Tarryn, who was sitting quietly at the side of the news conference, turned her head sharply in the direction of the questioner. She had also caught the peculiar emphasis the guy had placed on ‘special powers’.
Is he a savant? I asked her.
Not to my knowledge.
I tried to make out his face but I was sitting in the wrong place. All I could glimpse was his short black hair liberally sprinkled with grey, a large right ear, a ship’s prow of a nose. He was wearing a creased linen blazer and had a spiral bound notebook resting on his raised knee.
Alex paused before answering, probably double-checking my truth influence wasn’t poised to warp what he said into a confession of his gift. ‘I guess that all of us who have got as far as the international final must have something special.’ He looked to his team mates for support.
‘Ja, I met the Danish team last night at the reception and I tell you they make for one powerful combination,’ joked Phil, sweetly blushing a little as he said it.
Who is that guy? I asked Tarryn. The man hadn’t taken his eyes off Alex even though others were speaking.
I think he’s with the Los Angeles Courier. I can’t remember his name though he did tell me last night. He made a point of introducing himself and asked where Alex was as he’d met the other boys and noticed he was missing.
Because Alex was out with me. The best night of my life.
I didn’t think anything of it but now …
Yeah, he feels creepy.
And far too interested in Alex.
Our mutual resolution to protect him did not need mentioning: it just was.
At the end, you go to Alex, get him away; I’ll distract the reporter, said Tarryn.
My pleasure.
I could feel her smile. Tarryn and Uriel had been great when we broke the news. They had shown their heartfelt delight but not the mortifying explosion of oh-my-god-I’m-so-excited Angel when she saw us come back in from our walk together. She had acted like a match had been dropped in her, the box of firecrackers. Fortunately, the reception was so packed and noisy by then that only about half the room had heard her. Angel doesn’t do discretion.
The conference broke up after two more questions. Journalists headed off to enjoy the buffet lunch laid out in the Union library; only creepy guy and foxy lady lingered. I suppose I should thank the woman because she stopped the Los Angeles reporter cornering Alex by getting in there first.
‘So, Alex,’ I heard her saying as I approached, ‘I was hoping to persuade you to let me do a profile piece on you. My colleagues in the Johannesburg office heard you in the final there and said you were amazingly talented—quite the one to watch. What do you think? Can I tempt you?’
Alex raised his gaze over her shoulder to meet my glower. ‘It is very kind of you to think of me, but I’m a team player. I don’t want to be interviewed separately from my friends.’
I had to hand it to her: she got A for persistence. ‘That’s very sweet of you, Alex, but I’m sure they won’t mind. After all, they must also admire you, knowing how you have succeeded against the odds.’
Alex’s expression gave away his unease that she knew something of his story. He probably wished me to Jericho so he could persuade her out of this idea.
‘You see, like any good journalist, I’ve been doing some digging before I approached you and I’ve got to say, being advanced a year and still coming out top of your peer group at one of your country’s best schools, and all that after such a rough start, is a brilliant testimony to your intelligence and other personal qualities.’
Past time I rescued him.
‘Hi, Alex!’ I said breezily, pushing past her and snagging his arm. ‘Sorry, I kept you waiting but I’m ready now to show you round Cambridge.’ Subtext: back off, cougar woman, with your double agenda of sweet-talking and using my guy to fill your newspaper column.
Alex bent down to kiss me in greeting. ‘Hey, Misty. Sure. Let’s go.’ Thanks for the rescue. Then, over his shoulder: ‘I appreciate you thinking of me, but that’s really not my kind of thing.’
We escaped, walking quickly past Tarryn, who had collared the man from Los Angeles. He tried to break away but she kept on talking animatedly about South Africa’s education policies. His eyes followed Alex as we passed; they were filled with an expression that read to me as equal parts frustration and cunning.
‘Did you notice the creepy reporter?’ I asked Alex.
‘Hard to miss him. He came up to me at the beginning. Says his name is Eli Davis. He’s doing an article on the American president’s education and has an agenda about these competitions training privileged young kids to manipulate others, and ultimately the American voter. Not sure why a South African should be of any interest to him.’
We joined the queue at the buffet.
‘Is that his only interest? I thought his last question was really pointing at … well … your gift.’
‘I got that too.’ Alex took a quick glance round the library, its acres of shelves stocked with matching bound volumes. Small knots of debaters, teachers, and press were deep in conversation. ‘I’d like to see what Miss Coetzee and Uriel think but now’s not the time. And we’ve got our first debate this afternoon.’
‘I’m looking forward to it.’ I’d already memorized his schedule. It was a knockout competition with only the winners going through to the next round. His team was up against the Texans on the motion ‘This house believes that the public is safer with strict gun controls’. That should make for a lively debate considering the gun culture in both home countries; the Texans had been given the task of speaking for the motion.
Alex cleared his throat. ‘Er, Misty, would you mind sitting this one out?’
‘Out?’
‘I mean outside the room.’
‘Oh.’
‘You know you’re like kryptonite to my gift and I’m going to have to lie convincingly to defeat the motion. You might shoot me down mid-argument by mistake. Miss Coetzee suggested that we play safe.’
‘But it’s taking place at my school.’
He looked away over my head. ‘Uriel says you’re welcome to visit him in his college rooms.’
I understood. Of course I did. ‘I see. OK.’
‘Thanks.’
I pushed aside my disappointment and changed subject. ‘I really don’t like that journalist so don’t, you know, get trapped on your own with him or something if I’m not there.’
I could hear Alex thinking ‘What am I? Five?’ but he bore with it because it was me worrying. ‘I won’t. Miss Coetzee has me on a strict “no meeting strangers” regime.’
‘She sounds like my mum.’ I decorated my plate with sandwiches and fresh fruit slices. Little curls of melon sat with arcs of pineapple and knobbly hills of grapes so I built a smiley face of food as I transferred my choices. ‘She’s freaking out about this savant killer.’
He stole a grape-nose from my work of art. ‘So you’ll take care too?’
‘Yes, but I’m not in the public eye like you. I’m not so noticeable.’
He replaced the nose he had nabbed with a huge triangle of watermelon. ‘I don’t know about that. I can’t stop noticing you.’
‘That’s because you are doomed by fate to find me fascinating. Believe me, you’re in a minority.’
‘Finished your fruit sculpture?
‘Yes. Shall we sit over there?’ I pointed to a sunny spot that a party had just vacated.
Angel and Summer joined our table by the bay window between bookshelves.
‘Hi Misty, hi Alex,’ said Angel gleefully.
‘Oh lord, here we go,’ I groaned. ‘Are you going to behave? We’re surrounded by normal people here.’
‘Not a chance.’ She picked up a crisp. ‘Look at that: heart-shaped. You guys can have it.’ She put it on my plate. It was typical of her to assume we’d fallen instantly in love but I would have to take her aside and explain that deep, bottom-of-the-soul attachment didn’t feel quit
e the same as love, not at this stage when we’d hardly had a chance to get to know each other. My emotions were churning away, and I guess Alex’s were too, but I did not recognize the shapes into which they were separating.
I wondered what it was like for other girls when they first met their soulfinder. Crystal had told me she hadn’t recognized Xav for a long time, and then a crisis had struck, forcing them to discover their link. When the dust settled, they saw that they’d worked through many of their issues on the fly. It was almost worse having time to think. I had ten days to make a start before Alex went home, and most of those I had to be at school. Not the most romantic of venues.
I don’t know: I kinda like the idea of sitting behind you in class and passing notes. I hadn’t shut him out and Alex had caught the tail end of my thoughts.
You don’t need to pass notes; we’ve got telepathy, I reminded him.
That’s not the same. It’s the ‘will the teacher catch us out?’ jeopardy that adds to the experience. He projected a cartoon picture of him passing me a folded piece of paper under the desk as the teacher walked past; in the next frame was the single word ‘Busted!’
Don’t worry, I’d wait for you if the teacher kept you behind.
And here was I was hoping you’d do detention with me.
Our school didn’t do detention for sixth formers—we were supposed to be beyond that—but it was a tempting thought. Any time.
I left Summer and Angel with strict instructions to tweet the debate telepathically to me while I made myself scarce in Uriel’s rooms in Trinity College. As I arrived he was just finishing a meeting with his Cambridge research partner, Dr Surecross. We had met a couple of times recently. The doctor was a harried-looking man in his late fifties, short and stout like a bag of flour put next to the spaghetti packet of Uriel. I had the impression that if I tapped Dr Surecross a puff of white dust would billow from his collar and sleeves. He nodded to me in passing and scurried off to his laboratory.
‘Hey, Misty, come in.’ Uriel stood back to let me enter.
‘Nice digs.’ He had been given a set of rooms overlooking the Great Court with its ornate fountain surrounded by four green mini-lawns. The expanse was intersected by paths and edged by pale stone buildings, pierced with many windows. Students moved at tangents across the square, never setting foot on the grass, each keeping to their own trajectory like comets passing across our patch of sky.
‘What can I get you? Tea?’
‘Coffee, thanks.’
He picked up a jar of the dried stuff. ‘This is all I’ve got. You OK with that?’
‘Fine.’ I slumped down in a saggy armchair. The kettle rumbled to the boil.
‘So how does it feel, Miss Soulfinder?’ he asked, handing me a mug. A couple of undissolved grains swirled on the top like moles on mocha-coloured skin.
‘Terrifying.’
He took the chair opposite. ‘I can relate to that.’
I knew I could talk to him; he was the most approachable of the Benedict brothers, at least as far as I was concerned. I’d been present at the most memorable night of his life so that had made us close; he felt like the older brother I didn’t have. ‘Is it OK, Uri, that I keep thinking I’m going to mess up?’
‘So do I. All the time.’ He sipped his drink. ‘But you have to remember your soulfinder is probably thinking the same thing.’
‘But yours is Tarryn; she already told me she feels she has a flaw—you know, her gift?’
Uriel frowned slightly, thoughts turned inward. ‘Yeah, that is an issue for her. We’re working on it.’
‘But I’m linked to Mr Perfect-and-Charming. You can’t possibly call what Alex does a flaw: it’s awesome and really useful.’
‘It could be annoying,’ suggested Uriel, leaning back, balancing the mug on the broad, worn arm of the chair.
‘But it isn’t, is it, because he mixes in this self-deprecatory thing. Haven’t you noticed?’
Uriel made that half-laughing ‘humph!’ sound of recognition. ‘I must have because I still like the guy.’
I put my cup on a pile of papers then rested my head back on the chair, eyes closed. Some things are easier to say without meeting another person’s gaze. ‘It’s my gift that’s the problem. Remember I told you when we were at Table Mountain that I figured out that I take Alex to a bad place, preventing him using his gift? That hasn’t stopped—you know that’s why I’m here and not at the debate.’ I swallowed against the lump in my throat. ‘Have you ever heard of a soulfinder making things worse for their partner? You see, I thought we were supposed to build each other up?’
‘That’s the theory—and I’ve seen it work that way in practice in my family.’ I could hear him fumbling with a packet. ‘Here, have a cookie.’
I opened my eyes to find a packet of chocolate chip biscuits under my nose. ‘Thanks. I hope the application of chocolate to the problem isn’t a sign that you think me beyond saving?’
‘I need no excuse to offer cookies.’ He helped himself to one. ‘You mustn’t panic, Misty. How long have you had to sort this out? Not even a full day. You really don’t know very much about each other so can’t possibly know how to mesh your gifts. You like Alex, don’t you?’
‘Yes, very much. He just scares me, being so … so Alex about everything. I thought my first proper relationship would be like taking a driving test—you know, a chance to have another go if I messed up—but I seem to have gone straight to the starting grid of the Grand Prix, no room for driver error.’
He laughed at my image. ‘Just give it time. You might not like to hear this but from my perspective you are so young, Misty, just finding your way, so don’t expect your relationships to be fixed any more than your own character is.’
‘I don’t mind hearing that at all; it’s terrifying having to make all these big decisions now when I haven’t even left school. I mean, what do I know about anything?’
‘More than you think. I’ve never met anyone who puts herself down so consistently. You think you don’t match Alex: that he’s talented, cool, good-looking—the top-of-its-class racing car.’
‘Well, he is!’
‘And he will think the same about you, I’m sure of it.’
I laughed at that. ‘Uriel, I am not cool. Compared to him, I’m the entrant for the demolition derby.’
He grinned, conceding the point. ‘OK, quirky. You have a quirky charm of your own.’
His phone rang and he got up to take the call at his desk. Encouraged by the kind things he had said, I got out my homework and began to work on the maths problems I’d been set. As I chewed the end of my pencil, I listened into the ‘tweet’ updates Angel was sending me. It was almost as good as being there as she was very vivid in her description of the participants. One guy she described as having a habit of moving his head like a nodding-donkey oil well—fitting as he came from Texas.
How is Alex doing?
Your guy is amazing. Every time he gets up, it’s like a special charge runs through the crowd. You sure he’s not cheating and using his gift?
No. Tarryn explained it like a kind of lingering effect. An afterglow.
Or the guy is just naturally talented so his gift is overkill.
There is that possibility. I sent her the impression of a smile but the full truth was that I felt sad being excluded, like the only kid in the class left off a birthday invitation list. Let me know if he wins.
When he wins, you mean.
Uriel finished his call. ‘That was Victor. He says congratulations, by the way.’
‘Oh.’ I’d not anticipated how the news would spread so fast, how many such messages I could expect from friends and family. I hadn’t even yet changed my Facebook status.
Uriel returned to his chair and drained his coffee. ‘Misty, if you’ve got a moment, I wanted to talk to you about this killer we’re hunting.’
I put maths aside. ‘Go ahead.’
‘Victor has been looking into the similarities be
tween victims and put more detail on the profile we’d already outlined. Our perp goes for isolated savants, usually those with no family or new to our world. He likes gifts that influence others, maybe with a chance to generate wealth for himself. Three of the five American savants he killed had predictive abilities; we think he used them to buy stocks and shares. The Australian victim, Jody Gaspard, could find natural resources by scanning geological maps. I could give you more examples.’
I had a horrid feeling where he was going with this.
‘Gender doesn’t seem to matter but his target age is fourteen to eighteen. Victor has come up with something new: he thinks the killer chooses that age range so he can take them to places where adults go—pubs, clubs, casinos. He is gathering assets—money, stocks, land. All of his victims have looked mature for their age. He is following a plan that makes sense to him.’
‘You think Alex fits the profile.’
‘Yes. So does Summer—and I guess you could think of a few others in your circle. Can you spread the word—tip them off that they have to be particularly alert? It’s been a while since the last abduction and I’m thinking our guy will be getting twitchy, ready for his next fix.’
‘Fix?’
‘With repeat offenders like this, it isn’t impulse, it’s a carefully planned feeding of his habit of taking life. The whole process gives him a rush and he won’t stop until we stop him. I’d be very surprised if he doesn’t strike very soon either here or somewhere close—mainland Europe or Ireland. That’s his pattern.’
I put my feet up on the seat, hugging my knees. The split in my jeans had progressed to the point where there was more skin than denim showing on my left kneecap, a few frail white threads left behind which I plucked nervously. ‘I really hope you catch him soon. I hate this feeling of having to keep looking over my shoulder.’
‘I know.’
‘Did Tarryn tell you about the slimy guy at the news conference?’
‘Yes. Victor’s checking his background.’
‘Good. Will told me to listen to my instinct about strangers and mine is screaming that the reporter is not here for the debate competition.’
Misty Falls Page 13
