Crowned. Cheryl S. Ntumy

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       XO,

       Connie

      * * *

      “I’m coming with you.”

      I stare at my father, then shoot an “I told you so” glance at Ntatemogolo, who has come to pick me up for my first meeting with the Puppetmaster. Now that Dad knows I’m gifted, Ntatemogolo has enforced a full-disclosure policy that I have serious qualms about. He has always wanted to prove that his “mumbo jumbo” is real, and I think he takes a perverse pleasure in shocking Dad with the details. There was no need to tell Dad about the meetings. He freaked out plenty before he found out the truth, but now freaking out seems to be his default state.

      I take a deep breath. “Dad, the Puppetmaster’s not going to hurt me.”

      Dad’s jaw is tense. I can see him wrestling with the options – the illusion of options, that is. There is no way he’s coming along. “What kind of father lets his child walk into this kind of situation?”

      I take another deep breath, willing myself to be patient with him. He’s only been living in our world a few weeks, and he’s bound to have trouble adjusting. “I gave him my word,” I explain as I slip my phone into my pocket. “We have an agreement. If I do anything to annoy him…” I leave the rest to Dad’s imagination.

      He swallows. His face turns pale. “How will I know what’s going on?”

      “You won’t. You’re just going to have to trust me.”

      “Trust you? You’re only eighteen!”

      “Then trust me,” says Ntatemogolo. There’s only the slightest trace of impatience in his voice. I’m impressed. “Do you think I would let anything happen to Connie?”

      Dad hesitates just long enough to raise my grandfather’s hackles.

      “Listen here, Raymond. I would never–”

      “I know.” Dad sighs. “But I’m her father!”

      “I’ll be fine, Dad. Ntatemogolo will be right there.”

      He glowers at my grandfather. “If anything happens to her…”

      “Nothing will,” Ntatemogolo assures him, and steers me towards the car.

      I turn to give Dad a reassuring smile. He’s standing in the doorway looking as though he’s torn between running after us and running to his room to hide. We’re at the gate… We’re out. I close the gate behind me, get into the car and heave a sigh of relief. When the car pulls into the road, Dad is still standing in the doorway.

      “He’s going to get better, isn’t he?”

      “I did not realise he was sick.”

      “He’s in shock. Post-traumatic stress, or something.” I turn away from the window; the house is out of sight now. “That’s a kind of sickness.”

      “He will be fine. Give him time.”

      We lapse into silence. We’re both anxious – this is a big moment and we don’t know what to expect.

      “I have tried to find a way to get you out of this bargain,” my grandfather says softly.

      I turn to look at him. “There is no way. A deal’s a deal. If I break it–”

      “I know. I said I tried; I didn’t say I succeeded.” He sighs. “John Kubega has been after you for a long time, my girl. While I was gone he had the perfect opportunity to put his plan in motion.”

      “But he didn’t.”

      He keeps his eyes on the road. “We don’t know that. Until we know what he wants how can we know how much progress he has made? I wish you had never bargained with him. He is not to be trusted.”

      Frustration boils inside me. “I didn’t have a choice.”

      “There is always a choice.”

      “He could have killed you!”

      “I have lived a long life.”

      I turn away and stare out of the window, too angry to reply. How can he say things like that? The Puppetmaster had locked him in a field of energy. He couldn’t move or speak, and all it would have taken was a flick of the Puppetmaster’s wrist to snap Ntatemogolo’s neck. Did he expect me to stand by and do nothing because he’s “lived a long life”?

      “I am grateful,” he says. “Please don’t misunderstand. But it is my duty to protect you, not the other way around. There is a reason he wants to meet with you in person. If all he wanted to do was talk, he could do that telepathically. Why does he have to see you? What does he gain from it? That is the question. That is always the question with him.”

      He’s right. I’ve asked myself that question countless times. So far I know only three things for certain. One: he has built an army of ungifted soldiers controlled through telepathy. I saw them in a premonition. Ungifted are easier to manipulate because they operate on a lower psychic level, but the fallout is worse because their bodies aren’t used to handling gifted energy. Two: he has big plans for the gifted world that somehow involve me and Rakwena. Three: he will do anything to bring his plans to fruition.

      When we struck this bargain I was in a vulnerable position, prepared to do almost anything to save Ntatemogolo. The Puppetmaster could have asked for more, but all he wanted was three meetings. Why? If I don’t go, I’ll never find out.

      The Puppetmaster enters my head as soon as Ntatemogolo and I pass the traffic lights and turn towards Block 8. His directions are succinct. There’s no preamble, not even a greeting. It’s not like him to be so abrupt. I pass on the directions, and before long we pull up in front of a massive cement wall. It’s unpainted and looks as though it was put up just days ago. At the far left end is a black gate. Ntatemogolo parks in front of it.

      “Connie, there is still time to change your mind.”

      “No. I’m going in.”

      I see the struggle in his expression. Finally he gives a terse nod. “I am going to stay right here and wait for you.”

      I nod. My stomach is in knots.

      “Do not let your guard down. Stay alert and focused, and if something happens use your gift to reach me.”

      I nod again, then get out of the car and start walking towards the gate before I lose my nerve. I try to open it – it’s locked, and there’s no intercom. The gate slides open to admit me. Inside is an abandoned construction site. A wheelbarrow full of bricks and rubble stands to one side. There’s a ladder stretched against the wall of the incomplete double-storey structure, and near the far wall is a pile of dry weeds, their roots pointing towards me. The building has no doors or windows, and most of the right side is an assortment of naked bars and beams. I take a deep breath and walk across the yard towards the empty doorway. The inside of the house is covered with dust, the floor littered with bits of wire and metal and broken bricks. It will be quite a large house when СКАЧАТЬ