them catches my eye. “I thought this cell phone issue was just a local problem.”

“Hmm?” He looks at the screen. “No, it’s happening in a lot of places. Not just phones – internet, electricity, radio. Even the local airport is having trouble with air traffic control.” He walks over to the desk and leans forward. “See? Scientists say–”

“The energy surges are in ten locations around the world, including here.” There it is again, that funny nagging sensation, like knowledge buried deep in my gut trying to find its way out. “What could be causing it?”

“No one knows. Some of my friends think ET’s heading this way and his advanced technology is messing with our archaic systems. Other people think it’s–”

“Terrorists.”

He sighs. “Please stop stealing my words, darling. It’s unnerving.”

My pulse is racing. It’s not ET or terrorists. I don’t know what it is, but I’d bet all the money in the government coffers that this is a problem of the magical kind. I turn away from the computer. “What do
you
think?”

Dad shrugs. “I think it’s some kind of military exercise. Isn’t that usually the case?”

Sure, usually. Energy surges in ten locations around the world, gifts going haywire, gifted CEO missing… Right now I can’t see a pattern, but it can’t be a coincidence. I get to my feet. “I’d better go.”

“You sure you don’t want a ride?” He takes my place at the computer.

“I can walk.”

“You’re meeting Malebogo and Elijah?”

I refrain from rolling my eyes. I don’t know why Dad can’t just call them Lebz and Wiki. “Yep.”

“Anyone else coming?” His expression is a tad too innocent. He’s looking at the computer, tapping away at the keyboard, but I know where his thoughts lie.

I pull the strap of my bag over my shoulder with a sigh. “No one else, Dad. No gifted, no sorcerers, no drifters. Just Wiki and Lebz, who are absolutely not gifted.”

“You’re sure?” Tap-tap-tap-tap. Blink. Tap-tap-tap. Who does he think that nonchalant act is fooling?

“I’ve known Lebz and Wiki since we were born; you’ve been friends with their parents for twenty years! Don’t you think I’d know if they were gifted?”

He stops pretending to work and turns to me. “What about Elijah?”

I grin. “Wiki’s gifted, but not in the way you’re thinking.”

He nods, finally satisfied. “I’m just trying to keep you safe.”

“From what?”

“Who knows? Werewolves, or whatever.”

“Werewolves, Dad? This isn’t a movie.”

He glances at me. “No werewolves?”

I give him a look. “Either you can shape shift at will or you can’t.”

He raises a sceptical eyebrow. I’ve told him before that my world isn’t all that different from his, but I think this is the first time he’s actually paying attention.

I fish my phone out of my pocket to check the time. “Oops. I’m going to be late.”

“Go on, then. Will you see your grandfather later? He says you’re training again.”

I turn at the door. “I’m seeing him tomorrow.”

I’m relieved Dad and Ntatemogolo have stopped using me as a messenger now that they can talk on the phone without hurling insults. Last year, when they started working on a big project for the Salinger Biological Institute, I was sure they’d put aside their differences. It didn’t quite work out that way, since the Ntatemogolo who agreed to work on the project was actually the Puppetmaster. He disappeared without submitting a single thing, leaving Dad in the lurch. But all that’s sorted out, and now the two of them have a new project to bring them closer – protecting me.

“That’s good,” he replies earnestly. “You need to be able to protect yourself.”

Poor Dad. I wish he’d stop worrying. “I need to go before my friends kill me.”

“Right.” He takes out his wallet and shoves a P20 note at me.

I thank him and sprint out of the building.

* * *

Lebz and Wiki are waiting in a corner of a restaurant when I reach the mall. I slide into the seat opposite them.

“Sorry I’m late.” I snatch up Wiki’s menu. “I’m dying for a milkshake.”

Lebz snatches it back. “First things first. What happened with the Puppetmaster?”

I roll my eyes in mock boredom. “Oh, that.”

“Don’t joke,” Wiki chides me, frowning. “We’ve been worried. You haven’t said anything besides that SMS describing the meeting as ‘cryptic’.”

“It
was
cryptic. I feel as though I understand him a little better now, which was probably the point, but it was nothing like I expected.”

“Now
you’re
being cryptic,” Wiki protests.

“Details!” Lebz hisses. “We’re not ordering until you give us a full report.”

My stomach growls on cue, so I launch into a detailed account of the meeting.

“He’s nearly two hundred years old,” whispers Lebz with a shudder, when my report is done. “That’s just wrong.”

“There are still a lot of questions,” says Wiki. “What is he after?”

“And did he mean it when he said he’d take action against anyone who hurt you?” Lebz looks uncomfortable at the idea.

I shrug. “I think he meant it. Emily said the same thing. But it’s not like he really cares – it’s just that I’m useful to him. It’s like the way you’d protect your phone. Speaking of phones, have you guys heard the news? Flights being delayed, signals disturbed and stuff? It’s happening in other places.”

“Isn’t it meteorological?” asks Lebz. “Weird weather patterns, climate change?”

I give her a sceptical look and turn to Wiki. “Any theories?”

“Military,” he says. “You think it might be freaky weird, don’t you?”

Freaky weird means supernatural weird, the kind of weird that is my specialty. I nod and share my theory that the disturbances are linked to my growing gift and the changes other gifted are experiencing. “But I have nothing concrete to go on.”