Crowned

He’s quiet for some time. Usually he’s the hardest person to read, but today I know exactly how he feels. He’s worried about me. He’s been worried since he got back. He thinks the time I spent with the Puppetmaster has had a detrimental effect on me. The last thing I want to do is add fuel to that fire, so I decide to keep my growing powers to myself a little longer. It’s ironic that I don’t see the question coming.

“Connie, have you noticed anything strange about your gift of late?”

For a second I’m too stunned to respond. How did he know?

“Some of my clients tell me they are having trouble controlling their gifts,” he continues. “They seem to be stronger than usual. I thought my gift was unaffected, but now I can feel a slight surge in power. Do you feel it as well?”

I have to make a conscious effort to keep the relief from showing all over my face. It’s not just me. Thank God. “Yes,” I breathe, and the word is a weight off my chest. “My gift has been more sensitive lately.”

He strokes his beard. “I haven’t heard news of any significant supernatural event, but something is going on. It might also explain why you are having these vivid dreams. Describe the first one to me again.”

I oblige. I remember every detail, down to the scent of wet soil on that misty field.

“Could the object pushing the rock into the ground have been a staff?”

I frown. “Like the kind wizards carry in stories? I don’t know. It seemed heavy. Dark and rounded.”

“The head of a staff?”

I shrug. “Maybe. Why? Would it make a difference?”

“Oh, yes. There are rituals that involve placing markers at specific points. Quartzite is often used for such purposes. You can’t touch the markers or they will become tainted, so a sorcerer will use a purified staff to fix the markers in place. It is possible your dream is a premonition of such a ritual. But it is also possible the dream is a metaphor.”

“A metaphor for what? Is it saying something is buried that I need to uncover?”

“I wish I had the answers. I will do what I can to learn more.” He reaches for another cigarette, then changes his mind. “It has been a long time since our last training session.”

I look at him in surprise. Was that a note of indignation?

“I suppose you are too busy, or perhaps you no longer need my help.”

I refrain from rolling my eyes. When the Puppetmaster impersonated my grandfather we worked hard on my gift and I grew tremendously, more than in all the months I trained with my real grandfather. Ntatemogolo is jealous of that fact, though he won’t admit it. The Puppetmaster pushed me in ways my grandfather never would. Ntatemogolo’s technique is more tough fitness trainer than Zen master with a big stick. He may not have led me to build a full-time psychic barrier or unlock a magically sealed box with my mind, but I wouldn’t be anywhere without his guidance.

“I’m always going to need your help,” I tell him gently. “We can start right now.”

He’s trying not to smile. “I want you to show me your new trick.”

“Opening boxes with my gift? I’ve only done it once.”

Ntatemogolo gets up and walks to the chest in the corner where he keeps his tools. He returns carrying a small hardcover book.

“That’s not fair!” I grumble. “You know how difficult it is for me to read paper.”

He gives me a smug smile and places the book on the mat between us. “What was the Puppetmaster teaching you if you still have trouble with paper?”

I grit my teeth. This is the thanks I get for reassuring him that he’s still my number one mentor? Well! “What do you want me to do?”

“I have written some notes in the book.”

I pick up the book and open it. The pages are blank. “Invisible ink?”

He laughs. It’s clear he’s been planning this game for some time and intends to relish every moment. “I concealed them. You must find a way around my security system.”

I take a deep breath. “All right. Prepare to be amazed.”

“I am not amazed,” he remarks a while later, after my eleventh attempt.

I push the book away in frustration. I thought it would be easier than usual, with my growth spurt and all, but it wasn’t. I could sense the concealments but couldn’t find a way to undo them. Training your gift is like training your body – the first session after a break feels like you’re back at square one. Right now my brain wants to burst out of my skull.

Ntatemogolo chuckles. “OK, enough for today. You see, my girl, I may not be a powerful sorcerer, but I am still a master.”

I nod, too tired to argue. “You’re the man, Ntatemogolo.”

He’s in too good a mood to object to my colloquialism. He walks me out and stands on the veranda, chortling. When I turn around halfway down the street, he’s still grinning at me. My head is pounding, but I can’t help smiling. It’s good to have him back, even if he is the most annoying old man on the planet.

I’m less concerned about the changes in my gift now that I know I’m not the only one it’s happened to. I know it’s selfish, but an inexplicable change throughout the gifted world is easier to accept than an inexplicable change in me. I’m still no closer to figuring things out, though. What is causing these changes? Is it linked to Marshall’s disappearance?

If my dreams are accurate, there’s something sinister afoot. Something that could kill the gifted. I can’t for the life of me imagine what that could be.

* * *

My job at the production company has one major drawback – my boss’s cousin. I can think of a whole list of adjectives to describe Thuli Baleseng. Sleazy, sneaky, creepy, crazy, ghastly, haughty. That’s enough reason to dislike him, but he’s also a freak hunter. Freak hunters are, fortunately, an endangered species. They devote their time to trying to uncover the secrets of the gifted so they can exploit them.

Our relationship is complicated, and by that I mean I can’t stand the guy. I had a huge, stupid crush on Thuli for years, but he didn’t know I existed until Rakwena and I became friends. He deduced that Rakwena, so obviously gifted it’s a miracle no one else caught on, would only befriend another gifted. After that he wouldn’t leave me alone.

I’m sitting at a desk in a corner of the office when he appears. I don’t see him at first. I’m too busy flipping through copies of the latest production schedule, filling in sections where the printer ink was too faint. I sense him, though. My gift shifts in his direction long before my eyes, so by the time I finally spot him I’ve been holding my breath for an agonising few seconds.

My panic fades and rational thought kicks in. I don’t know why he affects me this way. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that almost two years ago he lured me to his room and pinned me to the bed. I escaped unscathed, but the memory haunts me.

I frown. He’s different. Not physically – he has the same long dreadlocks tied back with a dark blue ribbon. He still wears expensive shirts that hang off his bony shoulders. His sleepy, sinister eyes are still a little red from smoking too many cigarettes and other things, and he still has that arrogant smirk.

But his energy has changed. I can’t explain it, but my gift can feel it. A sudden heaviness in his aura. A new glowing strength, like stainless steel. I can almost taste the shiny tang of it. He starts to move, taking long strides in my direction. I try to push him away with the force of my glare, but Thuli’s never been one to take a hint. He comes to a stop beside me.

“Connie!” His smile is too smug to be believed. “You’re here!”

“I work here. What’s your excuse?”

He laughs and slips into the chair beside me. “How have you been?”

I inch away from him. “Great, until about five seconds ago.”

“Come on,” he purrs. “I’d really like us to be friends again.”

Again? The boy is unbelievable. “Go away.”

“You don’t mean that.” He reaches out to touch my hair and I recoil. His hand drops to the desk. “Maybe my new position will give us a chance to get reacquainted.”

“What new position?” My hands ball into fists on top of the desk. Please don’t tell me he’s going to be working here.