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People think nothing ever happens where I live. It’s too quiet, too docile, too peaceful. They don’t know the half of it. I am Conyza Bennett and I am the teen queen of things that go bump in the night....
Conyza Bennett is different to other girls her age - she can read minds for a start. But Connie is trying to put the drama of the supernatural world behind her and get on with living a normal life. Until the Cresta Crew arrive in town...
Because these boys aren’t your average teenagers. For a start they are ridiculously good-looking and Connie that underneath their pretty faces something sinister lurks. Connie tries to discover more about the mysterious Cresta Crew, but her powers of telepathy don’t work around these boys.
And as Connie gets closer to the Cresta Crew she begins to unravel a secret that could threaten to destroy everything she holds precious.
Conyza Bennett Book 2
Also by Cheryl S Ntumy
Entwined
UNRAVELLED
Cheryl S. Ntumy
Copyright
HQ
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2014
Copyright © Cheryl S. Ntumy 2014
Cheryl S. Ntumy asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
E-book Edition © March 2014 ISBN: 9781472090997
Version date: 2018-10-30
Cheryl S. Ntumy always knew she wanted to write. With two teachers as parents, she grew up surrounded by books. As a child she wrote everything she could think of, from comic books and magazines to short novels and film scripts – some of which are still hiding in a dusty closet. She dreamed of exploring the realms of science fiction, fantasy and the supernatural, but ended up studying textile design instead, and then journalism.
It didn’t take long for her to decide that fiction writing was the only career she was interested in. Her first book, the supernatural novella Crossing, was published in Botswana in 2010, and her first romance novel came a few months later. She has published five romance books to date. Unravelled is the sequel to her first young adult novel, Entwined.
Cheryl is now a full-time freelance writer in Gaborone, Botswana, where she spends her days writing, reading and daydreaming about stories. Her friends and family are still waiting for her to find gainful employment. She’s determined to keep them waiting for the rest of her life.
Acknowledgements
Thanks to Lucy and Emily at Carina for all your help, and especially for the suggestions which greatly improved the book. I must admit I lost the plot for a while there!
Thanks to the Connie look-alikes I’ve spotted over the years, for keeping her story fresh in my mind.
Thanks to the creators and contributors of Wikipedia, which has been so useful I had to name a character after it.
Thanks to everyone who read the first book.
And as always thanks to Aku, for always being my sounding board.
Contents
Cover
Blurb
Title Page
Copyright
Author Bio
Acknowledgements
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Epilogue
Glossary
Endpages
About the Publisher
Prologue
August 2
The pain wakes him. For a moment he thinks he must have dreamed it, imagined the searing knife between his ribs. He sits up in bed and listens. Nothing. No one. But when he moves to lie down again he feels it, a scalpel of fire under the skin, cutting its way through the ribs to the pumping heart beneath.
He grits his teeth to muffle another cry and tumbles to the floor, the duvet in a tangle around his legs. He knows this pain. He’s felt it before. He has grown to accept the sudden twinges, the split-second stab while he sleeps, the dull, pulling ache that lingers in the background, daring him not to notice. It’s his constant companion. His curse.
But this is different. He rolls on the floor and curls into a foetal position as the pain strikes again, as if it’s trying to pry his chest open. Why? Why now? Something is wrong.
His breath comes in hissing gasps through his teeth. He presses his back against the bed, willing the cool wood to soothe the burning in his body, but it makes little difference. He needs to think. Why is the pull so intense? There must be a reason.
His mother would know, but he can’t ask her. The curse has destroyed her already, turned her once agile and curious mind into a whiteboard streaked with meaningless lines of colour.
He closes his eyes tight as another wave hits him. Think. Think! Dread creeps into his heart as he realises cold logic isn’t going to help him now. He can speculate all night, but what he needs is the truth.
Taking a deep breath, he drags himself to his feet and summons his power. His body begins to glow with blue light in the darkness of the room. He waits, allowing the energy to accumulate until his whole body burns with it – and then he lets go. Instantly his power explodes into chaotic fragments, making his skin crackle with static, shooting into his brain until blinding white spots dance before his eyes. Part of the power regresses into the realm of instinct, the dark shadowy place he has not visited in years. It’s easier than he expected; he feels a pang of shame. It’s as if he’s made no progress at all.
It doesn’t take long for the information to come to him, riding the wave of blue light flooding his veins. No wonder the pull has increased. They’re moving.
He panics, and energy shoots out of his hand and into the floor. The stinging stench of burnt synthetic fibres rises from the singed carpet. They’re moving, and they’re coming for him.
He opens his eyes, trying desperately to suck the power back into his control. He stands there, swaying with shock and horror. He has to do something. He has to stop them! He has come so far, worked so hard to keep the curse at bay, and they are about to ruin everything.
Connie! His heart twists with anguish. He can’t let them near her. He has to find a way… Another wave of pain strikes, wrenching an agonised scream from his throat and sending him toppling to the floor. On the way down his elbow slams hard against the large crystal on his bedside table, knocking the gem over. It lies on the floor beside his writhing figure, glowing blue. Through the haze of pain and panic he hears someone banging on the locked bedroom door.
“Rakwena! Rakwena! Open this door! Rakwena, what happened?”
Just before the last flickers of blue light sink back beneath his skin, he senses further information rising from the shadows. They’re not coming. They’re already here.
Chapter One
People think nothing ever happens in Botswana. It’s too quiet, too docile, too peaceful. Ha. They don’t know the half of it. I know everything that goes on around here, and I’m not talking about gossip. I’m talking about monsters under beds, eerie vibes in the ether, mysterious whispers in the night. I am the teen queen of things that go bump in the night.
Right now I’m hunched down in the front lines, preparing for a supernatural attack. My general is in the trench beside me, rifle at the ready, so to speak. We’re here to solve a mystery of the mystical kind, and both of us are only too aware of all the magical powers lurking in the room.
It seems like an ordinary ramshackle house on the seedier side of Ginger, one of those slapdash brick and cement structures that look like they went up in a matter of hours. It’s cold inside, and there’s very little furniture. A few plastic chairs, a warped wooden table, a small electric stove and a cooler box in the corner. Innocent. Sympathy-inducing. Or so one would think.
In reality, this little house is crawling with malicious intent. Somebody here is hiding something.
My general, otherwise known as my grandfather, speaks first. “When was the last time you saw your son?”
The woman shifts slightly on the floor, tucking her skirt around her slim thighs. “Two days. He went to school in the morning and never came back.” Her voice breaks and she lowers her gaze, presumably to hide her tears.
But I’m getting a funny vibe from this lady. I zero in on her mind. Her demeanour is guarded, but her thoughts aren’t. She has the flimsiest fence of deceit wrapped around her emotions, because she has no idea who she’s dealing with. My grandfather likes to bring me along on missions as his secret weapon. People think I’m just a kid, harmless, coming to watch the elders at work. They’re wrong. I’m no ordinary teenager. I’m a telepath.
I step over the woman’s defences with ease, and her deceptions are so obvious it’s almost funny. She knows exactly where the little boy is. She’s the one hiding him.
“Conyza!”
“Huh?” I jerk awake in the passenger seat, startled by the sound of my grandfather’s voice. “Sorry, Ntatemogolo. Did you say something?”
He takes his gaze off the road just long enough to examine me with those all-seeing eyes of his. “Were you sleeping?”
“No!” I protest indignantly. Of course I was sleeping, and lost in a grainy black and white dream featuring Conyza Bennett, supernatural detective. I was just about to expose that woman and prove to my grandfather how incredibly smart I am, and he had to go and wake me up.
I look at Ntatemogolo, all wide-eyed innocence. “I’m awake, really.”
He grunts. He does that a lot. It generally means he thinks I’m talking complete nonsense. I sigh, feeling only slightly abashed. I know it’s impolite to doze off while your eminent grandfather is imparting great wisdom, but I’m exhausted from our three-hour telepathic training session. For the past six months, Ntatemogolo has been brutal. It’s not enough that I can read and plant thoughts in people’s minds. I also have to be able to read the fading energy people leave behind in rooms and on objects. I have to be able to tell at a glance when someone is lying. I have to be able to break any mental barrier and part the murky waters that hide the truth. And I have to learn all this while trying to get through my final year of secondary school. Piece of cake.
Ntatemogolo isn’t your garden-variety grandfather. He’s got a head of greying hair and a neatly trimmed beard with flecks of white. He’s tough, brilliant and completely uninterested in etiquette or political correctness. It’s a miracle that he’s even giving me a lift home today. He never drives me anywhere; he thinks anyone under forty should be able to make daily cross-country treks. It just happens that he’s heading home to Serowe, so I got lucky.
The ancient Toyota Venture bumps along the road, making my teeth rattle, and pulls up in front of my father’s house. It’s an old house, painted a colour that used to be white but is now closer to grey. We have a couple of trees, but no garden, no flowers, no carefully designed yard. Instead there’s lots of bare sand, some overgrown grass, and a few weeds. My best friend Lebz says our yard is unkempt, but I prefer to call it unpretentious.
I step out of the car, glad to have made it home in one piece. I slam the passenger door shut and the entire vehicle trembles. For a second I’m afraid it will collapse, but somehow it holds. Ntatemogolo’s gaze passes over the empty space where Dad’s red Volvo is usually parked. He glances at me for confirmation that Dad is out, and only when I nod does he open the door and climb out of his car.
Eish. You’d think he and my father would have resolved their issues by now. They keep saying that they’re too different to be friends, but that’s not true. They both insist on driving cars that are older than me. They’re both academics, far more concerned with acquiring knowledge than making sure their socks match. And they’re both incapable of accepting that their world view might be wrong. In all fairness, Ntatemogolo’s worldview is far more balanced than Dad’s, but it’s difficult for a man who believes in reason to accept that the world is full of things that science can’t explain.
Ntatemogolo doesn’t venture into the house. He lingers at the gate as if he thinks Dad might have left a pair of bespectacled eyes behind to keep watch. “OK, my girl. Remember what I said, eh?”
I nod, stifling a yawn. Ja, I remember: It is the responsibility of the gifted to never stop learning. It’s his new mantra, drummed into me at the start of every practice session. I couldn’t forget it if I wanted to. “Bye, Ntatemogolo. Give my regards to everyone at home.”
He smiles. “Yes, I will.”
To be honest, I’d rather keep my regards to myself. With my freckled caramel skin, mass of unruly curls and preference for English, I don’t quite fit in with my grandfather’s people, and they never let me forget it. But it doesn’t hurt to be polite. I wave as Ntatemogolo gets back into his death-trap car.
The house is quiet. Auntie Lydia, our house help, is long gone, and Dad must be at his office at UB (aka the University of Botswana), where he teaches Biology. I doubt he’s working on university stuff, though – lately he’s been absorbed in research for the Salinger Biological Institute.
I close the front door behind me and turn on the lights. I don’t mind being home alone. It doesn’t really feel like I’m alone when I’m here, surrounded by Dad’s stuff and things that remind me of my late mother.
My stomach is growling, so I head to the kitchen. Auntie Lydia has taken out yesterday’s leftovers. I pop them in the microwave and reach into my pocket for my phone. I’m tired, but not too tired to talk to Rakwena.
Hey. I’m home. Feel free 2 drop by
Sender: Conyza
Sent: 19:23:45
I’m at the petrol station around the corner. Ten mins
Sender: Lizard
Sent: 19:24:01
Talk about perfect timing. I can’t help smiling. I haven’t seen him all week because he’s been busy registering for his first semester at UB, and my grandfather has been monopolizing my free time with these training sessions. I miss Rakwena. I miss his cocky grin, his freshly ironed clothes, the badass scar that runs down the left side of his face, the black lizard tattoo on his left forearm and the way he always pushes my buttons. Technically he’s my boyfriend. Actually he is my rock-steady magic touch, my hero, my superstar sidekick. Rakwena is too cool for school.
The microwave emits a shrill PING! I retrieve my day-old potato wedges and steak. I wolf the food down, wash the plate and bolt to my room to make myself presentable. I swap my dirty cargoes and T-shirt for pyjama pants and my favourite Snoopy shirt, which is so old it’s stretched to twice its original size. I pull my hair out of the black scrunchie keeping it tame, run my hands through it and shake it out so I look like a seventies disco-diva.
The trick with Rakwena is not to get dolled up. No lip gloss, no subtle mascara, no Wonderbra. I want to look like I couldn’t care less that he’s coming over. It’s not enough to look relaxed and casual; I must look as if going through the trouble of putting on proper clothes and combing my hair never occurred to me. I’m going for a cavalier, don’t-give-a-damn kind of attitude. I wear the pants in this relationship. I can be as scruffy as I want but I expect him to show up looking as fresh as a kiwi and lemongrass smoothie.
I sprint to the living room, rifle through my Rachel McAdams DVD collection and select something at random. The Notebook. I snicker – he hates that one. I put on the DVD, go to the kitchen to make myself a cup of Milo, then settle down on the sofa with my legs curled under me. Just in time, too – I hear his car pull up outside. I’m itching to run to the door and watch him walk up the driveway, all tall, dark and mysterious, but I have to play it cool. I wait an agonising three minutes for him to knock on the door, then wait till he knocks a second time before I get up to let him in.
I sneak a peek at the time on my phone and fling open the door with a mock scowl. “You’re six minutes late.”
I’m tall and skinny, but he’s taller, with the lean, muscular physique of a runner. He offers me an apologetic grin and leans over to plant a half-hearted kiss on my cheek. He seems a little preoccupied. School stress already? “Where’s Dr Bennett?”
“Out.”
“Good.” He steps into the house, closes the door behind him and sweeps me up into a movie-worthy smooch.
Well, so much for playing it cool. I melt into his arms, losing myself in the sheer pleasure of being with him after five long days. Sigh! Rakwena’s energy seeps into my skin, sending delicious tingles through my body. When he touches me, sparks fly. Literally. How many other girls can say that?
“I missed you,” he says, pulling away to look at me. His eyes are bright with earnest emotion, a look so intense that my heart plays a two-second game of hop-scotch in my chest.
“Of course you did.” I think I need to kiss him again. Five days is a long time.
He runs a finger down the side of my face, and out of the corner of my eye I see blue light dancing on his fingertips. I pull him towards me and kiss him. Ah. Much better.
He raises an eyebrow at me. “Can I assume you missed me, too?”
“That would be pushing it,” I tell him happily. “Hungry? We have leftover steak.”
He holds up an anonymous white plastic bag. Through it I can see several chocolate bars and three fizzy drinks. “I came prepared. What are you watching? Not The Notebook again!” He rolls his eyes. “Can’t we watch the Discovery Channel?”
This is what happens when all the men in your life are super-smart. “I just spent all afternoon working – I want to give my brain a break.” I reach into the plastic bag for some chocolate and settle down on the sofa. “So. Tell me all about your escapades at UB. What did you register for?”
Rakwena sits next to me and opens his own bar of chocolate. “You don’t really want to know about school. Let’s talk about you.”
“It’s not school, it’s university.” I bite into the chocolate and let it melt in my mouth. Thank God for Rakwena’s sweet-tooth.
He sighs, and I pick up a hint of impatience. “Well, I’m taking all the sciences for first year – Bio, Chemistry, Physics and Maths. I’ll have my hands full.”
“What about work?” His job at RikaElectrics isn’t the most exciting gig in the world, but he enjoys it and the money’s good.
“I’ll still work on weekends and holidays. I have Thursdays free, too. But how have you been?”
I finish off the chocolate and rest my head on his shoulder. “Form Five sucks. I’ve never worked so hard in my life!”
“Aw, poor Connie,” he teases. “Your system must be in shock after all those years of sheer laziness.”
I poke him in the ribs and he jerks out of my reach with a chuckle, then reaches into the plastic bag for one of the drinks. He opens it and downs it all in one go, then goes for the next one, drains it and goes for the third. I shake my head, smiling. Rakwena’s insane appetite is one of the many not-quite-normal things about him. One of the things I admire most about him is the fact that he flies his freak flag high. I’m not quite there yet, but I think his confidence is rubbing off on me a little.
“I know I’m pretty,” he says suddenly, “but that doesn’t mean you should stare.”
I roll my eyes and shove him. Confidence? I meant conceit. His laughter tapers off, and again I notice that there’s an anxious edge to him today.
“You OK?”
“Sure.” He flashes me a big smile. “What’s new? Any gossip? Meet any new people?”
“Where would I meet new people?” I counter. “I go to the same places all the time.”
His shrug is nonchalant, but that anxiety has crept into his voice. “You know how you attract trouble.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. So, nothing? Business as usual?”
“Business as usual.” I study him through narrowed eyes. “What’s your story? You seem nervous.”
“Of course I’m nervous,” he replies, a little brusquely. “I’m going to university and leaving you alone with all those idiots at Syringa. I’m allowed to be worried.”
Ah. I can only assume that by “idiots” he’s referring to one idiot in particular. Thuli Baleseng was my crush for all of three dazed years before he finally deigned to notice me last year. I was thrilled that my perseverance had paid off, until he lured me into his room during a party and tried to have his way with me. It turned out that the brilliant, somewhat seedy Thuli was only after one thing – my gift. As soon as Rakwena and I became friends, Thuli realised I had to be different from other girls, because Rakwena wasn’t exactly Mr Friendly.
Thuli is a freak hunter, an ungifted obsessed with discovering the magical secrets of the gifted and using them for himself. Whether this is possible is debatable, but it didn’t stop the psycho from trying to get into my pants in the hope that my powers were contagious.
It was Rakwena who found me running madly through that huge house, and took me home. Ever since he has kept a special place for Thuli in his dark dungeon of hatred, and Thuli is too clever to risk life and limb by coming near me again.
“Thuli isn’t a threat anymore,” I assure him.
“Maybe, but who knows? There could be others out there like him, others that just want to manipulate you, and I won’t be able to protect you as easily as before.” He looks at me, his brow creased in concern. “Maybe I should cut down on my classes.”
I gape at him. “Are you crazy? I don’t need a babysitter! I was fine all year while you were working!”
“Yes, but it’s different now.”
“Why?”
He purses his lips and slumps against the cushions.
“You’re overreacting,” I tell him gently. “I’m fine. And Lebz and Wiki are there to keep an eye on me.”