Entwined

by Cheryl S. Ntumy

  I pull Rakwena towards the sofa. I don’t trust the Puppetmaster, but I trust his furniture. For now. “Why did you let us in?”

  “Because he set us up,” says Rakwena bitterly. “Didn’t you? Amantle wasn’t going to meet anyone – she was bait. Her job was to lead us up the hill in the dark, where no one would be able to help us. You wanted your three little soldiers to take care of us, hurt us enough so we would stay out of your way. But it didn’t work.”

  The Puppetmaster doesn’t bother denying it. “I didn’t think it would. I’m aware how strong the two of you are, especially when you work together. My intention was always for you to find your way to me.” He smiles, revealing very straight, very white teeth. “Three of my girls succumbed to you. I’m very impressed.”

  “We didn’t do it to impress you,” I snap, angered by his casual tone. “You have no right to use people the way you used those girls. They’re kids, for goodness sake! You’re a sick old man, and you’re not going to get away with it.”

  He sighs and waves one hand in the air. “Let’s not argue. I don’t want us to be enemies. You both have great skill – I have no desire to hurt such talented practitioners of the supernatural arts.”

  I stare at him with my mouth hanging open. He’s crazy. He must be.

  “Perhaps we got off on the wrong foot, as they say, hmm?” He smiles again, like an uncle to his favourite niece and nephew. “Shall we try again? Come – introductions. I know your names, but I’m sure you don’t know mine. My parents called me Jonathan Kubega, and for many years my friends have called me John. Ah!” He shakes his head regretfully and his smile turns sheepish. “What a poor host I am. I haven’t offered you anything to drink.”

  He snaps his fingers and a young woman appears at his side. I wish I could say she comes running from the kitchen, but she doesn’t – she literally appears, like a crack of lightning, making Rakwena and me jump in our seats. She’s dressed in a plain brown maid’s uniform with a floral doek on her head.

  “Yes, Sir?” she murmurs.

  “The lady will have some water and perhaps a small lemonade. The gentleman will have something sweet. The sweeter, the better, I think,” he adds with a knowing smile. “In the largest glass you can find. Or perhaps you should just bring the bottle.”

  I turn to Rakwena – he’s as surprised as I am. How does the Puppetmaster know so much about him? Has he been keeping tabs on us? The maid nods and hurries away, using her feet this time. Her appearance earlier was just the Puppetmaster’s way of showing off.

  “Don’t look so troubled, my young friends,” says the Puppetmaster, “it’s only right for a man to learn about his guests. And you are fascinating subjects.” His eyes settle on Rakwena. “Especially you. I’ve heard rumours, yes, but nothing concrete, not in this small, dusty corner of the continent. But we shall see.”

  Once again my gaze swivels in Rakwena’s direction. Why do I get the feeling that John Kubega knows more about him than I do?

  “Look,” says Rakwena impatiently, “we’re not here to play games. What you have done is wrong, and it has to stop.”

  The Puppetmaster laughs. “Is that all? Well, it has already stopped. I have no further use for your five little friends.”

  “Then where are Laone and Refilwe?” I demand. “Why haven’t you released them from your spell?”

  His lips curl in a smug smile. “I have. Look.” He reaches into his jacket pocket.

  Rakwena and I freeze, preparing to fight or flee, but the object in the Puppetmaster’s hand isn’t a weapon. It’s the last two bewitched necklaces. I stare at them, confused. Less than an hour ago those necklaces were still around the necks of the two girls. If Laone and Refilwe came back to this house, where are they?

  “The girls are very tired now, as I’m sure you can imagine,” says the Puppetmaster, pocketing the necklaces. “I decided to let them sleep.”

  “What you did to them was unconscionable,” snaps Rakwena. “Bewitching them, making them seduce prominent politicians and then taking pictures of them for the papers…” He breaks off and shakes his head in disgust.

  “I had an agreement with the gentleman from the Chronicle, and I had to honour it,” Kubega explains. “He did me a great favour by finding the girls. Setting up a few front page stories was no problem, and it gave me a chance to test the girls’ abilities.”

  He sounds completely unrepentant. I’m not sure he even realises he’s in the wrong. “But why did you need them in the first place?” I ask. “I don’t understand. You made the deal with the Chronicle because you wanted five puppets, but what did you want them for? What is your mystery project?”

  “The girls were a test run,” he replies enigmatically, as his maid returns with a tray of drinks. “I wanted to see whether my plan was possible.” He starts to gesture with his hands, like a lecturer getting caught up in his lesson. “You see, mind-control is a complex thing, my friends. The sort of primitive tactics used by your traditional doctors here can’t compare. I had come here hoping to find a great sorcerer to work with, someone innovative like myself, but…” He sighs and shakes his head.

  “Then I heard of your grandfather, Miss Bennett. Remarkable man – but I knew at once that he wouldn’t agree to my plan. He’s a lone wolf, with strange principles and ideals that would no doubt conflict with mine. I realised I was on my own, and if I wanted to be successful I had to be prepared. So a test run was imperative. Children are easier to work with – all that energy and nowhere to put it. And when I first met young Amantle, I knew she was perfect. Bright, spoiled, with a mind of her own and very, very proud. She was a challenge, and controlling her would be an achievement.”

  “You’re insane,” I hiss.

  “Really?” He seems amused by the idea. “Let’s not waste any more time with this nonsense about the girls. You have three of them, I have two. They are alive and unharmed. It is time to move on to the second phase of my plan, and you can see for yourselves how profitable it would be to co-operate with me.” His gaze drops to the untouched drinks. “Please, help yourselves. If I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t be here.”

  Rakwena reaches for the tallest glass on the tray and fills it from the jug of bright orange concentrate. He doesn’t bother adding water; he just gulps the sticky liquid down as it is. My stomach turns, but I know he’s preparing himself. I glance at the glass of lemonade, but I don’t think I can keep anything down right now; I’m too wound up.

  “Why exactly are we here?” I turn back to the Puppetmaster. I’ve considered trying to get into his head, but I’m sure it will be a complete waste of energy.

  “You said you wanted us to work together, but you haven’t told us what your plan is,” adds Rakwena.

  The Puppetmaster clasps his hands together and watches me. “I need to know where you stand before I reveal my secrets.”

  “Don’t bother,” I reply in disgust. “We’re never going to work with you. You need to be locked up!”

  He frowns a little. “Don’t be hasty, my dear. Think about this for a moment. You have so much potential, and I could help you fulfil it.”

  “No, thanks.” I’ve had enough of this madness. We need to get out of here and talk to Ntatemogolo – and the police. I get to my feet and look around the house. “Where’s the guest room? We’re leaving, and we’re taking the girls with us.”

  “Oh? Well, I wish you the best with that endeavour.” He smiles again. “Please, go ahead. If you can find the girls, you can take them.”

  “Come on,” I say to Rakwena, but he doesn’t move.

  “There’s no point,” he mutters. “You’re not going to find them.”

  I don’t know why he’s being so negative. Maybe the Puppetmaster has worn him down – or maybe there was something in that drink, after all. I turn away and head towards the corridor… and find myself standing back where I started, next to the sofa. Baffled, I try again. The same thing happens. As soon as I get near the corridor, some unknown fo
rce brings me right back to my starting point. I feel like a scratched DVD, skipping back to the same scene over and over again. So that’s what Rakwena meant. How did he know? Could he sense the spell?

  I turn back to face the Puppetmaster. His expression is almost apologetic. “I understand,” he says. “You had to try.”

  I sink back onto the sofa. “I thought you said we were guests.”

  “That doesn’t mean I want you wandering around.”

  I put my hand in my pocket, looking for my phone. Lebz must be getting worried. I wish we had told them we were going to St Joseph’s. By now Ntatemogolo might have come up with a plan – he might even be on his way to help us. But no – stupid, impulsive Connie had to insist on chasing the Puppetmaster tonight, after everything we had already been through on the hill. I couldn’t wait just one more day, and now Rakwena and I are stuck in an enchanted house with a sociopath.

  My hand slides out of my pocket, empty, and I reach into the other one. Cold fear drops over me. Both my phone and the one I took from Amantle are gone. I touch Rakwena’s leg and he looks at me.

  “Your phone,” I whisper, although the Puppetmaster can hear me.

  Rakwena reaches into his pocket and comes up empty. “My keys are gone, too.”

  The Puppetmaster smiles, amused by our alarm. “I always ask my guests to leave their toys at the door. To prevent interruptions and abrupt exits, you know. You’ll get them back when it’s time to go.”

  What is he talking about? I don’t remember relinquishing my phone at the door, and I don’t remember it being taken from me. How did it just climb out of my pocket and walk away without my noticing?

  “It’s getting close to suppertime,” the Puppetmaster announces, getting up. He’s very tall and thin, taller than Rakwena, with narrow shoulders and long arms.

  “We’re not staying for supper,” I bark, but my legs won’t move.

  Rakwena’s lips are pursed into a thin line. At least he’s not going to tell me “I told you so”.

  “Let me show you to your room,” the Puppetmaster goes on brightly. “I think I should give the two of you some time to consider your position. By morning things will be clearer. Follow me.”

  Suddenly my body jerks forward, as if an invisible string is pulling me up. I struggle, but it’s pointless. The same thing is happening to Rakwena, but he doesn’t fight it. The two of us are dragged behind the Puppetmaster, down the corridor, which is suddenly accessible, and into a huge bedroom. There’s a massive four-poster bed in the middle with a desk and chair in one corner and a small, low bookshelf in the other. The bed is covered in a pale blue duvet that matches the curtains, and an open door at the back of the room reveals an en suite bathroom. An ordinary room in an ordinary house.

  I struggle even more, fighting my invisible captor. “You can’t keep us here! People know where we are!”

  “I doubt that,” says the Puppetmaster with a smile. “Now, why don’t you get comfortable? You have a long night ahead.” He looks at Rakwena thoughtfully. “I wonder… but morning will reveal the truth, won’t it? We’ll see once and for all whether I’m right about you, Mr Langa. And we’ll also see how strong Miss Bennett’s mind really is. You should enjoy this! See it as a challenge. If morning comes and nothing has changed… well, we will see. Goodnight, my friends.”

  He leaves the room. I try to run after him but I can’t move. The door closes with a soft click. Instantly Rakwena and I are released. He drops onto the edge of the bed, looking morose and helpless.

  “What’s the matter with you?” I demand. “Why aren’t you doing something? I can’t fight this man by myself!”

  “You can’t fight him at all, so stop trying,” says Rakwena impatiently. “Can’t you see what he’s doing?

  “Well, there has to be a way out of this place.” I run to the windows, but they appear to jammed – or bewitched shut. “Rakwena, help me!”

  He gets up and tries the window with no luck. “He’s not an idiot. He wouldn’t put us here and then leave the windows wide open.” He returns to his spot on the edge of the bed. “We’re wasting energy trying to resist him. We need to think clearly and calmly about our situation.”

  “I can’t be calm!” I yell, shaking with panic. “We’re locked in the house of a crazy sorcerer! My dad is going to call the cops if I’m not home soon!”

  “At least we’re together,” he says quietly. “That’s something. And I don’t think he wants to hurt us. I think he just wants to observe us, see what we can do and how we respond to danger.”

  My head swivels around the room. “Are you telling me you think there are cameras in this room?”

  “Maybe he doesn’t need cameras.” Rakwena presses his palm against the mattress. “He’s gone to a lot of trouble to make us comfortable. The bed is soft, there’s a bathroom, TV, books… He wants us to relax and let down our guard.”

  “Not going to happen,” I declare, sinking onto the bed beside him.

  Rakwena shakes his head. “Don’t be so stubborn. He wants you to waste energy fighting him, but the best thing we can do is lie down, keep our heads and wait.” He gets up to turn on the TV. “Hopefully this will keep him from listening to our conversations.”

  “OK, genius,” I sigh, as he returns to the bed. “Now what? What if we relax and take a nap and then he comes in and slits our throats?”

  “If he wanted us dead, we’d be dead,” says Rakwena, kicking off his shoes and settling himself on the bed with his back against the pillows. “The Puppetmaster is curious. He won’t hurt the gifted as long as he thinks our powers can be useful.”

  I remove my shoes reluctantly and lean against the pillows on my side of the bed. This bed is ridiculous – it must have been designed for an entire family. A wide gap yawns between Rakwena and me.

  “Don’t you know anything about breaking spells on objects?”

  Rakwena raises his eyebrows at me. “Do I look like a sorcerer?”

  I scowl at him and turn to the TV, but soon my eyelids start to droop and before I know it I’m dozing off. When I open my eyes some time later the TV is still on, the volume low, and the lights are off.

  Rakwena’s voice comes out of the darkness. “Connie?”

  I turn to face him. “Yes?”

  He opens his eyes. They’re burning bright, a layer of blue covering his irises so he looks like some sort of alien. Blue light radiates from his skin.

  I sit up, alarmed, and reach out to touch his face. His skin is hot. “What’s wrong with you? What happened?”

  “I…” He stares at me hopelessly. “I think…”

  “It’s that drink he gave you earlier. It must be!” I climb off the bed and move towards the bathroom. “Let me get you some cold water.”

  “No.” He grabs my hand. His grip is so tight it’s almost painful. “Water won’t help. Connie, I’m….” He moves to my side of the bed and swings his legs over the side so they’re touching the floor. He frowns, looking confused, then drops my hand as if it’s diseased. He looks around the room. “We have to get out of here.”

  “We’ve already established that that’s impossible,” I remind him. He looks bad. “Rakwena, we have to do something. You look like you’re about to explode. Talk to me – are you upset? Angry? We have to get you back to normal.”

  He shakes his head, gets up and walks to the door. “It’s not that. I’m just…” I take a step towards him and he backs away. “Don’t. I’m not myself right now.”

  “I can see that.” I frown at him, worried. He seems to be getting worse. “Let me help you. I can calm you down. Just give me your hand.”

  “It won’t work.”

  “It worked before.”

  He licks his lips and glances at the window. “This is different.”

  Why is he being so stubborn? What has the Puppetmaster done to him? Is there something in this room that’s setting him off? Was that what the Puppetmaster was talking about when he said he wanted to see if his
suspicions were right? Despite Rakwena’s protests, I walk across the room and take his hands in mine. They’re burning up. “Rakwena, look at me. You have to calm down.”

  His eyes dart from one place to the other. His body is tense, and he presses himself into the door as if afraid to be near me.

  “Look at me!” I let one of his hands go and take his chin in my hands, turning his face towards me. “What’s going on with you?”

  His eyes glow with blue fire as he looks at me, and suddenly I feel hot all over. I let go of his hand and his arms move around my waist, pulling me against him. The next thing I know, he’s kissing me. Kissing me! And it’s nothing like it was with Thuli. It’s terrifying and overwhelming… and exhilarating. I wind my arms around his neck and press myself against his chest. My head is spinning, my heart is racing, and my whole body feels like it’s been set on fire. His power seeps slowly into my skin. I can taste it on his lips and his tongue, sweet and intoxicating. I feel like I could conquer the world.

  And then his hands start moving. One slides under the back of my shirt while the other grabs my leg and pulls it up so my knee is against the door. I pull away instinctively, my mind clearing. His mouth is on my neck and the hand under my shirt inches towards my stomach. I try to push him away, but of course he’s too strong. His chest seems to be made of solid rock.

  “Rakwena!”

  He raises his head to look at me. His breathing comes faster and he pulls me right up against him so tightly I can hardly breathe. There’s a funny look in his eyes. They’re way too bright, and they’ve gone all black, with a blue tinge. Suddenly all the time we’ve spent together fades away, and we’re back to square one. I’m the girl guys never look at and he’s the freak with the scar.

  “What the hell is wrong with you? Let me go!” His eyes slide shut and he buries his head in my chest with a groan while his hands reach for my bra. I start to struggle, adrenalin coursing through my body, panic rising in my throat.

  “Stop it!” I scream, beating my fists against his chest. “Rakwena, stop!”