Entwined (5 page)

“Where were you?” he asks.

“Toilet,” I mutter.

And then I remember something that makes me sit up straight. The hole inside me starts to fill up as my disappointment is replaced by hope. I just realised that I have never once heard Black Lizard’s thoughts, and that can only mean one thing. He’s lying about being like me. Sneaky little devil.

My phone rings while Lebz, Wiki and I are at the mall. I hand my caramel cone to Wiki while I fish the phone out of the pocket of my trousers. “Hi, Dad.”

“Connie, are you home yet?” He sounds frazzled.

“No; I’m at Riverwalk with Wiki and Lebz. I’ll be home before dark, though, don’t worry.”

“Oh, OK. It looks like I’ll be stuck at work until late. Maybe you should pick up something to eat while you’re there. I want you home by seven, Connie.”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, Dad.”

Lebz giggles as I hang up. “How old are you again, Connie? Sixteen or six? Is your dad afraid you’ll be murdered for
muti
or something?”

“Of course not.” I take my cone from Wiki and salvage the trail of ice cream sliding down its side. “That would mean he actually believes that people get murdered for traditional medicine, and you know how he feels about things he can’t understand.”

“I guess that means you haven’t told him about your new… um… talent,” says Wiki, sipping his milkshake.

I raise my eyebrows at him. “He still hasn’t come to terms with the old one, remember? But hey – he’s a scientist.”

“A British one,” adds Lebz, as if that explains everything.

It’s great to be talking to her again. Even though there are lots of people around, thinking frantically and invading my personal space, I’m almost content. We’re sitting at a table, people-watching. Lebz likes to come up with complex, soap-opera style stories about the people we see.

“Look at that one!” she hisses. “I would kill for those shoes.”

I follow her gaze. The woman in question is wearing the kind of shoes that no normal person should be able to walk in. They have heels like knitting needles. “Mmm. Yes, definitely worth the trouble,” I say doubtfully.

“She’s an advertising executive,” Lebz muses. “And she’s engaged to a boring finance guy, but she’s having an affair with his alcoholic brother. Every week she buys a new pair of shoes to make her feel better.”

“But shoes can never fill the void,” I chip in. “So she resorts to popping pills…”

“Painkillers,” Lebz goes on, nodding with authority. “Her fiancé doesn’t know.”

“And her lover doesn’t care,” I add.

“Why are your characters always so miserable?” asks Wiki, looking up from his book. “Can’t she be a contented, successful career woman, in love with the man of her dreams and on the path to spiritual enlightenment?”

Lebz and I shake our heads – Wiki would make a lousy writer. He blinks at us and returns to his book. I think part of the reason he likes us, besides force of habit, is that we’re the only friends in the world who would let him hang around with us while his nose is stuck in a book. He’s a little like a chaperone – present, but only just.

“Oh, no, it’s Ma-fourteen,” groans Lebz. “Look at them, walking around like they own the place. You would never catch us hanging around here alone when we were twelve, picking up boys.”

Ma-fourteen is a term for young people, especially girls, especially in conjunction with older men. Lebz has adapted it for a particular group of kids who have taken to haunting shopping malls at all hours. They dress to kill, have money to burn and leave a bad taste in the mouths of those of us who are old enough to have online profiles.

“Don’t pick on the poor kids,” I tease. I turn to take an idle peek at the trendy tweens. I only know them by reputation, and this is the first time I’ve seen them up close. There are five girls, no older than thirteen. They’re wearing short skirts and tight jeans, with expensive-looking accessories. The leader of the pack is a pretty little thing in a skirt that was probably a belt in its former life. Her expression is cold and blank.

My hands start to sweat and my skin prickles, as if I’m growing fur. I look away.

Lebz clicks her tongue and turns back to her ice cream. I take another glance at the girls, and once again I get the strangest feeling, as if the air has just gone cold. I finish my ice cream in a hurry and slide off my seat. “Let’s go. I have a curfew, remember?”

Wiki closes his book. “Are you OK? You have a strange look on your face.”

“I’m fine.” I slip my bag over my shoulder. To my dismay, it looks like there’s no way to avoid walking past the little group on our way out. They’re standing outside the CD shop, chatting and watching other shoppers. We pass them quietly, trying not to stare. As we walk by I get that feeling again, and then I notice something else.

“They’re not thinking,” I whisper in surprise.

“Hmm?” Lebz frowns at me.

“Those girls,” I say slowly, turning to peer over my shoulder. “They’re not thinking.”

“You can’t read them?” asks Wiki as we turn the corner and lose sight of the girls.

I shake my head, but I’m certain that this isn’t the same as being blocked. From where the girls stood all I got was a gap, a hole cut out of the air. They weren’t blocking me. They just
weren’t thinking
, and something tells me this means trouble.

I wake up early on Saturday morning, have a quick breakfast and knock on my dad’s door. He mumbles something incoherent, so I turn the handle and peer inside.

“Dad? Are you awake?”

“Mmmm.” He’s not. Good.

“I’m just going to… um… Bontleng. Be back around lunch. Bye!” I shut the door before he has time to register my words, then snatch my bag off the coffee table and hurry towards the front door.

“Connie!”

Damn. I turn at the door. “Yes, Dad?”

He emerges from his room, rumpled but very much awake now. “Did you say you’re going to Bontleng?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” He hesitates. “Is he all right? Not sick or anything?”

“No, he just wants to see me.”

He frowns. “He wants to see you?” There’s no mistaking the suspicion in his voice. “About… anything in particular?”

Poor Dad. Every time I visit my grandfather he’s afraid I’ll come back with a bag full of strange-looking herbs or a mermaid’s tail. “No, Dad.” I offer him a reassuring smile. “He just wants to hang out.”

His smile is utterly unconvincing. “Send my regards. And… don’t be long, OK?”

“I won’t.” I wave and then step outside. I’ve given up on persuading Dad that Ntatemogolo is not trying to brainwash me.

I walk down to the bus stop to catch a combi. During the ride I practise filtering the thoughts of the other passengers. They approach from the direction of the thinker, like electricity along a wire. Thoughts take on the voices of people I know, but with strangers the tone is determined by my perception. Take the man in the seat in front of me; he’s worried about losing his job. His thoughts take on a weary, defeated tone, but when he calls out to the driver to stop, his voice is loud and confident. Interesting.

By the time I reach Ntatemogolo’s house I’m feeling rather proud of my progress. He’s sitting on a chair on the veranda as usual, puffing on a cigarette. I greet him politely and sit cross-legged on the floor beside him.

“Dad sends his regards.”

He grunts. “How do you feel today?” he asks, when he’s finished the cigarette.

“Good.” I smile. “I can tell the difference between different thoughts, and where they’re coming from.”

He nods. “And what else?”

I think for a moment. “I’ve noticed that I have to be quite close to the person before I can read them, about six or seven metres. It’s more difficult when there are many people, but some people’s thoughts are stronger than others, and some people think very fast, like Wiki. And you told me to find out if there were people I couldn’t read.”

He nods and leans towards me, his eyes narrowed. “Are there any?”

“You, of course. And Kelly, and… Rakwena.”

His expression doesn’t change. “Who’s Kelly?”

“Oh, just a girl.” I shrug. “One of the popular kids.”

He smiles. “You don’t like this Kelly,” he muses.

“I didn’t say that!” I don’t know why I’m so indignant; he’s right.

“Ah… envy,” he declares smugly. “She’s a beautiful girl?”

“I guess some people might think so,” I sneer, then catch myself and bite my lip. I’m
not
jealous of Kelly. Maybe she does have perfect skin and a killer figure and hair that never breaks, but so what? I have no desire to be beautiful. I mean, what for?

Ntatemogolo clears his throat to pull me back to the present. “Tell me what happened when you tried to read her.”

It takes me a minute to get past my annoyance and think back to the day I passed Kelly and her friends in the corridor. “Her friends were with her, but I could only sense
their
thoughts, not hers. It wasn’t as though she was blocking me. There was no resistance coming from her direction, but there was… something.”

He nods. “The resistance was from your side.”

“My side?” I’m completely confused. “I
wanted
to know what she was thinking!”

“Consciously, yes, but your negativity towards her got in the way.” He smiles again. “That’s what happens when you build up a defensive barrier against someone, Connie. You can’t get into her head because you’ve locked yourself out.”

Defensive barrier? What rubbish! As if I need to defend myself from the likes of Kelly. I stare at my shoes, hoping Ntatemogolo can’t tell what I’m thinking. “There were some other people I couldn’t read.”

“Who?”

I raise my head, relieved to be off the topic of Kelly. “Some girls at the mall. Five of them. When I passed them I got this funny feeling. There was no premonition, just a feeling. And they were completely blank. Not the way it was with Kelly or you. Just… blank.”

His eyes narrow. “As if there was an empty space where their thoughts should have been?”

I smile, thrilled to be talking to someone who understands. “Exactly! What does it mean?”

“I don’t want to jump to conclusions,” he replies, stroking his chin.

“I was thinking about it last night, and I suspect they might be on drugs or something.” I peer into his face. “Is that possible?”

He frowns. “Even someone intoxicated has the ability to function on some level. No, I don’t think it’s drugs, my girl. I think it’s worse.”

I know what that means, and suddenly the atmosphere shifts. “Are they in danger?”

“Let me look into it,” he says, his voice calm. “But if you see them again, pay attention. Look for signs.”

I swallow hard. Signs. Amulets, strange marks on their bodies, even stranger vibes in the ether. Anything that might indicate that those girls are messing with things way over their heads.

“You spoke to Rakwena again,” my grandfather says softly.

Oops. “I… well…”

“Didn’t I tell you to stay away from him?”

“Yes, but…”

He looks at me with an expression that tells me he’s not going to buy whatever excuse I cook up. “But what, Connie?”

I fiddle with the strap of my bag. “He understands. You know how hard it is to talk to people about these things. He gets it, like you.”

He bristles at the comparison. “Don’t make that mistake, my girl – that boy is nothing like us.”

“That’s what he said, but I don’t believe it.” I hold up my hands in apology. “I don’t want to disobey you, Ntatemogolo, but I like having someone my age to talk to.”

He’s quiet for a while, looking at me with those ancient, jaded eyes. “You’re stubborn, like your parents.” He shrugs. “Maybe there is a lesson here for you; I don’t know. But when the time comes, you can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

His tone sends a chill up the back of my neck. Part of me wants to take his advice because he’s never been wrong, but another part isn’t willing to let go of the link I’ve discovered. I know Rakwena can teach me things about my abilities that no one else can, maybe not even my grandfather. That has to be worth the risk.

Ntatemogolo stares at me with a strange light in his eyes until I can’t bear it any longer. “Why did this happen to me?” I blurt out. “Why now? Where has it been all this time?”

“Waiting for you to grow up,” he replies. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his cigarette pack and lighter. “Now you can take care of yourself, or at least that’s what you think.” He lights the cigarette, takes a long drag and squints at me. “Not so?”

I hesitate. “I know more than I used to, but I still have a lot to learn.”

He blows a smoke ring. There was a time, not too long ago, when that trick impressed me. “Time marches on, my girl,” he muses. “And there is nothing we can do to stop it. You will make your mistakes, and we who are older and wiser and have seen so much will still be here to pick up the pieces.”

OK, now he’s starting to freak me out. What exactly does he think is going to happen? I’m not planning to run off with Rakwena and have creepy tattooed babies! I shift uncomfortably on the floor. “Ntatemogolo…”

“Come, let’s see what you’ve learned. I’m going to let you in. Ready?”

I’m not expecting what happens next. My head fills with numbers, lots and lots of them, coming at me full force. I wince. Before I can make sense of anything, the numbers stop and all is quiet again.

“Well?” He looks much too smug.

I scowl. “I need more time.”

He grins and starts again. This time I’m better prepared. I close my eyes and rub my temples.

“Dates!” I exclaim. “Dates, times… important events… historical events!”

“Good girl. You’re learning fast.”

I open my eyes to find him smiling. “Can I try planting a thought in your head?” I ask eagerly. “I’m sure I can do it if I practise.”

He chuckles. “Master the basics first. Come, let’s try again.”

I heave a little disappointed sigh, then close my eyes.

It’s late Sunday afternoon and the cinema is packed. Lebz, Wiki and I are here to watch the new sci-fi flick for different reasons. Lebz wants to perve over the hot hero, Wiki’s here to satisfy his science fiction craving and I’m hoping to catch another glimpse of those eerie girls with the empty heads.