Cheryl S. Ntumy - Unravelled

“Connie, come on,” he calls, a few steps ahead of me. “Pick up the pace – we need to keep our hearts pumping.”

“Yes, Captain!” I call back with a mock salute.

He turns to look at me over his shoulder, his scar facing me. The scar his father gave him the night he died – or pretended to die. We still don’t know for sure.

Apart from the odd eating habits and blue spark, Rakwena is also telekinetic. When his mother left his father and took young Rakwena along, his father hunted them down. A terrible fight ensued, with Rakwena’s father using his own telekinesis against his five-year-old son. It’s unthinkable, but from what I’ve heard, Rakwena’s dad was a monster.

As a child Rakwena’s powers were fearsome and erratic, and when his father struck him he reacted instinctively. The result was an apparently lifeless body lying in front of him – but since his father’s body was taken away and Rakwena never saw him again, there’s no way of being certain he’s dead. He could be out there, waiting for an opportunity to come back and take his revenge.

Rakwena doesn’t want to talk about it; it’s yet another mystery he’s happy to leave unsolved, but I’m not the kind of girl who lets things go. I want answers, and one way or another I’m going to get them.

Chapter Two

Come Monday morning, Wiki, Lebz and I are draped across our bench, deeply engrossed in separate activities. Wiki’s nose is buried in a book, Lebz is touching up her pink nail polish and I am sitting quietly, watching the other students. Ntatemogolo always says you’ll be surprised what you learn when you keep your mouth shut and your eyes open.

“Oh!” Lebz puts away her nail polish and sits up straight, self-consciously running a hand down her ponytail. “Kelly’s just arrived.”

“Woo hoo,” I declare, in the most uninterested tone I can muster. My gaze travels across the parking lot to where Kelly’s stepfather’s car has just pulled up. She steps out, tossing her long hair, and hoists her designer school bag over her shoulder. Another girl emerges from the backseat, younger but just as pretty and with the same air of privilege. “Hey, there’s Amantle!”

Lebz turns to me. “Woo hoo.”

Whatever. I watch Kelly and Amantle walk across the parking lot. If I didn’t know better I’d think they were sisters. They both have the effortless confidence that comes from knowing you’re better-looking than everyone around you, but since the Puppetmaster business last year Amantle has been taken down a notch or two and is now rather nice. Being possessed by a crazy sorcerer will do that to you.

Amantle’s clique was in serious trouble back then. Me and my friends assumed Amantle was the Puppetmaster’s prize pupil, since she was the leader of the clique. Discovering that it had been Emily all along was a huge shock. Rose, the sweetest member of the group, was the one who let me into her head first so I could break the Puppetmaster’s grip. She has since moved to South Africa, where she’s managed to steer clear of snooty girlfriends and sorcerers.

Lebz leaps up to go and lavish praise on her idol, then changes her mind and sinks back onto the stone bench. “They’re coming over!”

I stare in surprise. I can’t remember the last time Kelly so much as looked in my direction. Despite her friendship with Lebz she goes out of her way to ignore me, as if she thinks she might catch something if she says hello. But here she comes, with a determined look on her face and a grinning Amantle beside her.

“Hi, guys!” says Amantle brightly. “How’s it going?”

Wiki raises his head to offer a weary greeting.

“Hi,” Lebz gushes. “Wow, Kelly, your hair looks so nice today!”

I refrain from rolling my eyes and turn my attention to Amantle. “Hey.” I grin at her. “What’s up?”

Kelly takes over. She reaches into her bag and produces a fistful of little purple envelopes, then hands them to Amantle. “I’m having a little get-together this weekend,” she purrs, in the husky voice that hypnotizes Syringa’s male population.

“That’s so cool.” That’s Lebz, gushing again.

Amantle picks through the envelopes until she finds the ones she’s looking for. She hands one to Lebz.

“It’s at my place,” Kelly continues, with a flash of perfect teeth. “Friday night.”

“I’ll be there,” Lebz promises, as if there was ever any doubt.

Amantle pulls out two more envelopes. She hands one to Wiki and one to me. I look down and see my name typed on it in black ink. I raise my eyebrows at Amantle.

“Connie’s invited?” Lebz blurts out, echoing my surprise.

Kelly opens her mouth to speak, but Amantle beats her to it. “Of course.”

This must be her idea – Kelly doesn’t even know my name. Amantle and I aren’t close, but we share the sort of bond only a supernatural crisis can form.

“Anyway,” says Kelly, eager to get back to the topic at hand, “it’s a China-themed party so you have to dress up.”

Wiki and I exchange surreptitious glances. I know I shouldn’t, but it’s too good to resist. I look up at Kelly. “Can I come as a chopstick?”

Her expression is priceless; one side of her face is trying to smile politely while the other side is determined to reveal her disdain. “Um, no. You’re supposed to wear…you know…red and black, martial artsy stuff, Mandarin collars and stuff with dragons. Obviously.”

I can’t read Kelly’s mind – supposedly because my dislike of her has created a psychic barrier – but I don’t need telepathy to know that she thinks I’m insane and probably dangerous. I nod, revelling in her discomfort. Serves her right for throwing a culturally insensitive party. Out of the corner of my eye I see Lebz glaring at me.

“Thanks,” she simpers. “We’ll be there.”

“Cool.” Kelly sashays away and Amantle waves goodbye and follows.

“That was strange,” remarks Wiki. “Connie, are you actually going?”

“Why not?” I turn the invitation over in my hands, amazed that anyone has the time to get things like this professionally printed.

“It’s Kelly’s party,” he reminds me. “You can’t stand her.”

I give him a serene smile. “I’m learning to be more tolerant. Besides, it’s the perfect opportunity for me to meet this Spencer character and his Cresta Crew. I’ll blend into the crowd, talk to a few people, pick up some clues.”

Lebz snorts loudly. “You? Blend into the crowd at a party? You’ll need an extreme makeover for that.” Her eyes light up.

“Forget it,” I tell her firmly. “The last time you dressed me up for a party I almost ended up as the latest name in Thuli’s little black book, remember?”

She falls silent and shrinks into the bench. Yep, she remembers. Who could forget? I try not to think about the agonizing moments I spent in Thuli’s room, but every time I see him I feel a painful stab of panic. He’s doing Form Six at Syringa, and there are only a few more months before he leaves to terrorise some unsuspecting university.

Lebz is still trying to disappear into the bench, and Wiki is biting his lip nervously. Even though the “incident” happened last year, they still tiptoe around it as if they’re afraid any mention of it will send me over the edge. I guess I could have reported it but I knew there was no way I’d win that battle, not against Thuli’s father’s money and influence. Someday, somehow, that freak-hunter will get what he deserves. Right now, though, I have other things on my mind.

“Do you think Kelly would mind if I brought Rakwena?”

“Yes,” my friends chorus, as I knew they would.

I scowl. “Fine. It’s not like he’d want to come to a stupid party anyway – he’s in university now.” I know it’s silly to feel smug about this, but I do. I’m proud of Rakwena. He’s going to wipe the floor with all those fresh-faced UB students, and when he’s a rich and smarmy physicist I’m going to be one of those insufferable gushing girlfriends.