to discuss Rakwena,” I remind them quickly, discomfited by the sudden burst of longing in my chest. Must not think about Rakwena. Must not think about Rakwena! “Look what I got!” I hold up the puzzle box for them to admire.
“Ooh,” gasps Lebz, as I knew she would. “That’s gorgeous. Where did you get it?”
“The Puppetmaster sent it. It’s a puzzle box – I can’t wait to start working on it!”
There’s a brief silence. Wiki clears his throat. “Why did he send it?”
“To test me, obviously! You know how much he wants me to grow.”
I can tell by the expressions on my friends’ faces that if they were in the same room they’d be exchanging those knowing glances I hate.
“Isn’t your grandfather training you now?” asks Lebz, a trace of acid in her tone.
I sigh impatiently. “There’s nothing wrong with an extra challenge.”
“This isn’t about helping you make progress,” says Wiki. “The Puppetmaster wants to be in control of your training.”
“He can want it, but it’s not going to happen.” I put the puzzle box down. “It’s just one test. It’s not a big deal.”
I can tell by the ensuing silence that my friends don’t agree with me, and I’m not in the mood for a lecture. I had a good day and I’d like to ride the wave a little longer, so I use my tried and tested tactic for avoiding uncomfortable conversations. I change the subject. “Thuli’s gifted, by the way.”
“What?” says Lebz, reaching towards her laptop to turn up the volume.
“Thuli Baleseng, our dear friend, has got himself a gift.”
Wiki exhales loudly. “OK, you’re going to have to start at the beginning.”
I oblige, and by the time we say goodnight they’ve forgotten all about the Puppetmaster. But I haven’t.
I reach out to him as I lie in bed, turning the puzzle box side to side. I suppose I should thank you.
He wastes no time in responding. You’re welcome. Do you like it?
It’s great. What’s the occasion? Did I steer some poor soul onto your path?
He chuckles, but I get the sense that his attention is divided. You did so well with the first box of secrets that I thought you’d appreciate a fresh challenge.
Is this your way of trying to get into my good books?
Am I in your good books?
No.
I didn’t think so. I’m sure it would take more than a puzzle box.
I tap the wooden panel on the left side of the box. I don’t sense any psychic energy in this thing.
Of course not. I’m not an amateur.
I find myself smiling, and immediately twist my features back into a scowl. A thread of fear coils tight around my throat. I’m starting to enjoy our talks. I know I shouldn’t, but there’s something special about being able to communicate telepathically with someone who can talk back. I value this exchange of energy. He’s the only other telepath I know and, like it or not, that connection matters to me.
You’re thinking too much, he says, and I panic, wondering whether he’s found a way into my innermost thoughts. But I can feel his presence on the outside, in the safe zone.
Would you prefer I didn’t think at all? I thought you needed me at my best.
I do.
What exactly do you want from me?
I’ll tell you soon, I promise. I must go – evil machinations to oversee, and all that.
I roll my eyes. You realise that nothing you do can change how I feel, right? You’re still my enemy. You always will be.
If you insist. Goodnight, my dear.
Wait! Where is Henry Marshall?
There’s a pause. Safe.
You haven’t hurt him?
He’ll be home soon. You have my word.
He leaves my mind and I set the puzzle box down on my bedside table. He’s telling the truth…but he’s also lying. There are things beneath the surface that he hasn’t revealed.
I lie still and listen to my heartbeat, and the certainty comes up from that old, primal place inside me, the place that recognises the strange dreams I’ve been having. I’ve always been able to sniff things out – that’s what my gift is all about – but this is different. Something’s changed. It’s more than my gift growing. Once again I get the eerie feeling that I’m not alone.
I don’t know what to make of this sensation. It’s not like having an intruder in the house or even in my head. It’s as much physical as supernatural. It’s as though something is stirring inside, and it has important things to tell me.
What it tells me now is that the Puppetmaster cares about me, but he cares about something else more. I can’t trust him, even when he speaks the truth. I have to be extra careful. If I don’t watch my step with him, I’ll fall.
I turn to look at the puzzle box. Maybe I’ve already fallen.
My first conscious thought when I wake up is that I should have had a more sensible dinner. My stomach is cramping and my head feels woozy. I feel my gift buzz behind my eyes and shut them against the pain. I’m having another premonition. I can hardly believe it – so soon after the last one! Then I can’t think any more – I’m distracted by my stinging eyes and contracting muscles. My head jerks upwards, and for a fraction of a second my whole body freezes. I keep my eyes closed and the images flow in, like shaky, unclear clips from a home video.
I hear footsteps before the image comes into focus – the sharp click-click of heels on tar. I see solid calves, stylish brown shoes. There’s a shadow in the corner of my eye, deformed and threatening. The woman stops. She turns to run, then she’s falling through the earth. I hear the air rushing past her, her ragged, frightened breath and something else, like a voice from far away. As she’s falling, someone passes her. He’s falling upwards, returning to the place she just left. She catches a glimpse of a face. Henry Marshall.
I
