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.
“I’m going to be working here.”
My stomach drops. Really? Really?
Oblivious of my agony he continues, “I’ll be dealing with the marketing side of things, but we’ll be in the same building. Isn’t that great?”
Oh, sure. It’s fan-friggin’-tastic. He’s supposed to be working for his dad’s company, learning the ropes so he can take over and become another corporate shark. The only reason he took a job here instead is so he can torture me on a daily basis – I know this for a fact. Thuli has no interest in working in entertainment; he thinks it’s beneath him. I tear my eyes from his face, unnerved by his unblinking gaze, and lower them to his arms, which rest casually on top of the desk. My breath catches in my throat.
He was waiting for me to notice. Exultation comes off him in waves. Honestly, this boy should try harder to hide his emotions. He slides his arms across the scarred surface of the desk until they’re almost touching mine. I drop my hands into my lap.
“You like it?” He raises his sleeve so I can see the full picture.
“It” is a tattoo. Brand new, the lines still slightly raised. At first I thought it was a lizard crawling up his arm in a pale imitation of the tattoo that gave Rakwena his nickname, Black Lizard. On closer inspection I see that it’s a snake, fangs bared for attack. It’s smaller than Rakwena’s, yet far more menacing. It has wicked yellow eyes and almost throbs against his skin, as though it wants to leap off his arm and sink its fangs into my flesh. Something about it makes my stomach lurch.
I raise my gaze to his self-satisfied face. “I hope you know it isn’t going to wash off when you come to your senses.”
He smiles. “I should hope not. What do you think?”
“I think it’s creepy and ridiculous. Suits you perfectly.”
He laughs. Like the Puppetmaster, he seems completely unconcerned by my low opinion of him.