He shakes his head and licks his lips. “You saw something. A premonition!”
I’d never have chosen to have a premonition in his presence, but right now I have bigger concerns. “Where did you get it?”
He blinks, apparently confused. “What?”
“The tattoo, Thuli! Who did it?”
“Oh.” He smiles, back to his cocky self. “I was wondering when you’d realise. Impressive, isn’t it?”
I see it now – what’s different about him. He’s giving off a new energy, and most of it comes from his voice. It sounds smooth and supple, a snake slithering through grass. There’s magic in it, running from the tattoo to his larynx, adding power to his words.
I lean forward and grab his arm so I can study the tattoo. On closer inspection I can see that there’s something odd about the ink. It looks like it was applied with a brush rather than a needle, yet the longer I look at the black lines the more I get the sense that they’ve seeped right through to his bones. I turn his arm over, and sure enough I see the faintest trace of an outline on the other side. It vanishes before my eyes, the ink fading until it’s completely gone.
“What did you do?”
He pulls his arm away but doesn’t answer.
“You have no idea what you’re messing with!” I hiss, furious that any gifted would be stupid enough to give a magic tattoo to an ungifted, let alone a freak hunter. “Tell me where you got it!”
Thuli glances at his watch. “Tea time’s over.” He gets up and gives me a sly smile. “See you around, Connie.”
I sit there in the empty reception area, my mind reeling. I can’t believe he finally got what he’s always wanted. Thuli Baleseng, freak hunter and scum of the earth, has a gift.
* * *
I can’t sleep. I’m agitated and restless, and my bed feels by turns too soft or too hard, too hot or too cold. I’m worried about Thuli’s tattoo. I haven’t told anyone yet, but I’m seeing Ntatemogolo in the morning.
I get out of bed and sit at my desk for a while, reading a mystery novel I picked up second-hand at the Main Mall. I only get through a few pages, though; I’m too wound up to concentrate. I close the book, fold my arms on the desktop and rest my head on my arms. My mind is full of clashing sounds and images and I need to find a way to put them all in order.
I raise my head, open the chest and take out the bell. I set it on the desk and ring it softly. Immediately I feel the confusion and anxiety drift away. I remember the person in my premonition – the figure with the pencil and paper. It wasn’t ordinary paper – it was a sketchbook. The person is an artist. He must be the one who drew the tattoo.
I ring the bell again, and the fragmented thoughts in my head start to knit together. He’s not a tattoo artist; that much is clear. The first time I saw the tattoo the skin looked raised and a little swollen, but now I realise that wasn’t because of a needle. It was because of the influx of energy moving through Thuli’s body – energy his body isn’t used to. His tattoo was done with ordinary paint, and the only thing keeping it from washing off is the fact that the artist is gifted.
But who is he, and why would he give Thuli a tattoo infused with psychic energy? Money? It’s possible. Maybe the artist is poor and Thuli offered him a fortune. Or maybe Thuli bullied him into it. Either way, I have to track him down.
I ring the bell once more for luck, then put it away and return to bed. There’s a good chance Ntatemogolo knows this gifted artist; a lot of gifted come to him for counsel.
I curl up in bed and drift off, my mind clear and quiet. I dream of a forest with rich black soil that smells of living things. I’m barefoot, but it doesn’t bother me. Despite being a child of dust and thorn trees, I am at home in this wilderness.
It feels old, as old as time itself, and somewhere in the midst of all the chirping and bird calls I hear a soft voice like a fading echo. I follow it through the trees, pushing aside leaves large enough to serve as blankets.
There’s someone sitting at the bank of a small, narrow river. She turns to face me. Her eyes exude bright green energy. Everything about her stirs a vague sense of recognition deep inside me. Primal. Yes, that’s it. This dream, like the one of the figure lying in the field, feels primal.
I approach warily. “Who are you?” I ask.
“I’m Connie.”
“You can’t be Connie. I’m Connie.”
“Yes, but I’m Connie Who Knows.”
I wake with a start and stare around my dark bedroom. I’m not alone. The feeling is so strong it propels me forward. I jump out of bed, almost tripping over my shoes, and stumble towards the desk. My heart thuds in my ears as my hand scrabbles for the desk lamp. Light floods the room and I whirl around, expecting to see the intruder. There’s no one there.
* * *
“Your dreams have become quite enigmatic,” Ntatemogolo remarks the next day.
“Is that important?”
He shrugs and takes a long pull on his cigarette. “It is interesting. Important? That is more difficult to say. Who do you think she is? This girl with the green eyes?”
“I don’t know.”
“You said she seemed familiar.”
“But she didn’t look like anyone I know.” I frown. “She looked like a random person, except for those eyes.” I wish I knew what that green light meant. “There’s something else, Ntatemogolo. The freak hunter I told you about. Thuli. Do you remember?”
“Of course.” His features settle into a frown. “Is he causing trouble again?”
I sigh. Thuli doesn’t cause trouble; he is trouble. “He’s working at the same place as me. He’s been bugging me, trying to be friends – but that’s not the problem. The problem is he has a magic tattoo.”
My grandfather blinks. “How is that possible?”
“It’s not a proper tattoo, but it’s painted on his arm. A snake. Yesterday when I was with him I had a premonition. There’s energy in the tattoo, and I think I saw the person who gave it to him.”
Ntatemogolo leans forward. “Tell me more about the premonition.”
I recount it in as much detail as I can. “The tattoo contains gifted energy that changes the way Thuli speaks,” I conclude.
“Changes it how?”
I shake my head. “I can’t explain it. I guess it makes his words more…I don’t know, persuasive? Charming? I can’t really tell. The other day he spoke to the receptionist and she changed her attitude completely. But when he talks to me he just sounds like Thuli.”
“Such a thing would not work on a gifted at your level,” he replies with a dismissive wave of one hand. “It is low-grade trickery, and you have the anklet.”
Of course. Why didn’t I think of that? My gift picked up the strange vibe Thuli was giving off, but the anklet kept me from being susceptible to the changes in his voice. “What do we do about this artist? Do you know any gifted artists?”
“Not yet. I will find him. There is something else we must discuss.” He puts out the cigarette. “You must have heard about the unexplained energy surge that has happened here and in nine other places, and we have discussed the changes in the gifted here – the slight increase in our abilities.”
I get a chill as I realise what he’s about to say. “The growing gifts are happening in other places, too, aren’t they? The same places as the energy surges! Talk about coincidence.”
I see a brief flash of teeth. “What have I told you about coincidences,