are no clues. Well, nothing but the premonition I had back in February, and it’s August now. In the premonition I saw an army of bewitched ungifted far more powerful than the girls we rescued, an army he is building for some unknown purpose. I know he’s out there, biding his time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike, but I’m just a kid who can read minds. How on earth can I go up against a seasoned sorcerer with a magical army?
I’m startled by a sudden buzzing noise coming from the other room. I exhale; it’s only Dad’s alarm. I hear a muffled groan, a creaking noise and then footsteps.
I turn my attention back to the File. “Where are you?” I whisper to the sketch.
I suppose part of me expects a reply. He’s a sorcerer after all – he could speak to me through an identikit image if he wanted to. But the picture is silent and still, so I turn the page and skim through the notes I’ve been adding over the past few days. They’re just brief points I’ve gleaned from my grandfather, tips for telepaths, interesting little insights and so on. They’re handwritten, but reasonably legible.
I read for a while, making a few changes here and there, and then close the File and turn to the wooden chest at the corner of my desk. It was a birthday gift from my grandfather, a miniature version of the chest he keeps in his house. I pull it towards me and lift the heavy lid to reveal the contents. The small clay jar, bronze bell and beaded anklet came with the box. Beside them is a folded note.
The jar works a little like a supernatural vacuum cleaner; when I’m plagued by negative energy I put my hand over it and it sucks out all the dirt. I’ve only used it twice – both times after particularly trying sessions with Ntatemogolo. The bell makes a wonderful sound and is supposed to clear my head. The anklet is about a century old, and I can’t help worrying that if I put it on it will fall apart.
I take it out of the box and examine the faded design on the chipped and scratched wooden beads. There’s something humbling about holding a piece of history in my hand. Ntatemogolo promised he’d tell me the story of the girl who first wore it, but we’ve been rather busy.
I put the anklet back, close the box and put it back in its place. I glance at my phone and gasp; it’s almost six-thirty. I jump up and shove the File into my school bag; I’m giving it back to Wiki today. Then I head to the kitchen for breakfast.
Dad is standing over the counter, gulping down a cup of coffee. His shirt is slightly rumpled, his brown hair is standing up at the back, his milky skin looks flushed, and behind his glasses his eyes are half-closed.
“Morning, love,” he says with a sigh, dragging himself over to kiss my forehead.
“Hi, Dad. You look terrible.”
He gives me a weak, lopsided grin. “Just tired. I was up most of the night working on a report for Salinger.”
I open the fridge and take out the milk. “What time did you get home?”
“Late. After eleven, I think. Was Rakwena here?”
“Ja; he left around nine.” I make myself a bowl of muesli and eat it standing up, watching him. “Are you almost done with the report? I think you need a break.”
He yawns and puts his empty mug on the counter. “I’m done, but they want me to oversee a big project they’re starting soon. I have to hire research assistants from the university before then. God, I’m knackered.”
I frown at him. “Let me at least make you a proper breakfast, Dad – you can’t survive on coffee.”
He shakes his head and goes to fetch his briefcase from the dining room table. “I have a meeting at eight – got to prepare. See you later, love.”
I frown as he heads out. After breakfast I turn on the radio while I wait for Lebz. Auntie Lydia comes in at quarter to seven, her petite frame buried under bags of sewing material. She runs a tailoring business on the side, but I can’t remember the last time she brought this much work with her. I hurry to open the door for her.
“Wow,” I marvel as she dumps the lot on the dining table. “Are you opening a shop?”
She laughs. “I have a lot of orders this week. Is your father gone?”
I nod. “You just missed him. Any messages?”
“It’s nothing…” Her sigh says otherwise. “He forgot to pay me yesterday.”
I rummage around on the dining table where Dad usually leaves Auntie Lydia’s pay, but there’s no sign of an envelope. “He must have forgotten all about it. He’s been really busy. Should I call and remind him?”
She shakes her head and pats my arm. “I’ll call his office later. Aren’t you going to be late? Where’s Malebogo?”
“I don’t know.” I reach into my pocket for my phone and check the time. “She’s usually here by now. I’m sure she’s on the way.”
Auntie Lydia goes off to clean the kitchen and I stand on the doorstep, watching the road. Finally I see Lebz hurrying towards the house, scarlet braids flying behind her. Students at the Syringa Institute of Excellence aren’t allowed “unnatural” hair styles, but the teachers can’t seem to agree on how to define “unnatural”, so people like Lebz get away with anything.
She lifts the latch on the front gate and pushes it open, then runs up the driveway, leaving the gate wide open behind her as usual. The gate, I tell her silently. She comes to an abrupt stop, turns around and goes back to close the gate. Being a telepath comes in very handy sometimes.
“News!” she squeals, almost knocking me over as she bolts into the house.
Only a boy could get Lebz this excited. “I’m fine, thanks for asking. Can we go? We’re late already.”
She dashes into the kitchen to say hello to Lydia, then runs back and grabs my arm. Her nails are blue today, but I bet not a single teacher will notice. “Connie, oh my God! You will not believe Kelly’s new boyfriend.”
Oh, a double whammy – a boy and Kelly, Lebz’s buxom, brainless role model. I drag her towards the road. “Let me guess – his father owns half the country.”
“I have no idea who his father is, but who cares?” She sighs and releases my arm so she can clasp her hands together in rapture. “Connie! He’s so hot. I mean…so, so, so hot. Damn! I have never seen anyone so cute in my whole life. And get this – there are more of them!”
“More boyfriends?” I arch my eyebrows. I thought Kelly was more of a serial monogamist, but I’m always looking for new reasons to dislike her.
Lebz makes an exasperated noise in her throat. “More hot boys! A whole group of them; six, and they are all good-looking. All of them! Do you know how rare that is? A bunch of guys who hang out together and are all the same level of hotness?”
I roll my eyes. “Wow. A biological miracle.”
She slaps my arm impatiently. “Don’t you think this is a little bit weird?”
There’s something about the way she says that last word that grabs my attention. “Strange weird or freaky weird?”
She raises her eyebrows.
