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incomplete. The drifters get aggressive, temperamental and unpredictable. Now that Rakwena has finally found his place, it would be wrong to tear him away. I’m afraid his brothers would fall apart again. I’m afraid he’d fall apart, too.
    There’s something else I’m afraid of, and it’s such a selfish fear that I’d never admit it to my friends. I try to brush it away, but it keeps slithering back into my head. I’m afraid that even if I tell Rakwena how scared I am, he won’t come back. I know he cares about me, but I’m afraid if it comes down to it the bond he shares with his brothers will trump the bond he shares with me. He’s home, and I’m not sure one measly telepath is enough to bring him back.
    “Connie?” Lebz peers at me. “What is it?”
    “Nothing.” I put on my best smile. “What do you guys want to do today? Movie?”
    Kelly remains out of earshot. She must have put on twelve coats of lipstick by now. Lebz has that look on her face that tells me she wants to say something I’m not going to appreciate, and Wiki has that look that tells me he’s going to intervene before she puts her foot in her mouth.
    “Let’s go out, maybe get some ice cream or something,” he suggests, just as Lebz opens her mouth to speak.
    There’s something wonderful about knowing people so well that you can almost predict their every move – without having to read their minds. “Great idea. You go get Kelly, and I’ll get my bag.” I leap to my feet, relieved by the change of topic, and head to my room.
    The crystal on my desk is dim. Whatever Rakwena’s doing, he’s not thinking of me. I feel a painful pang in my chest. No – I’m not going to pine. I’m going to go out with my friends and enjoy myself. I grab my bag, put on a pair of sneakers and try not to wince at the sight of my sun-starved legs in the mirror. Today I’m not a telepath hung up on a half-drifter who won’t call. I’m just a regular girl. Almost.
    * * *
    I get off work two hours early on Monday. At first I plan to go straight home; my curfew is still seven p.m., though I’m eighteen and should be allowed to come home at a sensible hour like the other grown-ups.
    When I reach the bus rank I change my mind and take a combi to Bontleng to see my grandfather. Ntatemogolo isn’t great at responding to phone calls and messages. My approach is to drop in unannounced and hope for the best. Today it seems I’m just in time; he’s stepping out of his beat-up Toyota Venture when I walk up his street.
    He looks at me in surprise. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”
    “They let us go early.” I follow him through the small gate and up to the front door.
    He grunts. He doesn’t think much of my job. He unlocks the door and we step into his house. As always we head straight for the consultation room, the small, dark room where Ntatemogolo does all his unorthodox work. My heart sinks as we sit on the reed mat in the middle of the floor. I pick up an air of disappointment – he has bad news.
    “I’m afraid I have bad news, my girl.”
    Yep, I know what this is about. During his most recent extended trip he found a girl drifter up north in D’Kar. She’s first generation – her parents were not drifters. Unfortunately they both died years ago, so we only have her word and her grandmother’s that they were ordinary, ungifted people.
    As things stand no one has a solid theory about how drifters came to be. Physically they’re like gifted humans, except they’re super-attractive, super-smart and produce a finite amount of psychic energy, far less than other people. They need to conquer – to absorb energy from others – in order to survive.
    Because they exhibit traits similar to both the incubus of gifted lore and the still alive and kicking
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, some people believe they’re a hybrid of the two. The drifters themselves reject that theory, but have nothing to substitute it with. Not yet, anyway.
    Ntatemogolo thinks that