Cheryl Ntumy - Unravelled

I sneak a peek at the time on my phone and fling open the door with a mock scowl. “You’re six minutes late.”

I’m tall and skinny, but he’s taller, with the lean, muscular physique of a runner. He offers me an apologetic grin and leans over to plant a half-hearted kiss on my cheek. He seems a little preoccupied. School stress already? “Where’s Dr Bennett?”

“Out.”

“Good.” He steps into the house, closes the door behind him and sweeps me up into a movie-worthy smooch.

Well, so much for playing it cool. I melt into his arms, losing myself in the sheer pleasure of being with him after five long days. Sigh! Rakwena’s energy seeps into my skin, sending delicious tingles through my body. When he touches me, sparks fly. Literally. How many other girls can say that?

“I missed you,” he says, pulling away to look at me. His eyes are bright with earnest emotion, a look so intense that my heart plays a two-second game of hop-scotch in my chest.

“Of course you did.” I think I need to kiss him again. Five days is a long time.

He runs a finger down the side of my face, and out of the corner of my eye I see blue light dancing on his fingertips. I pull him towards me and kiss him. Ah. Much better.

He raises an eyebrow at me. “Can I assume you missed me, too?”

“That would be pushing it,” I tell him happily. “Hungry? We have leftover steak.”

He holds up an anonymous white plastic bag. Through it I can see several chocolate bars and three fizzy drinks. “I came prepared. What are you watching? Not The Notebook again!” He rolls his eyes. “Can’t we watch the Discovery Channel?”

This is what happens when all the men in your life are super-smart. “I just spent all afternoon working – I want to give my brain a break.” I reach into the plastic bag for some chocolate and settle down on the sofa. “So. Tell me all about your escapades at UB. What did you register for?”

Rakwena sits next to me and opens his own bar of chocolate. “You don’t really want to know about school. Let’s talk about you.”

“It’s not school , it’s university .” I bite into the chocolate and let it melt in my mouth. Thank God for Rakwena’s sweet-tooth.

He sighs, and I pick up a hint of impatience. “Well, I’m taking all the sciences for first year – Bio, Chemistry, Physics and Maths. I’ll have my hands full.”

“What about work?” His job at RikaElectrics isn’t the most exciting gig in the world, but he enjoys it and the money’s good.

“I’ll still work on weekends and holidays. I have Thursdays free, too. But how have you been?”

I finish off the chocolate and rest my head on his shoulder. “Form Five sucks. I’ve never worked so hard in my life!”

“Aw, poor Connie,” he teases. “Your system must be in shock after all those years of sheer laziness.”

I poke him in the ribs and he jerks out of my reach with a chuckle, then reaches into the plastic bag for one of the drinks. He opens it and downs it all in one go, then goes for the next one, drains it and goes for the third. I shake my head, smiling. Rakwena’s insane appetite is one of the many not-quite-normal things about him. One of the things I admire most about him is the fact that he flies his freak flag high. I’m not quite there yet, but I think his confidence is rubbing off on me a little.

“I know I’m pretty,” he says suddenly, “but that doesn’t mean you should stare.”

I roll my eyes and shove him. Confidence? I meant conceit. His laughter tapers off, and again I notice that there’s an anxious edge to him today.

“You OK?”

“Sure.” He flashes me a big smile. “What’s new? Any gossip? Meet any new people?”

“Where would I meet new people?” I counter. “I go to the same places all the time.”

His shrug is nonchalant, but that anxiety has crept into his voice. “You know how you attract trouble.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. So, nothing? Business as usual?”

“Business as usual.” I study him through narrowed eyes. “What’s your story? You seem nervous.”

“Of course I’m nervous,” he replies, a little brusquely. “I’m going to university and leaving you alone with all those idiots at Syringa. I’m allowed to be worried.”

Ah. I can only assume that by “idiots” he’s referring to one idiot in particular. Thuli Baleseng was my crush for all of three dazed years before he finally deigned to notice me last year. I was thrilled that my perseverance had paid off, until he lured me into his room during a party and tried to have his way with me. It turned out that the brilliant, somewhat seedy Thuli was only after one thing – my gift. As soon as Rakwena and I became friends, Thuli realised I had to be different from other girls, because Rakwena wasn’t exactly Mr Friendly.

Thuli is a freak hunter, an ungifted obsessed with discovering the magical secrets of the gifted and using them for himself. Whether this is possible is debatable, but it didn’t stop the psycho from trying to get into my pants in the hope that my powers were contagious.

It was Rakwena who found me running madly through that huge house, and took me home. Ever since he has kept a special place for Thuli in his dark dungeon of hatred, and Thuli is too clever to risk life and limb by coming near me again.

“Thuli isn’t a threat anymore,” I assure him.

“Maybe, but who knows? There could be others out there like him, others that just want to manipulate you, and I won’t be able to protect you as easily as before.” He looks at me, his brow creased in concern. “Maybe I should cut down on my classes.”

I gape at him. “Are you crazy? I don’t need a babysitter! I was fine all year while you were working!”

“Yes, but it’s different now.”

“Why?”

He purses his lips and slumps against the cushions.

“You’re overreacting,” I tell him gently. “I’m fine. And Lebz and Wiki are there to keep an eye on me.”

“Right.” His smile is strained. “Just stay out of trouble, OK? Promise me.”

“It’s been really quiet over the last few months; I really doubt – ”

“Promise!”

I sigh. “Fine. I’ll stay out of trouble. I promise.”

He pulls me close, squeezing me a little tighter than necessary, and I frown against his chest. Usually I’m the one who has premonitions, but suddenly I’m getting the feeling that Rakwena smells trouble.

**

It’s still dark outside. I’m sitting at my desk in my room, freshly showered and dressed for school. I couldn’t sleep after seeing Rakwena. His worries infected me, and I kept having funny dreams about alien sock puppets and evil garage bands. Finally I decided to get up and get some work done. Not schoolwork, though. The other kind.

The File lies open in front of me. It’s an ordinary yellow file, the type a lot of students use to keep their notes in order, but it’s filled with research on the supernatural, myths and folklore and any magical snippets that might come in handy. The File was my friend Wiki’s idea, inspired by the onset of my telepathic powers, and he’s been updating it regularly ever since. Normally it stays with Wiki, but I borrowed it to add some information on telepathy.

On the right-hand page is a rough identikit sketch from the front page of The GC Chronicle . The man in the sketch is thin, in his forties, with a distinguished air about him and a pair of round spectacles perched on a broad nose with flared nostrils. It’s John Kubega, the man we call the Puppetmaster. Last year he turned five schoolgirls into a gang of super-freaks and had them roaming the city of Gaborone, leading me on a merry chase. Rakwena and I managed to break the spell, but the Puppetmaster got away. Well, we broke the spell in four cases, anyway. I’m still not sure where one of the girls, Emily, stands.