Kill Baxter (14 page)

Muti is the generic term for the ingredients of magical spells. The term includes herbs and plants but has increasingly come to refer to the blood and body parts used to amplify magical workings. Some examples of traditional muti are powdered vulture bones, hyena jaws, the teeth of various animals (including humans), organs and skin.

Blood is perhaps the most important muti in African magic. Magical ability is determined by the blood of the user (hence the importance of genetic lineage) and drawing magical power from the spilled blood of other creatures is central to creating magic that doesn’t totallydeplete the user.

Traditionally called a
wanga
bag, but almost universally referred to as a mojo bag, this set of talismans is central to the South African practice of magic, an ancient technology that allows the interface of mind and energy. A sangoma’s mojo bag is as individual as a set of fingerprints and consists of a set of seven magical items accumulated over many years. Some of these magical items have become as famous as the magicians that wielded them: the White Ant carving of Eugène Nielen Marais, the bronze beetle of Miriam Makeba and the Coke bottle of Oom Dawid Kruiper.

Nobody understands the process of how an object links to a particular mage but one thing is clear: you don’t get the talismans you want. Many a mage has hoped for a tiger claw and ended up with a coffee-shop loyalty card.

Twasa
is a term denoting a person undertaking the study of South African magic. In the South African system a
twasa
may have many teachers but only one master. As with many European systems of magic, the apprentice is bonded to the master and shares a lifelong mental bond. This is not always a happy arrangement and there are many instances of students murdering their masters, and vice versa, in the dark history of South African magic.

South African magic has primarily been transmitted as part of the oral traditions of the many disparate cultures that occupy Southern Africa. The attempts to formalise it have largely failed and it remains to be seen whether this raw, powerful art will be able to maintain its distinct identity in an age of globalised magical practices.

‘
THE THING IS
, we’ve barely spoken since you’ve been there,’ Esmé says.

I’m huddled in a cold granite corridor with my hoodie over my head and Nom’s cheap phone pressed to my ear.

‘I know,’ I say. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just been a little intense here. It’s not going very well.’

‘Why?’

‘I suck at magic, I’m not an animal person, and not getting involved in school politics is like having a part of my personality amputated.’

‘Bax. You are doing that for yourself, right? The good thing, I mean.’

‘Yeah,’ I lie. My glasses start to slip down my nose and I push them up with the back of my hand.

‘OK. Because you shouldn’t try to be something you’re not.’

‘It’s just that—’

‘Hey, asshole,’ a voice calls down the corridor.

‘Shit,’ I say into the phone. ‘I’ve got to go. But I’ve found out a cool thing I can do. I’ll, umm, show you later.’

‘OK,’ Esmé says. ‘Later.’

‘I, umm, lov—’ I begin, but the phone goes dead.

‘Hey, asshole. I’m talking to you.’

I sigh and turn around to face Hekka and one of his cronies.

‘I see you have another phone for me,’ he says with a grin.

‘Yeah, come and get it.’ I smile and stick the phone down the front of my jeans and into my boxers.

‘Jesus,’ Hekka says with a grimace. ‘You can keep the fucking thing.’

I shrug. ‘Suit yourself.’

He covers the gap between us in an instant and pins me against the wall. I feel the weight of his arms on mine and I know I could slip them easily. I’ve watched him fighting in the Boer’s classes. He’s strong but he’s dumb. My new-found muscles ache to wrap themselves around his neck and squeeze the life out of him. But I don’t let them.

‘What’s going on here?’ King calls out, striding down the corridor. He’s wearing what looks like a blue toga today, revealing one furry shoulder.

Hekka dips his head. ‘I didn’t ask for this, Baxter,’ he says softly. ‘I don’t want to be different, I don’t want to be special.’ He turns his head to the side and gives a wink that only I can see.

‘Baxter,’ King says sternly. ‘Leave Hekka alone. He’s got enough to deal with.’

The rage burns so hot inside me that I feel like I could boil water just by touching it.

‘OK,’ I say through gritted teeth. ‘Sorry.’

King nods and continues down the corridor. Hekka gives the middle finger to his back and then shoves me up against the wall again. I clench my fists at my sides.

‘I hear you think you’re a Dreamwalker,’ he says. ‘Well aren’t you fucking special?’

I look directly into his eyes. ‘Listen, man, I genuinely don’t want any of your glory. You go ahead and be the hero. Seriously. I’m really, really not interested.’

‘So what you’re saying is that you think that being the Chosen One is unimportant?’

I sigh. ‘I think that if Fate really wanted to maintain the status quo or bring balance to the force or whatever, then many thousands of small processes running in the background, kinda like apps, would be better than investing all that world-saving in a single individual.’

He reaches out a hand and grabs me by the throat. ‘Well that’s how it works. The world doesn’t want your nerd opinions.’

I force myself to nod.

He raises a fist as if to punch me. ‘You better watch your hero-hating, Zevcenko,’ he says, then drops his hand, shoves me against the wall one last time and jerks his head for his crony to follow him.

I stand with my fists still clenched, staring at their backs.

Pangs of loneliness burrow through my chest. My fingers are itching, my head is pounding. I don’t know what to do.

I quickly retrieve the phone from my boxers and dial a number that I never thought I’d dial.

‘Harold Emly,’ says the slightly slurry voice on the other end.

‘Harold, hi, it’s, um, Baxter Zevcenko. From Pornography Anonymous?’

‘Baxter! It’s so great to hear your voice. How’s your new school going?’

‘Not so good. Um, I think I’m going to relapse.’ I don’t tell him that I mean relapsing into manipulating people, rather than porn.

‘It’s OK, Baxter,’ he says soothingly. ‘Tell me what happened.’

I take a deep breath. ‘OK. But this is going to sound really, really weird to you.’

I tell him about Hexpoort and about not being magical enough. I tell him about the seventies funk band that is teaching me to Dreamwalk. I tell him about my giant tabby-cat teacher and the Chosen One who is bullying me.

Harold is quiet for a long moment. Eventually he speaks. ‘I have to tell you that that’s not even in the top ten weirdest things someone from Pornography Anonymous has told me.’

‘Really?’

‘Don’t worry, it’s all confidential with me,’ he says. ‘You need to hang in there, Baxter. These times of stress are when relapses happen. You need to reaffirm your intention to stay clean. Don’t throw away all the progress you’ve made.’

I take another deep breath. ‘Thanks, Harold. I feel better already.’

‘Of course. And Baxter, if you ever need any other help, the Fallen and I would be happy to assist.’

‘Thanks, Harold,’ I say.

‘Any time. I’ve got to run now. I’ve got a PA meeting starting.’

I hang up the phone and stand in the corridor. I think of Esmé and I think of my mom. ‘Be strong, Baxter,’ I whisper to myself. ‘Just be strong.’

I sit through my next class with stoic aloofness. Hekka tries to get under my skin but I let wads of paper and insults bounce off me like I’m bulletproof.

‘Baxter,’ King says when the class ends. ‘Can I speak to you in my office?’

I sigh and follow him in, coughing at the strong smell of incense as I sit down.

‘Sorry. I’ll put that out.’ He takes an incense stick from a holder and stubs it out.

‘Listen,’ I say. ‘I’m sorry about Hekka. It won’t happen again.’

He stares at me with his large yellow eyes, and one of his pointy ears twitches. ‘I know you weren’t harassing Hekka Jones in the corridor,’ he says. ‘That kid is an asshole. But it’s easier to keep him happy.’

I laugh. ‘Well we agree on that. But why? Why does everyone tiptoe around that motherfucker?’

‘You’ve heard the rumour?’ he asks.

‘It’s a little more than a rumour,’ I say. ‘He basically walks around with a trucker cap that says “Chosen One” on it.’

King laughs, a sharp hacking and snorting like he’s coughing up a hairball. ‘He’s not the most humble student we have. Unfortunately we have reason to believe that the prophecy is very real.’

‘What
is
this prophecy?’ I say. ‘Where did it come from?’

‘It’s an old Siener one,’ he says. ‘Your ancestry is the reason why I want to share it with you.’ He adjusts his spectacles, clears his throat and starts to read.

He will be branded with the crescent moon

An orphan bred in fear and chaos

The Muti Man

Half angel, half devil

He will erase the line

Between the Known and the Hidden.

He finishes reading, slides his spectacles on to the tip of his nose and looks at me.

‘That’s it?’ I say.

He nods.

‘You’re fucking kidding me. You’re giving Hekka special treatment because of that bullshit?’

He reaches into his desk and takes out a file. ‘Since you’ve arrived at Hexpoort, several more agents have been killed and their teeth taken.’ He pulls photos from the files and hands them to me. Crime scenes. People sprawled at awkward angles with bloody mouths and no teeth.

‘Yeah,’ I say with a grimace. ‘Goblins tried to rip my teeth out for the Muti Man. I believe he’s real.’ I hand back the photos. ‘But I certainly don’t believe this bullshit prophecy. It’s what they do in horoscopes: make it vague enough to apply to anyone. I mean, come on. Half angel and half devil? Doesn’t that basically describe human nature? I mean, don’t you ever wonder why prophecies don’t just say “The Chosen One’s name is Bob, here is his telephone number and GPS coordinates”?’

‘It’s not that simple,’ King says, raising a bushy feline eyebrow.

‘No, because it’s bullshit. Kids here can create fire out of nothing and they’re only learning. If the power of prophecy actually existed, it would be more accurate.’

‘MK6 agents are dying and that’s becoming an increasing concern.’

‘You wanted my official half-Siener opinion on that prophecy?’ I say.

King nods.

‘Well I’ve just given it to you.’

King sighs. ‘Well thank you, Baxter.’ He puts the file back in his desk drawer. ‘I think we’re done here.’

I get up and walk to the door.

‘Baxter?’

I turn around to look at him.

‘How is your magical progress going?’

‘Badly,’ I say.

‘Well I suggest you try and make some progress before your next lesson with the Witch. She’s a big fan of results.’

‘Thanks,’ I say and slam the door behind me.

I use my lunch break to put in some quality time with Gigli. He uses it to lie in his pen and glare at me with that piggy eye. I squat down next to the cage with my palms showing.
I come in peace, you Draken psycho.

‘Come on,’ I say in a soft, cooing voice. ‘We can do this.’

He pricks his ears up and cocks his head to the side.

‘That’s it.’ I stick my hand through the bars. ‘Come on over and say hello. There’s no need to fight about this.’

He gets up and starts to walk towards me. He looks curious, sniffing the ground and pricking his ears up.

‘That’s it, boy,’ I say. ‘Now we’re getting somewhere.’

He smiles lopsidedly, letting his long tongue hang out of his mouth. Hell yeah. I’m the goddamn Draken-whisperer.

In an instant he’s across the cage with a snarling hiss. I jerk my hand back just before his teeth snap shut on the space it occupied. I tumble backwards on to my ass and scrabble through the dirt away from the cage.

Gigli presses his nose against the bars and gives a long, wheezing chuckle. I stare at him with hatred. What a fucking asshole.