Unravelled (35 page)

He had the same intention when he locked us in his house over a year ago – he admitted as much. He also admitted that bewitching the girls had been an experiment. The Puppetmaster is intelligent, wicked, but above all else, curious. That’s how he became the sorcerer he is – by trying things, pushing the limits.

When it came to the drifters, the Puppetmaster made no effort to lie to me about who they were. He told me the truth, knowing it would eventually lead to Rakwena’s secret. He wanted it to come out. He also must have another use in mind for the serum, since when the drifter council asked for it he refused.

When “Ntatemogolo” found me in his room, holding the box, I thought my vision had started to blur, but it hadn’t. That haziness was caused by the Puppetmaster’s shape shifting. The reason the watch in the box felt so clean was because it wasn’t Ntatemogolo’s watch at all, but simply a copy formed when the Puppetmaster shape shifted. The other objects were probably the same – copies of real items belonging to people he impersonated. Maybe it’s easier to shift when he has an object like that.

There is, however, one mystery more difficult to solve than all the rest. For the short time he had access to me, the Puppetmaster didn’t do any of the things one would expect from an enemy. He never tried to hurt me. He deceived me, but he also helped me. He clouded my judgement to prevent me from figuring out the truth, but he also taught me how to block, and now I know those were valid lessons and not tricks. Rather than attempt to weaken me, he seemed more interested in pushing me to learn faster. And in spite of everything, both Rakwena and I have grown more in recent months than in the whole year prior to the Puppetmaster’s interference.

Rakwena is no longer dependent on the serum. He has been reunited with his family. I now have a barrier that can stay up almost a whole day. I can use my gift in new and unexpected ways – such as to unlock the key to a spell. And I have learned how to handle the supernatural without my grandfather or boyfriend at my side.

It’s clear that the Puppetmaster’s plan requires three important factors. One: Emily must be available to him at all times. Two: Rakwena must be “sober”, so to speak, and strengthened by reuniting with his cell. Three: I must be able to produce an impenetrable full-time barrier and develop my telepathy further.

I don’t believe that the Puppetmaster is one of those “honour among enemies” types who want me at my best so he can fight me fairly. In fact, I’m starting to think he doesn’t want to fight me or Rakwena at all. He wants to use us. But how, and for what?

***

I’m in the middle of a funny dream. I’m on one of those game shows on TV, cheating shamelessly by reading the mind of the host, and dodging secret agents who are trying to arrest me for espionage. I’m about to win the grand prize when I’m jolted awake by a noise.

I open my eyes and sit up in the dark, listening. The sound seems to be coming from the front of the house. I climb out of bed, open my door slowly and tiptoe down the corridor to the front door. The house is dark and silent, except for a persistent scratching noise. I feel a stab of irrational fear, swelling until it fills my throat. There’s someone – or something – on the other side of the door.

I lean closer, trying to identify the source of the noise, then jump back, swallowing a yelp of fear, as something protrudes suddenly through the thin gap between the door and doorpost. The object is thrust further in, then the scratching stops. I look down. It’s an envelope, but I’m far more interested in the person who delivered it.

I move to the window and shift the curtain just enough so I can see outside. Nothing, and no one. The yard is empty and quiet. I can see the back bumper of Dad’s car. And then a shadowy figure moves into view. She’s standing on the veranda, just a few short steps away from me, looking right into my face. Emily.

For a terrifying moment she just stares at me, her expression blank, her eyes bright in the moonlight, and then she blinks and takes a step backwards, appearing to finally register the fact that she has been caught.

“No, wait!” I hiss, moving to unlock the door. I pull it open just in time to see her leap over the fence and run off into the night. I watch her through the burglar-proof door until she’s out of sight.

She’s still alive and well – physically, at least. I close the front door and lock it. Only then do I turn my attention to the envelope lying on the floor. I pick it up. It’s a standard brown letter-sized envelope, with nothing written on it. I open it and draw out the contents. My stomach flips over.

There are five photographs of Rakwena, the type of grainy surveillance pictures people get blackmailed with in movies, the type you never expect to see in real life. He’s walking down the street with the other drifters, entering a shop, standing at the gate of Serenity House, where his mother is admitted. His expression is always the same. Tense, uncomfortable, still fighting the bond. There’s one exception; a photo where he’s walking side by side with Duma. The twins are walking in front of them, laughing. Duma looks relaxed and happy, and although Rakwena’s head is down, his lips are curled into a smile.

I put the photos back into the envelope. I don’t understand why these pictures were brought here. Why would the Puppetmaster want me to know that he’s watching Rakwena? What does he hope to achieve?

As I walk back to my room, my thoughts return to Emily’s face. She didn’t come here looking for help, for a way out of her mental prison. She came as a servant, to deliver her master’s message. He’s watching. He’s always watching. And waiting.

I look out the window into the darkness. Message received, I tell him silently, and I have a sneaky, scary hunch that he can hear me.

***

Dad’s pal Wendell is getting married in Kasane in early March, and at the last minute Dad asks if I’d like to come along. The idea of a weekend in the bush sounds heavenly right now. Maybe a change of scenery is exactly what I need.

During the flight to Kasane I try to focus on keeping my barrier up, but it keeps slipping. I can’t stop thinking about Emily. I wish the Puppetmaster would have a massive coronary and all his puppets would be freed, and the evil magic undone, just like in a children’s book.

My thoughts drift to Rakwena. Despite all my tough talk about staying out of touch and moving on, I packed the crystal. It might seem silly, but I like having it with me. It makes me feel safe, as if he’s watching over me. I can’t help wondering where he is now, and what he’s doing. Do drifters need training, or does it come naturally? Maybe he’s sitting in a dark room with his brothers, making sparks fly. There’s an uncomfortable lump in my throat. I guess it will be a while until the ache fades.

The lodge is lovely, and Dad and I have adjoining rooms. I doze off almost as soon as I get into my room. When I open my eyes, the room is silent. Dad must be out with the guys, enjoying Wendell’s stag party. The TV’s on but I have no interest in watching. I rub my eyes and pull off the blanket, then get up and make my way to the bathroom.

I look into the mirror. My hair is all over the place despite the headband, and there’s sleep in my eyes. I splash some water on my face and immediately feel more awake. I should take a shower and then get something to eat.

I need this trip. I need to get my mind off all the supernatural stuff that comes with the territory at home, at least for a while. It’ll be good to be around normal people.

When I raise my head from the basin, dizziness strikes. I feel faint and wobbly all of a sudden and I press my hand against the counter to steady myself, but it’s not enough. I lower myself slowly to the toilet seat and take a few deep breaths. What’s going on?

I feel the vague throb of an imminent headache, and then a sinister sensation in the base of my skull. It’s as if a thin, cold thread has slipped into my brain and is burrowing its way across my mental landscape. It’s not painful. It’s not even particularly uncomfortable. My slice of consciousness observes it with curiosity, and then I remember that I’m supposed to be blocking. My barrier goes up immediately, trying to block out the intrusion. The thread of consciousness has already moved through my surface thoughts, through my front yard, so to speak, but it can’t get any further.

This isn’t physical. It’s magical. I wait, crouching in a shadowy corner of my mind, to see what happens next.

I only want to talk
. The voice is soft and effeminate in my head, yet it radiates power. I freeze, one hand still pressed against the wall, the other clutching my head. I remember this voice.
Hello, Conyza. I’ve missed you.

The Puppetmaster. Here! How? I whirl around, searching for a shimmer in the air, a shadow, any sign of magical activity, but the bathroom is empty and ordinary. I reach for the door, and find to my horror that it’s locked. I didn’t lock it, and surely the Puppetmaster can’t lock it from wherever he is. Could he be in the lodge? I freeze, terrified.

You underestimate me
. He sounds almost offended.
I’m not a stage magician; I don’t need to be near you to reach you. I can find you no matter where you are. Tell me, dearest one, how have you been?

So he’s not here. The thought calms me a little. I struggle with the door, then give up. He wants my attention – well, he has it. This is far more sophisticated than shape shifting or planting. This is a level of telepathy far beyond my capabilities. And then I realise why he has chosen this moment to speak to me. He wants to intimidate me, to frighten me with his power. I am in a small room in a strange place – there is no escape, nowhere to run, nothing to distract me. He waited until I was far from home and alone, so he could show me that there is nowhere to hide.

He doesn’t respond to these thoughts, but I sense his pleasure. Rather than be annoyed by my insight, he is happy to have an opponent who understands how he operates.

It makes things more interesting, don’t you think, Conyza?

With gritted teeth I close my eyes, trying to expand the barrier and force him out, but he’s planted roots in the periphery of my thoughts and nothing I do will shift them. I don’t want to respond to him. I don’t want to engage him or acknowledge this intrusion, but he hasn’t left me any option. To tell the truth, there is a part of me that is curious. What does it mean that we can communicate this way? Is the part of his consciousness that’s in my head really him, or just a fraction of him? If I ask questions, can he give me answers?

I feel him chuckle. It’s unnerving and pisses me off.

Get out of my head!

I sense him flinch, and I can hardly believe it. His feelings are hurt! It’s really him, then. Not just some sort of automated mind-clone he’s planted in my head. It’s really John Kubega, or whatever he’s calling himself now.

Please, my dear, I mean no harm. That trinket around your foot is stronger than I thought, or I would have spoken to you in person.

You mean while impersonating my grandfather?

Ah, you’re upset. Don’t be. It was a necessary deception.

Where is he? Is he safe?

Of course. He’s off studying things, as usual. Your grandfather is a remarkable man, but far too academic, don’t you think? Not the best mentor for a girl of your talents. You need someone more hands on, more focused.

Like you?

He chuckles.

I swallow hard and focus on my barrier.
Where are you?

Far away.

I wonder how much he will tell me.
Where is Emily?

Also far away. She’s here of her own free will, you know. I didn’t make her come to me.

I ignore him; of course he would see it that way. Even if Emily is serving him of her own volition, it’s only because of the seeds he planted when he controlled her with the bewitched necklace before.

I remember the premonition-dream I had a year ago, the one featuring the creepy young men with glassy grey eyes. The thought sends a chill down my back. Hundreds of unwitting puppets under his control, equipped with superhuman strength and agility. I can’t think of anything more frightening.

I saw your army. All those ungifted…

You’ve seen them? Ah, of course. One of your premonitions.
He sounds pleased, even proud.

Why do you need them? What are you planning? Is this another test, like what you did with the girls? Or is this the main event?
I can feel the energy of his smile, slow and self-satisfied. It makes my skin crawl.
You said you wanted to talk. So talk! Tell me what you’re after. Tell me what you want!

He pauses, as if considering.
You’re not yet ready. You will understand soon, I promise. Take care, my dear. I’ll be in touch.

I gasp, my eyes springing open as the thread of his power is slowly withdrawn from my mind, like a splinter pulled out of a finger. I get to my feet, trembling.
My dear.
Bile rises in my throat. He really believes that we are friends, despite everything he’s done. I lean against the door, clutching my churning stomach. I’m disgusted and angry, but above all I’m afraid.

I straighten up and look at my reflection. The shock begins to wear off, and my pulse slowly returns to normal. My mind clears, and now I’m thinking rationally. He’s even more powerful than I imagined. I don’t know why he picked me, but there must be a reason. Because we’re both telepaths? No, it’s more than that. When he lured me and Rakwena into his house last year, he said he wanted us to work together. We dismissed his words then, but now I see that he meant it. He has plans for us, plans that include eerie armies of brainwashed ungifted. Plans that can only lead to chaos.

I try the door again, and this time it opens. This man is far too powerful. Someone has to stop him. By all indications, that someone is going to have to be me. As I make my wayback to my bed, I think of Rakwena’s steady strength. I miss him, but I know that he no longer has any power to spare for me. I’m on my own.