Entwined (37 page)

He takes my hands and I can feel the intensity of his emotions. “I think you might already know how I feel. Even Thuli could see it – I’m that obvious. I want to put it into words and the only words I can think of…” He takes a deep breath.

My heart stops. I watch two points of bright blue swirl around in his pupils.

“Connie, I –”

I fling my arms around him before he ruins everything, and nestle into the crook of his neck. Damn. There’s only one road to take from here, no matter how much it freaks me out. I take a deep breath, letting his magic do its thing, and when I start to feel the steady calm of invincibility, I pull away. Here we go. “Do you want to be my boyfriend?”

He jerks away, his eyes wide with disbelief. “What?”

Not the reaction I expected. I start to babble. “We make a great team. You’re the only person I would ever trust enough to… Everyone already thinks we’re dating, so we might as well…”

He’s quiet. “That’s not what I was hoping to hear,” he admits softly.

Stupid Connie strikes again. “I know it’s not a declaration, but I don’t do declarations.” I know I should do this properly, but I’m not quite there yet. I put my arms around him and soak up a little more strength. “You are the only person I can’t hide anything from. Can’t that be enough?”

He strokes my cheek and my resolve almost breaks. “No. It’s not a business deal.” He pushes me away gently and gets to his feet. “Let me take you home.”

I’m stunned. I get up, pack my bag and follow him outside. Really, I should be relieved, right? I mean, I want us to stay friends. It’s so much less complicated than that other thing. So why do I feel like a twig that’s just been snapped to splinters under the wheel of a truck?

Riverwalk seems different now that Ma-fourteen are no longer loitering around, creeping everyone out. I’m relieved that the girls are OK, but I wish I knew where the Puppetmaster fled to, and what his grand plan is.

“Connie!”

I look up into Lebz’s scowling face. “I heard you. Something about boys.”

She heaves a theatrical sigh and turns to Wiki for back-up.

“You’re right,” he says, without looking up from his phone. “She never listens.”

I offer Lebz a placating smile. The three of us have just finished watching a movie and are enjoying our usual caramel-dipped ice cream cones. It’s our first proper outing of the year, and I know I should try to relax, but it’s not easy. I’ll never forget fighting Rose in the trees just across the road.

I try to pay attention to Lebz’s rambling, but my gaze starts to wander idly across the mall. I spot a familiar figure a short distance away, standing outside the coffee shop. It’s Emily, looking strong and healthy again. I want to call out to her, but she’s on the phone, so I decide to wait until she looks in my direction.

She ends the call and pockets the phone, then turns to face me. It’s a slow, deliberate movement, as if she knew I was there all along, watching her. She smiles at me, but something’s wrong. She doesn’t look friendly. She looks… sly. Menacing.

My own smile fades. I don’t understand. I’ve seen her a few times and she’s been fine. There is no necklace, and she’s not wearing that blank expression I know so well. But she is obviously not herself. She raises her hand in a slow, mocking wave, and for one terrifying moment I see him, right there in her eyes. The Puppetmaster.

My skin prickles, my head swims and then suddenly everything is crystal clear. He doesn’t need a necklace any more. He doesn’t need a grey film. He didn’t find a way to get Emily back into the fold – he didn’t need to. She never left.

All this time I thought Amantle was the Puppetmaster’s right-hand soldier, his protégée. But she was just a distraction to keep me from suspecting the truth. It was always Emily. She was the one who “remembered” that the girls were meeting at Game City the night we followed Amantle up the hill. She was the one who led us into the Puppetmaster’s lair, and I never suspected her for a minute.

I reach out to grab Lebz’s hand across the table. “Emily!”

But by the time I’m on my feet she has already disappeared. I run to the coffee shop, chasing a phantom, but there’s no sign of Emily anywhere. Lebz and Wiki find me standing in the parking lot a few minutes later, turning on the spot like a crazy person.

“Connie, what’s going on?” demands Wiki.

“Emily was here,” I whisper. “She’s been working for the Puppetmaster all along. Her eyes weren’t grey and there was no necklace, but I looked into her eyes and
saw
him! She was his prize all along, not Amantle. She was the one in charge!”

Lebz looks as stricken as I feel. “But… how?”

“Obviously he’s getting smarter. He doesn’t need necklaces any more. Damn it!” I whirl around once more, but I know she’s gone.

Lebz puts a hand on my arm. “You mean that time you went to meet her – that was him?”

I nod.

“But if that’s true, there’s no longer any way to know who he’s using,” she protests. “No grey eyes, no necklaces…”

“He could be controlling anyone,” says Wiki.

I look at the people around us, and my heart sinks into my shoes.

I wake up feeling awful, but Dad is beaming when I walk into the kitchen. His smile is so wide it seems to have knocked his glasses askew.

“Morning, love.” He pulls me into a hug and kisses the top of my head. “Happy seventeenth! I made you breakfast.”

I manage to laugh despite my foul mood. “Thanks, Dad, but you really didn’t have to.”

“I only have one daughter, thank God, and I think I have the right to spoil her if I want. Go on.” He gives me a push towards the counters, which are laden with food. Bacon and eggs, cheese buns, cheese grillers, a massive chocolate cake, ice cream, chocolate-chip muffins…

“How much of this did you make yourself?”

“Oh, you know. The easy bits,” he says with a sheepish grin. “The rest is courtesy of Woolworths. I didn’t want to poison you on your birthday.”

“Smart move,” I reply, picking up a strip of bacon. “I hope you’re having some, because there’s no way I can eat all this alone.”

“Lydia will be here soon.” He glances at his watch. “Oh, got to run, love. Your present’s on the dining table.” He dashes out before I have a chance to thank him.

I pile a plate with food and head towards the dining table. Dad gives great gifts, so I’m excited. The blue package is rectangular, too big to be another Rachel McAdams DVD. It’s a little heavy, too, so probably not a book. I take off the wrapping paper, careful not to damage it when I remove the Sellotape. I let out the kind of annoying, girlish squeal that grates on the ears. It’s a notebook computer, tiny and insanely cute, with a stylish black and silver bag. I can’t believe it! I’ve been asking for a laptop for the last two years, but Dad kept saying there was no point in getting one when there’s a perfectly good PC in the house.

I spend the next hour stuffing my face and admiring my new baby. It’s perfect. I’ve never seen anything so adorable. It can fit into my schoolbag and my handbag. When Lebz comes over I show it off and she laughs at me – she’s had a laptop of her own for
ages
. Her gift is a straightening iron. Got to love Lebz and her subtle hints.

Auntie Lydia arrives ten minutes before seven, flustered and scolding her son over the phone. She beams at me, hangs up the phone and envelopes me in one of her maternal hugs. “Happy birthday, baby.”

“Thanks, Auntie.” As soon as she releases me she shoves a plastic bag in my face.

“I didn’t have time to wrap it,” she says with an apologetic grimace.

“Auntie Lydia!” I reach into the plastic and pull out a cute denim jacket with a flower embroidered on the back in black and silver and my name embroidered on the left cuff in silver. “I love it!”

“It’s beautiful!” gasps Lebz, snatching it out of my hands.

I give Auntie Lydia a peck on the cheek and she smiles. “I’m glad you like it.” Her gaze lands on Lebz, who has already slipped the jacket over her uniform. “Hey, look at this girl. Malebogo!”

“Just trying it on,” says Lebz shamelessly. “When are you going to make me one?”

“Nothing for
mahala
,” says Auntie Lydia, throwing an apron over her dress.

“
Ao, mma!
After all these years?”

Auntie Lydia laughs. “You girls are going to be late. Connie, I’ll put your food in the fridge for later, OK?”

“Thanks.” I tug the jacket off Lebz and drape it over the back of one of the chairs, and the two of us leave for school.

Wiki’s sitting on the bench with my present in his lap. A paranormal thriller featuring a moody cop with a murky past and a beautiful, haunted psychic. I smile as I open it, and try not to think of Emily.

Dear Conyza
,

I’m sorry for missing your birthday, but it couldn’t be helped. There was some suspicious activity that needed urgent attention. I’m sure your father and friends spoiled you rotten
.

You know I don’t put much stock in this business of cakes and parties, but the birth of a child is sacred and must be appreciated. In your case even more so, because of your gift. Next year we will celebrate properly
.

I always try to give you something useful, rather than something beautiful. The gifts in this package are second-hand, but I have cleansed and covered them with protective seals. All but the anklet, which carries the strength of the gifted that came before you, and me, and my own grandfather
.

The clay jar is meant to contain any negative energy you absorb from the dark thoughts of others. Just open the jar, hold your hand over it and allow the bad feelings to rise to the surface and flow into your hand, then release them and replace the stopper
.

The bell will help you still your mind when your thoughts are too fierce to handle, and the anklet will protect you from those who have no scruples. This is no Puppetmaster’s noose, my girl. It has passed down through our family for generations, first worn by a brave young girl at a time when women had no business being brave. One day I’ll tell you her story
.

Happy birthday, my dearest Conyza. I will see you soon
.

Your grandfather

The chest is almost identical to the one Ntatemogolo keeps in his consultation room, but much smaller, the size of a shoebox. It’s made of undecorated wood, varnished and shiny. I open it under Dad’s watchful gaze and marvel at the contents.

The clay jar is a tiny thing, no longer than Dad’s finger, with a bulb shaped bottom and long, slender neck corked with a piece of rubber. The bell is a simple bronze bowl with a matching gong, and when I tap it, it makes a light, melodious sound that reminds me of monks in saffron robes. The anklet is my favourite. It doesn’t look like much at first, just a string of tiny brown and beige beads. On closer inspection, though, I can see the signs of age. Hairline cracks, dents, remnants of the geometric design that was once painted on each bead.

Dad frowns. “What are all these things for?”

“They’re handed down, Dad,” I say. “Prized family possessions that have been around for ages. Isn’t that cool?”

He manages a smile, relieved that there’s no hocus pocus involved. “Yes. It was very nice of him to pass them on to you.” He glances at his watch and groans. “Time for me to get going. Are you sure you don’t want to go out tonight? I don’t have to see the show if you’d rather go and have dinner.”

It’s Wednesday night, which means
Earth Unravelled
at Wendell’s house. Dad was willing to pass up the highlight of his week to take me out, but I’m exhausted. Between seeing Emily with her eerie grey eyes and trying to keep up with school, I have no energy left over for an evening out. When I told Rakwena about Emily I could see how worried he was. He knows as well as I do that we’ve stepped into a whole new game. But I shouldn’t be thinking about that today – it’s my birthday. Even telepaths get days off, right?

“Dad, if I eat any more I’m going to explode all over the walls.”

He winces. “Thanks for the graphic image.”

“My pleasure. Go watch the show. I’m going to finish my homework.” I put the precious objects back into the chest and carry it to my room. When I return, Dad is on his way out. He gives me a funny look.

“Don’t you want to brush your hair a little, love?”

My hand goes up to pat my afro, which has been released from its ponytail and is bouncing happily. “Why?”

He shrugs. “Isn’t Rakwena coming by to give you your gift?”

How did he know that? I don’t remember mentioning it, and since when does Dad encourage me to look pretty for boys?

“Rakwena doesn’t care what my hair looks like.”

He smiles. “I’m sure he doesn’t, but it wouldn’t hurt to pull a comb through it.” He gets a pained look on his face, and I sense a flash of something – Rakwena in Dad’s office, looking very serious.

“Have you spoken to him today?” I demand. “Did he say something?”

“Bye, darling!” he says, and rushes out the door.

Something fishy is going on. Why would Rakwena and my dad be talking in my absence? I let it go for the time being and get started on my Bio homework. Rakwena’s car pulls up outside at quarter to eight, and I’m on the doorstep waiting by the time he opens the gate.

“Happy birthday, North American Weed,” he says, grinning.

“You spoke to my father today.” I fold my arms and glare at him, but my gaze keeps slipping to the box in his hands and the bag slung over his left shoulder.

“I knew you’d pick it up. With all due respect, your father is an open book.” He ruffles my hair. Good thing I didn’t bother combing it. “Can I come in, or are you going to unwrap your present on the front
stoep
?”

I step back to let him in and close the door behind him. “So what did you two talk about?”

“Open your present, Connie.”

He doesn’t have to ask twice. I take the box from him, shake it, then lift the lid. Inside is a glowing quartz crystal the size of my fist. I look at him, baffled. “It’s pretty.”

“It’s a lamp,” he explains.

“Oh.” That doesn’t make it any less weird, but it’s the thought that counts. “Thanks.”