Crowned - Cheryl Ntumy S.

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rather be friends with flesh-eating bacteria.”

      “You made friends with Kelly.”

      “Kelly’s not a sociopath.”

      The door opens and Portia, the receptionist, pops her head into the room. “Thuli, Bernard’s looking for you.”

      “In a minute.” He barely glances at her.

      “He said you should come right now. He wants to–”

      Thuli turns to face her. “I’m talking to Connie. Give us some privacy, would you?”

      His manner doesn’t surprise me in the least, but Portia’s reaction does. Something moves over her face. Her frown melts and her lips curl in a sappy smile. Suddenly the brisk receptionist has been replaced by a besotted schoolgirl.

      “Of course,” she simpers. “I’m so sorry. Take your time.” The door closes, and in the ensuing silence I hear the click of her heels moving away from the door.

      I stare at Thuli. “What was that?”

      He cocks his head to one side and looks at me. “I have a way with women.”

      “Since when?”

      “Not so long ago, I had a way with you,” he purrs. There’s an odd quality to his voice, as though there’s something in his throat. “It could be like that again.”

      Ugh. He can’t seriously think I’d ever be attracted to him again. The fact that I was stupid enough to like him once will haunt me for the rest of my days. “You’re disgusting,” I tell him, since he can’t read my subtle signals.

      “You’ll change your mind.” His voice holds the ring of certainty. Why should he be certain? What is he up to?

      I reach towards his mind, then remember who he is and retreat. I can’t take that route with him. That’s exactly what he wants – proof of my gift.

      “I’ll see you around.” He slides out of the chair and exits with a cheery wave.

      Self-satisfied idiot. Thuli’s always been sure of himself, and with good reason. He’s fiercely intelligent, ambitious and comes from the kind of wealth that would make even the nicest kid a little snooty.

      I remember what it felt like to lie on my back on his bed with all his weight pressing down on me. You’d think someone so lanky would be light and weak, but he wasn’t. I had to fight hard to get him off me. He’s stronger and smarter than me, but I’m a telepath, and if he gives me a reason I will come at him with everything I’ve got.

      I shake my head and try to focus on my work. It’s not easy. I keep thinking of the way Portia’s behaviour changed. It was bizarre. It was almost as if – something distracts me, disrupting my train of thought. I sense a presence in the air, and then I feel a familiar prickle at the base of my neck and a thin, cold essence creeping into my skull. My hand stiffens. My telepathic phone is ringing, and the Puppetmaster is on the other end.

      For a moment I toy with the notion of ignoring him, but that would be pointless. It’s not as though he’s knocking and waiting to be admitted; he’s already in the periphery of my thoughts.

       Hello, Conyza.

      His psychic voice hasn’t changed. Because of the anklet he can no longer come to me in disguise, and for some reason I expected his voice to change as well. Your timing is terrible, Johnny. Can I call you Johnny?

       You can call me whatever you like, my dear, though John would be more appropriate. Certainly less of a mouthful than Puppetmaster.

      I grit my teeth – he’s mocking me. Where have you been? Brainwashing people?

       Not quite. There were things that kept me occupied, but I’ve been looking forward to seeing you again. You seem well, Princess. I’m glad.

      I wish I could say the same. When do we meet? That is why you’re making contact, right?

       Of course. Tomorrow afternoon. Block 8. I’ll give you directions.

      I clench my jaw. Rather short notice. I have to work tomorrow.

       You’re a smart girl. Find a way around that.

       Hey, I’m trying to make an honest living – something you wouldn’t understand.

      He’s not insulted, but I sense that he’s growing impatient. Tomorrow. Don’t be late.

      I feel him withdraw from my head. I wince; it doesn’t hurt, but it’s like having someone prod my brain. I shake my head, trying to regain my equilibrium. I can’t help thinking of the concern I saw when I slipped past my grandfather’s barrier. Could he be right? Has the Puppetmaster affected me in some way? I push the disturbing thought away and get back to work.

      On my way home I stop at Lebz’s house to tell her the news.

      “Tomorrow!” she gasps, leaping off her bed to grab my arm. Her nails bite into my wrist. “But that’s so soon! Tell him it’s a bad time.”

      “You know the terms of the agreement. He picks the time and place.”

      She swallows. “Well, now you definitely have to email Rakwena. We don’t know what will happen at the meeting, but we know the plan involves both of you. He needs to be prepared.”

      This time there’s nothing I can say in protest. I nod.

      “Promise me you’ll come back.”

      “Of course. He’s not going to throw me in a dungeon.”

      “That’s not what I mean. Promise me you will come back. Not someone else in your skin.”

      We both know that’s a promise I can’t make. The Puppetmaster can’t use his gifts to trick me, but he won’t need to. He could conduct his attack out in the open and I wouldn’t be able to stop him. But Lebz is looking at me with fear in her eyes, and I know what she needs to hear. I make the promise. Let’s hope I’ll have the strength to keep it.

       From: [email protected]

       To: [email protected]

       I know I’m not supposed to initiate contact, but I have so much to tell you. The world fell apart after you left and it’s not quite back together.

       You were right about Ntatemogolo – he was different when he came back from that trip. I searched his house and found a magic box. Inside were a lot of odds and ends – jewellery, a vial, my missing anklet, a copy of his watch, and a tooth that turned out to be mine from childhood. Creepy, right? I assumed the objects belonged to the Puppetmaster and Ntatemogolo found them, but something wasn’t adding up. I put the anklet on right away and haven’t taken it off since.

       Anyway, turns out “Ntatemogolo” was really the Puppetmaster. That’s why he behaved so strangely. That’s why he made you overdose on your anti-drifter serum. He gave me a ring that made my thoughts foggy, so it took me a while to catch on. My real grandfather got held up chasing a lead.

       By the time I learned the truth the Puppetmaster was long gone. Then Dad and I came home from a wedding to find two Ntatemogolos in the living room. I didn’t know which was which, and I was terrified the Puppetmaster would kill my grandfather, so I made a deal with him. Don’t freak out. I can just see you burning furniture and crackling like an electrical storm. It’s not like he asked for my soul. Just

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