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Authors: Cheryl S. Ntumy

Entwined

BOOK: Entwined
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I’m sure what I’m feeling is only a fraction of his power, and that scares me.

But not enough to make me walk away.

Connie Bennett is a freak. She has premonitions, crazy wild hair and the boy she’s loved for three years doesn’t know who she is. Suddenly she can hear everyone’s thoughts and she finds herself drawn to a mysterious, scarred boy. Sparks literally fly between them, but could he actually be dangerous?

Then she discovers there’s a gang of zombie-like young girls being controlled by someone. Only Connie can stop him.

Can she cut the Puppetmaster’s strings?

A CONYZA BENNETT BOOK

Entwined
Cheryl S. Ntumy

www.CarinaUK.com

CHERYL S. NTUMY
always knew she wanted to write. With two teachers as parents, she grew up surrounded by books. As a child she wrote everything she could think of, from comic books and magazines to short novels and film scripts – some of which are still hiding in a dusty closet. She dreamed of exploring the realms of science fiction, fantasy and the supernatural, but ended up studying textile design instead, and then journalism.

It didn’t take long for her to decide that fiction writing was the only career she was interested in. Her first book, the supernatural novella
Crossing
, was published in Botswana in 2010, and her first romance novel came a few months later. She has published five romance books to date.
Entwined
is her first young adult novel.

Cheryl is now a full-time freelance writer in Gaborone, Botswana, where she spends her days writing, reading and daydreaming about stories. Her friends and family are still waiting for her to find gainful employment. She’s determined to keep them waiting for the rest of her life.

I must thank the following people for making this book possible:

My sister Aku Ntumy, for the joke that became Conyza Bennett, telepath and Gabs girl extraordinaire. Sorry about the title. Maybe I’ll let you win on the next one.

My friend and roomie Sharon Tshipa read the manuscript and offered feedback, and then pointed me in the direction of Carina UK, so technically I owe her double.

Tlotlo Tsamaase, fellow YA writer, was kind enough to go through the book and offer her insight.

Carina UK, thank you for giving Connie a voice.

Last but not least, thank to you to writers, publishers and book distributors everywhere. Your very existence inspires each word I write.

To Aku, Connie’s co-creator and the best sister a writer could hope to have.

Contents

Cover

Blurb

Title Page

Author Bio

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Glossary

Endpages

Copyright

Chapter One

I hate Thursdays. They’re such a tease, so close to the weekend and yet so far. Thursdays seem to go out of their way to be as boring and drawn-out as possible, just to punish me for hating them. They are also really lousy luck.

All the bad things that ever happened to me happened on Thursdays. It sounds crazy, but I’m serious. My mother died on a Thursday, eleven years ago when I was five. I broke my leg on a Thursday and got mugged while coming home from school on – yes, a Thursday. So naturally whenever Thursday rolls around I get a little anxious.

On this particular Thursday I’m sitting at the dining table, drinking a massive mug of Milo and feeling like Nancy Drew after one of her run-ins with a chloroform-soaked handkerchief. My body aches and my head is full of mist. It’s barely six a.m., but I’m dressed for school already because I can never sleep through my father’s alarm.

“Dad, I’m sick,” I groan.

“Nice try,” my father replies, rummaging in his pockets for his office keys. “If you were that sick you’d still be in bed.” He gives me a knowing nod.


Eish
. You saw right through me.” Even with heavy clouds swelling in my head, I have the strength for sarcasm.

My gaze drops to the keys lying on the table right in front of him. I contemplate putting him out of his misery, but his panic is rather amusing so I sip my Milo and watch. My dad, Dr. Raymond (Ray) Bennett is a super-nerd – you can tell he’s a scientist just by looking at him. He’s been teaching at the local university, UB, for as long as I can remember. Despite living in Botswana for two decades he’s still pasty white, with mousy brown hair that goes limp in the heat. He’s tall and thin, and today he’s wearing grey trousers and that striped brown shirt I keep trying to throw away. I must take after him, with my long arms and skinny legs, though the freckled caramel skin and wild hair is all me.

“Effing hell,” he mumbles, going through his pockets for the third time. “I could have sworn I had them in these trousers. And I have all that marking to do…”

The “effing” is for my benefit. He promised my mother he’d never use four-letter words in my presence and he’s still true to his word. I sigh, drain my mug and study the ring of chocolate powder in the bottom. “On the table, Dad.”

“Huh?” He looks up, sees the keys, and grins. “Oh. Ha! I’m an idiot, aren’t I?” As always, he seems thrilled by this discovery. “Right – I’m off. Say hi to Malebogo.”

“I will.” My best friend Lebz, aka Malebogo, lives just around the corner.

“Don’t forget to wait for Lydia. And be home by seven.”

“Yes, Dad.” Damn. Looks like I’ll have to cancel all those glitzy social events I had planned.

Suddenly my eyes start to sting in an all too familiar way.
Ag
, not again… My body tenses and through the fog in my head a vague image appears. Mangled metal, broken glass, sirens wailing and traffic snaking all the way up the road. A wave of horror hits me, then fades. “By the way,” I tell my father, “you might want to avoid the flyover by the bus rank.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

He always does that, as if he doesn’t know what’s coming. I get up and carry my mug to the kitchen. “An accident. It’s bad.” I wash my cup and return to the dining room.

Dad dismisses me with a nervous laugh. “Honestly, Connie – what nonsense. I need to stop by Sam’s place to pick up some papers, so I’ll go via Broadhurst.”

I watch him leave and shake my head. He still can’t get his head around the idea that I have premonitions. I suppose it would freak me out too, if I hadn’t been able to do it all my life. Sometimes I have visions and sometimes it’s just a vague feeling, but it’s only ever in connection with people I know or people near me. Take the one I just had – it wouldn’t have happened at all if Dad didn’t take the flyover to work every morning.

It’s genetic, I suppose, inherited from my maternal grandfather. He’s a full-time historian and author and part-time paranormal consultant. You know, a shaman, traditional healer, exorcist, whatever. My dad’s not so keen on that career path. It’s one of the reasons he and Ntatemogolo hate each other. That and the fact that I bonded with my grandfather instantly even though I didn’t know him until he moved back to Botswana three years ago, after travelling the world.

I go into the sitting room and turn on the TV. I already know nothing good is on – and I don’t need a premonition for that – so I go through our DVDs. Lebz calls just after I settle on watching
Red Eye
for the twentieth time.

“Hey, Lebz.”

“Ha, I knew you’d be up,” she chirps. “What are you watching? No, let me guess.
Mean Girls
.”

I smile. “Nope.”


The Notebook
.”

“Uh-uh.”

“What? Don’t tell me you’re watching something that
doesn’t
have Rachel McAdams in it – oh, wait!
Red Eye
! I always forget that one.”

“And we have a winner!” I drag the phone to the sofa and sit down with my feet curled under me. “You want to come watch it with me?”

“It’s not exciting if you know what happens,” she reminds me. “What are you doing after school? Let’s go hang out somewhere.”

I wait patiently for the rest of the request. “Somewhere” only means one thing to Lebz – wherever her idol Kelly and her friends are. It’s based on sound logic – after all, Lebz’s second favourite thing after Kelly is boys, and wherever Kelly and her D-cups go boys are sure to follow.

Lebz ploughs ahead. “Kelly’s having a
braai
at the game reserve, and then she and the girls are going to watch a movie.”

I wrinkle my nose. “I’m not sure Kelly and charcoal is a healthy combination.”

“Connie! We should go. It’ll be fun.”

Hmmm. Watching Kelly and company entertain slobbering males in the bush sounds almost as good as listening to Kelly and company entertain slobbering males in a dark cinema. “No, thanks.”

“They won’t mind having you there, you know,” she says in a quiet voice.

My jaw drops and I almost hang up, insulted. As if I want to be accepted by a shallow, albeit very pretty group of girls with the privilege of commanding male attention with a swing of their hips. It’s not as if I can’t get guys to notice me if I try. If I really, really try. OK, so maybe not even then, but I don’t need boys to notice me. Teachers notice me occasionally and they’re much more important.

“Thuli might be coming.”

I almost drop the receiver. “What? Are you sure?”

“I heard Lorraine saying that Kelly invited Mothusi, and you know Mothusi won’t go anywhere without Simon, and Simon won’t go anywhere without Thuli…”

I bite my lip, my heart thudding in my chest. Thuli Baleseng is the man of my dreams. He’s in Form Five, a year ahead of me, and one of the smartest students in his group. I love everything about him, from the way he rolls up the sleeves of his pale green school shirt to the dreadlocks that hang over his sleepy eyes.

Lebz sighs. “I don’t know what you see in that boy.”

“He’s a genius,” I whisper.

“He’s a thug,” she retorts. “He smells of cigarettes, he’s antisocial, rude and – ”

“He’s misunderstood,” I snap, irritated by her unwarranted assault on my soul mate. She and Thuli are sort of family friends. That is to say, his parents are friends with her parents, but she tries very hard not to be friends with him.

“OK, whatever. Are you coming to the
braai
?”

It occurs to me then that Thuli doesn’t particularly like Kelly, or any other girl at the Syringa Institute of Excellence. Rumour has it that he only dates KIA girls –girls from Kagisanyo International Academy, and he hardly hangs out with anyone other than his pals Simon and Mothusi, except the occasional exchange student.

“Oh, you almost had me,” I tell Lebz. “Thuli isn’t going, and neither am I.”

She sighs. “You should come. Your father is rubbing off on you; you need serious intervention before you lose the last bits of youth and blackness you have left,” she pleads. “Like this Rachel McAdams thing. What’s wrong with Beyoncé?”

“We’ve had this conversation.” I pull the phone cord as far as it will go so I can lie on the sofa. “I’m a mulatto and I’m proud.”

“You see?” she cries in dismay. “Who uses words like ‘mulatto’?”

I consider pointing out that the limited vocabulary of our peers is not a virtue, but I’m not sure she’ll appreciate it. Lebz is a smart girl, but you’ll never catch her showing it. “Go to the
braai
, Lebz. I’ll only hold you back from your destiny.”

“Drama queen,” she sneers, clicking her tongue in annoyance. “Don’t think you’re off the hook. You have to get a life, one way or the other. I’ll be there soon.”

BOOK: Entwined
13.63Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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