Membayar Hadiah Keajaiban

Chapter One

The body lay in perfect repose on the Victorian fainting couch, looking more like a sleeping beauty than a victim. Detective Sarah Chen had seen enough death in her ten years with the Metropolitan Police's Special Cases Unit to know that natural death never looked this peaceful. Something was very, very wrong.

        'No signs of struggle, no marks on the body, and yet...' She leaned closer, studying the victim's face. Charlotte Mills, aged 28, was found by her roommate this morning, apparently having passed away in her sleep. Her expression was serene, almost blissful, but her eyes - those were what caught Sarah's attention. Behind the closed lids, her eyes were moving rapidly, as if still deep in REM sleep.

        "You see it too, don't you?" The voice came from behind her, rich and cultured with a slight Irish lilt. "She's still dreaming."

        Sarah turned to find a tall man in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit standing in the doorway. He hadn't been there a moment ago, she was certain of it. His dark hair was streaked with silver at the temples, and his eyes were an unusual shade of amber that seemed to shift color in the light.

        "This is a closed crime scene," she said firmly, her hand instinctively moving toward her weapon. "How did you get in here?"

        He smiled, but it didn't reach those strange eyes. "Dr. Marcus Thorne," he said, pulling out a card that somehow both looked official and seemed to shimmer slightly. "I'm a consulting specialist with the Department's new Oneiric Phenomena Division."

        "The what division?" Sarah frowned, taking the card. The moment her fingers touched it, she felt a slight electric tingle, and the letters seemed to rearrange themselves before her eyes.

        "Dreams, Detective Chen. We investigate crimes involving dreams." He moved into the room with fluid grace, his attention fixed on the victim. "And this is the third one this month."

        Sarah's mind raced. There had been two other deaths recently - both young women, both found peacefully dead in their sleep. She'd seen the reports but hadn't made the connection until now. "How do you know about those cases?"

        "Because I've been tracking the killer for quite some time." Thorne knelt beside the body, his eyes now definitely more gold than amber. "He's what we call a Dream Collector - someone who has learned to enter and steal dreams. But this one has developed a taste for more than just dreams. He's taking souls."

        Under normal circumstances, Sarah would have dismissed such talk as nonsense. But there was something about the scene, about the victim's still-moving eyes, about Thorne himself, that made the impossible seem suddenly plausible.

        "If you're tracking him," she said carefully, "why haven't you caught him?"

        Thorne's expression darkened. "Because he only appears in dreams. The physical world is my domain, but his... his is the realm of sleep. To catch him, we need someone who can walk between both worlds." He turned those unsettling eyes on her. "Someone like you."

        "Me?" Sarah almost laughed, but the sound died in her throat as memories she'd long suppressed began to surface. The dreams that felt too real, the nights she'd awakened to find objects moved in her room, the way she sometimes knew things she couldn't possibly know...

        "You've always known you were different, haven't you, Detective?" Thorne's voice was gentle now. "The dreams that come true, the hunches that turn out to be right, the way you can sometimes see how people died just by touching objects they owned..."

        Sarah took an involuntary step back. "How do you know about that?"

        "Because I've been looking for someone like you. A Natural - someone born with the ability to cross the threshold between waking and dreaming." He gestured to the victim. "Charlotte here won't be his last. There will be others, and their souls will remain trapped in an eternal dream unless we stop him."

        Just then, the victim's hand twitched, her fingers moving as if writing something. Sarah moved closer, watching as invisible words were traced in the air. Thorne pulled out what looked like an antique monocle and held it up. Through its lens, golden letters shimmered in the air where Charlotte's fingers moved.

        "Help me," Thorne read aloud. "He's coming for the others."

        Sarah felt a chill run down her spine. She looked at the victim's peaceful face, at those restlessly moving eyes, and made a decision that would change her life forever.

        "Tell me what I need to do."

        Thorne's smile was grim. "First, you need to learn to control your abilities. Then..." he held up the monocle, through which Sarah could now see strange symbols glowing all around the room, "you need to learn to hunt in dreams."

        Outside the Victorian townhouse, storm clouds gathered, and Sarah Chen, homicide detective and newly discovered dream walker, took her first step into a world where nightmares were real, and death was just another kind of sleep.

Chapter Two

The basement of the Natural History Museum was the last place Sarah expected to find the headquarters of a secret dream investigation unit. Yet here she was, following Thorne through a maze of storage rooms filled with artifacts that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.

        "The mundane world only sees what it expects to see," Thorne explained, using an ornate key to unlock a heavy wooden door marked 'Private Collection.' "To them, this is just museum storage. To us, it's the largest collection of dream artifacts in the Western Hemisphere."

        The room beyond defied physics. It stretched impossibly far, filled with glass cases containing everything from ancient masks to modern-looking devices. Floating orbs of soft light illuminated collections of bottled dreams - actual dreams, swirling like liquid mercury behind glass.

        "Your badge, Detective," Thorne held out his hand. Sarah hesitated before handing over her police credentials. He placed it on a strange device that looked like a Victorian music box crossed with a computer. When he returned the badge, it felt different - heavier, somehow more real.

        "Now you'll be able to access both worlds officially," he said. "Look at it again."

        The badge had changed. Alongside her regular police credentials, new text had appeared: 'Special Inspector, Oneiric Investigations Division.' The letters seemed to shift between English and something older, something that made her eyes water if she looked too long.

        "Before we can hunt the Dream Collector, you need to understand what you're dealing with." Thorne led her to a case containing what looked like a normal pillow. "Touch it."

        Sarah reached out hesitantly. The moment her fingers made contact, the world tilted. She was suddenly standing in someone else's dream - a sunny beach, but the sky was green and the sand whispered secrets. She jerked her hand back, gasping.

        "Good," Thorne nodded approvingly. "Most people can't pull back from their first dream artifact. You have natural barriers."

        "What was that?" Sarah's heart was racing.

        "A dream fragment from 1892. A young girl's last dream before the influenza took her." His voice softened. "We preserve them here. Dreams carry memories, emotions, sometimes even pieces of souls."

        "And this Dream Collector... he takes entire souls?" Sarah remembered Charlotte Mills' peaceful face and restless eyes.

        "He traps them in eternal dreams, feeding off their essence." Thorne moved to another case, this one containing what looked like a cracked mirror. "Each victim becomes part of his collection, their souls powering his abilities, letting him dreamwalk without natural talent like yours."

        Suddenly, the cracked mirror began to frost over. In its surface, Sarah saw Charlotte Mills' face, mouth open in a silent scream. Then another face appeared - another victim, she presumed - and another.

        "He's showing off," Thorne growled. "He knows we're investigating."

        The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Frost patterns spread from the mirror to nearby cases, and Sarah heard what sounded like distant laughter.

        "Well, well," a voice echoed through the room, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. "A new player in the game. And such interesting dreams you have, Detective Chen."

        Sarah felt something brush against her mind, like cold fingers trying to pry open a door. Instinctively, she slammed her mental barriers shut. The presence withdrew, but not before leaving behind an impression of amusement.

        "He's already caught your scent," Thorne said grimly. He pulled out a small velvet bag and removed what looked like a dreamcatcher made of silver wire and black pearls. "Wear this when you sleep. It won't keep him out entirely, but it'll stop him from stealing your dreams while you're still learning to defend yourself."

        As Sarah took the dreamcatcher, her fingers brushed Thorne's, and suddenly she was hit with a flash of his dreams - centuries of memories, battles fought in realms of sleep, and a profound sense of loss that made her gasp.

        Thorne withdrew his hand quickly. "Your abilities are stronger than I thought. We'll need to work on your control."

        "What are you?" Sarah asked directly. "You're not just some government consultant, are you?"

        Before he could answer, an alarm began to sound throughout the facility. One of the dream bottles had turned black, its contents writhing like smoke.

        "He's hunting again," Thorne said, already moving toward the exit. "Someone in the city has just entered their last dream. Are you ready for your first real case, Detective?"

        Sarah touched her new badge, feeling its power hum under her fingers. "Do we have time to save them?"

        "If we're lucky, we might catch him in the act. But remember - in dreams, he's incredibly powerful. One wrong move and you could lose your soul."

        As they rushed from the dream archive, Sarah caught one last glimpse of the cracked mirror. In its surface, she saw her own reflection smile back at her with eyes that weren't quite her own.

        The hunt was about to begin.

Chapter Two

The basement of the Natural History Museum was the last place Sarah expected to find the headquarters of a secret dream investigation unit. Yet here she was, following Thorne through a maze of storage rooms filled with artifacts that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.

        "The mundane world only sees what it expects to see," Thorne explained, using an ornate key to unlock a heavy wooden door marked 'Private Collection.' "To them, this is just museum storage. To us, it's the largest collection of dream artifacts in the Western Hemisphere."

        The room beyond defied physics. It stretched impossibly far, filled with glass cases containing everything from ancient masks to modern-looking devices. Floating orbs of soft light illuminated collections of bottled dreams - actual dreams, swirling like liquid mercury behind glass.

        "Your badge, Detective," Thorne held out his hand. Sarah hesitated before handing over her police credentials. He placed it on a strange device that looked like a Victorian music box crossed with a computer. When he returned the badge, it felt different - heavier, somehow more real.

        "Now you'll be able to access both worlds officially," he said. "Look at it again."

        The badge had changed. Alongside her regular police credentials, new text had appeared: 'Special Inspector, Oneiric Investigations Division.' The letters seemed to shift between English and something older, something that made her eyes water if she looked too long.

        "Before we can hunt the Dream Collector, you need to understand what you're dealing with." Thorne led her to a case containing what looked like a normal pillow. "Touch it."

        Sarah reached out hesitantly. The moment her fingers made contact, the world tilted. She was suddenly standing in someone else's dream - a sunny beach, but the sky was green and the sand whispered secrets. She jerked her hand back, gasping.

        "Good," Thorne nodded approvingly. "Most people can't pull back from their first dream artifact. You have natural barriers."

        "What was that?" Sarah's heart was racing.

        "A dream fragment from 1892. A young girl's last dream before the influenza took her." His voice softened. "We preserve them here. Dreams carry memories, emotions, sometimes even pieces of souls."

        "And this Dream Collector... he takes entire souls?" Sarah remembered Charlotte Mills' peaceful face and restless eyes.

        "He traps them in eternal dreams, feeding off their essence." Thorne moved to another case, this one containing what looked like a cracked mirror. "Each victim becomes part of his collection, their souls powering his abilities, letting him dreamwalk without natural talent like yours."

        Suddenly, the cracked mirror began to frost over. In its surface, Sarah saw Charlotte Mills' face, mouth open in a silent scream. Then another face appeared - another victim, she presumed - and another.

        "He's showing off," Thorne growled. "He knows we're investigating."

        The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Frost patterns spread from the mirror to nearby cases, and Sarah heard what sounded like distant laughter.

        "Well, well," a voice echoed through the room, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. "A new player in the game. And such interesting dreams you have, Detective Chen."

        Sarah felt something brush against her mind, like cold fingers trying to pry open a door. Instinctively, she slammed her mental barriers shut. The presence withdrew, but not before leaving behind an impression of amusement.

        "He's already caught your scent," Thorne said grimly. He pulled out a small velvet bag and removed what looked like a dreamcatcher made of silver wire and black pearls. "Wear this when you sleep. It won't keep him out entirely, but it'll stop him from stealing your dreams while you're still learning to defend yourself."

        As Sarah took the dreamcatcher, her fingers brushed Thorne's, and suddenly she was hit with a flash of his dreams - centuries of memories, battles fought in realms of sleep, and a profound sense of loss that made her gasp.

        Thorne withdrew his hand quickly. "Your abilities are stronger than I thought. We'll need to work on your control."

        "What are you?" Sarah asked directly. "You're not just some government consultant, are you?"

        Before he could answer, an alarm began to sound throughout the facility. One of the dream bottles had turned black, its contents writhing like smoke.

        "He's hunting again," Thorne said, already moving toward the exit. "Someone in the city has just entered their last dream. Are you ready for your first real case, Detective?"

        Sarah touched her new badge, feeling its power hum under her fingers. "Do we have time to save them?"

        "If we're lucky, we might catch him in the act. But remember - in dreams, he's incredibly powerful. One wrong move and you could lose your soul."

        As they rushed from the dream archive, Sarah caught one last glimpse of the cracked mirror. In its surface, she saw her own reflection smile back at her with eyes that weren't quite her own.

        The hunt was about to begin.

Chapter Three

They arrived at St. Bartholomew's Hospital just as the emergency lights began to flash. Sarah followed Thorne through corridors that seemed to blur at the edges of her vision, her new badge somehow clearing their path without ever being shown.

        "Room 307," Thorne said, his voice tight with urgency. "Young male, admitted for minor surgery, slipped into an unusual coma during recovery."

        The patient, David Parker, age 23, lay perfectly still on his hospital bed, his eyes moving rapidly beneath closed lids. Just like Charlotte Mills. But this time, something was different - the air around him rippled like heat waves over hot asphalt.

        "He's still in the process of taking him," Thorne said, pulling out what looked like an antique pocket watch. "We can follow if we're quick. Are you ready for your first dream dive?"

        Sarah's heart pounded. "What do I need to do?"

        "Take my hand. Focus on the patient. Let your consciousness slip between the moments of reality." Thorne's eyes began to glow that strange amber color. "And whatever you see in there, remember - dream logic is real logic in that world."

        Sarah grasped Thorne's hand and looked at David Parker. The world tilted, twisted, and suddenly...

        They were standing in a hospital corridor that wasn't quite right. The walls breathed slowly, the floor was made of flowing water that somehow supported their weight, and the ceiling was a swirling mass of constellation maps.

        "His dreamscape," Thorne explained, his voice echoing strangely. "Every dreamer creates their own reality. Look."

        Down the impossible corridor, a figure in a doctor's coat was leading David Parker by the hand. But the 'doctor' was wrong - his shadow moved independently, reaching out with grasping tendrils towards other dreams that floated past like soap bubbles.

        "The Dream Collector," Sarah whispered.

        As if hearing his name, the figure turned. Sarah's breath caught. His face was a beautiful mask of shifting features, never settling on one form, but his eyes... his eyes were endless pits of swirling dreams.

        "Ah, the new dreamer," his voice was like silk over broken glass. "And my old friend Marcus. Still trying to police the dream worlds?"

        Thorne stepped forward, and Sarah noticed his appearance had changed in the dream. His suit was now made of living shadows, and wings of dark light stretched from his shoulders. "Let him go, Collector. You've taken enough souls."

        The Collector laughed, the sound causing the hospital walls to crack, leaking golden dream-light. "Taken? Oh, Marcus, you still don't understand. They give themselves to me. Show her, David."

        The young man turned, and Sarah saw his eyes were glassy with bliss. "It's beautiful here," he said dreamily. "All my pain is gone. All my fears. He takes them all away."

        "By taking everything you are," Sarah found herself saying. She took a step forward, instinctively reaching for her police badge. In the dream, it transformed into a shield of pure light. "David, this isn't real healing. It's theft."

        The Collector's face rippled with anger. "You dare interrupt my collection?" The corridor began to twist, reality bending around them. "Let me show you what happens to those who interfere with my work."

        Suddenly, the floor beneath Sarah liquefied completely. She started to sink, but instead of water, she was drowning in dreams - thousands of them, each containing a fragment of someone's stolen soul. She saw Charlotte Mills dancing endlessly in a ballroom of mirrors, saw other victims trapped in perfect moments that had become eternal prisons.

        "Sarah!" Thorne's voice cut through the chaos. "Remember - dream logic! Make your own rules!"

        Dream logic. Sarah closed her eyes, focusing on her years of police work, of protecting people, of solving puzzles. When she opened them, her badge-shield had transformed into a sword of pure thought.

        With a cry, she slashed through the dream-flood. Reality reasserted itself - or at least, this dream's version of reality. She stood on solid ground again, facing the Collector.

        "Impressive," he purred, but she sensed uncertainty in his voice. "You're stronger than the usual dreamers Marcus recruits. Perhaps we could make a deal..."

        "No deals," Sarah said firmly. She could feel her power growing, reshaping the dream around them. "David, look at what he really is. Look with your heart, not your fears."

        For a moment, David's eyes cleared. The Collector's beautiful mask slipped, revealing something ancient and hungry beneath. David screamed, pulling away from the creature's grasp.

        The Collector snarled, his form shifting into something monstrous. "If I can't have him willingly..." Shadows exploded from his body, reaching for David.

        What happened next seemed to unfold in slow motion. Thorne spread his dark wings, shielding David. Sarah's sword of thought became a net of light, trapping some of the shadows. But the Collector himself simply... stepped sideways, vanishing into a door that appeared in the air.

        "Sweet dreams, detectives," his voice lingered behind. "We'll meet again soon. After all, Sarah, your dreams are particularly... appetizing."

        The dreamscape began to dissolve. Sarah felt Thorne grab her arm, pulling her back through layers of reality. Then...

        They were standing in the hospital room again. David Parker was awake, gasping, but alive and whole. A nurse was rushing in, responding to his sudden revival.

        "We saved one," Thorne said quietly. "But he'll be angry now. And he'll come for you."

        Sarah touched her badge, still feeling echoes of its dream-power. "Good," she said grimly. "Because I have some questions for him about Charlotte Mills. And about what you really are, Marcus Thorne."

        Thorne's expression was unreadable. "All in time, Detective. For now, you need to rest. Tomorrow, your real training begins."

        As they left the hospital, Sarah could have sworn she saw her shadow move independently, reaching for dreams that floated just beyond the edge of sight. The world would never look quite the same again.

Chapter Four

Sarah's apartment looked different when she returned that night. The shadows seemed deeper, more alive, and ordinary objects cast reflections that didn't quite match reality. The dreamcatcher Thorne had given her pulsed softly in her pocket, responding to the changed way she now saw the world.

        She was exhausted but afraid to sleep. The Collector's words echoed in her mind: 'Your dreams are particularly appetizing.' Instead, she spread her case files across the coffee table - photographs of Charlotte Mills, the other victims, and now David Parker's medical records.

        A soft chime from her badge interrupted her concentration. The metal had grown warm, and when she touched it, words appeared in that strange shifting script: 'Archive. Now. Emergency.'

        The museum was different at night. Sarah's new badge led her through doors that hadn't existed during her first visit, down stairs that seemed to descend far deeper than the building's foundation should allow. She found Thorne in a circular room she hadn't seen before, surrounded by floating screens of light that showed various dreamscapes.

        "We have a problem," he said without preamble. "The Collector's attack pattern has changed. Look."

        The screens shifted, showing a map of the city overlaid with points of light. "Each light is a dreamer," Thorne explained. "The blue ones are normal dreams. The red..." He gestured, and several dots pulsed an angry crimson. "Those are nightmares being actively shaped by outside forces."

        "He's attacking multiple targets at once?"

        "No." Thorne's expression was grim. "He's leaving traps. Dream-snares. Anyone who falls asleep in these areas risks being pulled into a constructed nightmare. He's trying to overwhelm our ability to respond."

        Sarah studied the pattern of red dots. "They're forming a shape... a symbol?"

        "A summoning circle." A new voice joined them. Sarah turned to see an elderly woman emerging from what appeared to be a door made of starlight. Her eyes were milk-white, but she moved with absolute certainty.

        "Sarah, meet Dr. Eleanor Price, the Archive's keeper," Thorne said. "And yes, she's blind in the waking world, but in dreams..."

        "I see everything," Eleanor finished. Her unseeing eyes fixed on Sarah with uncomfortable accuracy. "Including what our friend the Collector is truly planning. He's not just taking souls anymore. He's building toward something larger."

        She gestured, and the room transformed around them. They were suddenly standing in what looked like a vast library, but the books were made of dreams, their pages flowing like liquid memory.

        "Every dream ever archived is stored here," Eleanor explained. "Including the oldest nightmares of humanity. The Collector isn't just a thief - he's trying to wake something that should stay sleeping. Something we locked away centuries ago."

        She pulled a book from the shelf, and its pages burst open, projecting a scene of ancient horror - a time when the boundary between dreams and reality was thinner, when nightmares could walk in daylight.

        "The Last Nightmare," Thorne said softly. "We thought it was safely contained, but if he completes that summoning circle..."

        A sudden tremor ran through the Archive. One of the red dots on the map had grown larger, pulsing violently.

        "He's starting," Eleanor's voice was urgent. "Sarah, you need to see something before you face this." She pressed her fingers to Sarah's forehead, and suddenly...

        She was in a memory. A younger Thorne stood with a woman who looked remarkably like Sarah herself, facing down a shadow that threatened to devour the world. The woman - another dream detective? - sacrificed herself to help seal away the nightmare.

        "Your mother," Eleanor's voice echoed in her mind. "She was one of us. Her sacrifice helped lock away the Last Nightmare, but the Collector has never stopped trying to free it. And now he's found you - her daughter, with her power."

        The vision ended abruptly as another tremor shook the Archive. More red dots were pulsing on the map.

        "Why didn't you tell me?" Sarah demanded, turning to Thorne.

        "Because I promised her I'd keep you away from this life," he replied, pain evident in his voice. "But now the Collector knows who you are, and we're running out of time."

        "The summoning circle will be complete at the next new moon," Eleanor added. "Three days from now. If the Last Nightmare wakes..."

        "Then we stop him before that happens," Sarah said firmly, though her mind was reeling from the revelations. "How do we break these dream-snares?"

        "It's dangerous," Thorne warned. "Each one is a trap designed specifically for dream walkers. If you're caught..."

        "Then you'll just have to watch my back," Sarah said. She touched her badge, feeling its power respond. "Where do we start?"

        Eleanor smiled, her blind eyes somehow twinkling. "First, you need to understand what you truly inherited from your mother. It's time you learned about the true history of the dream walkers - and why the Collector fears your bloodline above all others."

        As if in response to Eleanor's words, the books around them began to glow, their pages rustling with the weight of secrets about to be revealed. In the map above, the red dots pulsed like a countdown to catastrophe, and Sarah realized she had less than three days to master powers she never knew she had.

        The true game was about to begin.

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BAB SATU
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Bibir Keis melengkung. "Jangan bilang kau menyalakan pemanas."
OkDeó,s iaMkua tGidgakq a_kan imeFlaksuDkwannya. ARku XmseymlelTuk) Tk,a'kTikéu Bk_eO d'adakkvu. "PKeRnyaUpa Cak_u hazrKuFsB ÉkeDlAuar seikpamraóngW?"
Sepupuku merosot ke pintu. "Aku sudah memeriksa makananmu, seperti yang kau pesankan padaku, sejam yang lalu. Sudah siap. Kami ingin makan, tapi Nenek tidak mengizinkan kami menyentuh apa pun sampai kamu turun. Lagipula, ini adalah makan malam spesial untuk merayakan Pendarahanmu."
Aku tidak tahu apakah gadis-gadis yang bukan penyihir senang dengan pubertas, tapi itu adalah masalah besar dalam komunitas penyihir. Pada usia empat belas dan lima belas tahun, aku kecewa ketika tidak ada yang terjadi, tetapi tidak semua orang bisa menjadi seorang yang mekar lebih awal. Atau seorang yang mekar awal-akhir, mengingat bahwa penyihir cenderung mendapatkan menstruasi mereka nanti. Tapi saya selalu merasa enam belas tahun akan menjadi waktu saya. Setiap hari sejak ulang tahun keenam belas saya beberapa minggu yang lalu, saya selalu berada dalam keadaan antisipasi yang konstan, menunggu saat yang akhirnya terjadi beberapa jam yang lalu.
Saya berada di ruang tamu, mengemas perlengkapan kecantikan kami bersama Ibu dan Nenek. Ini dimulai sebagai semacam kebasahan yang tidak nyaman di celana dalam saya. Yang, jujur saja, kadang-kadang terjadi. Saya sudah dua minggu berharap-harap cemas karena alarm palsu, jadi saya tidak akan cepat mengambil kesimpulan. Sampai perasaan itu meluas ke titik di mana saya pikir saya, seorang gadis berusia enam belas tahun dengan kandung kemih yang biasanya berfungsi, telah mengompol. Yang mana, jika dipikir-pikir lagi, itu adalah pemikiran yang sangat memalukan sehingga saya senang saya tidak mengatakannya dengan keras. Dan saya sangat senang karena Keis tidak ada di sekitar saya untuk mendengarnya. Tetapi ketika saya berdiri untuk pergi ke kamar mandi dan memeriksa keadaan, ada satu tetesan darah yang menetes ke celana pendek piyama longgar saya.
TerkadangA,b khBal-haAl* .ytang men_gu_bRahS phidZupH AjngdVa sNecarat fisik WkeYcilW dnan sec_araW TmeTnPtqa*lS sa_ngaXt bOesSadrL. *SuerpvertiW t.ePtesan mejraNh NkUecSilD nyaSnag mePlvunc$uvra kye pbSawabh knakkia Stwel*aqnjBaJngG .s'ayMaH.F
Saya berteriak kegirangan.
Ibu berteriak dengan bangga.
Nenek berteriak agar saya turun dari karpet sebelum saya menodainya.
ATku mem.iQnjhamQ !peBmmbalBuatj ^déaArniL hIbwu aagaar daxku biPs_a Zmezmpeprl&a'mwbatl pvenda(rlahBan setmpeHnUt$aWrna( HakuJ berPgaeDgnasÉ ak,eL VdwapéuxrF rme!ncobWa mfeIm!asukvkranR mCaktalnW Kmalam mpanggtiMlaa*nku svepndxirSi^ pke dajl_aKmZ YoHveln sedbel'umZ akh&irnéyla Um,asukQ Ske. wkCa_mlarrU mandLiR lBelbcih Mdéa$ri sOatul jqam uk'emudkia*nc untguk Amezrjay.akpanBnyvaZ denógKadn pbenar. Saya^ (tGiddTaka KbZebrgterak s_elDam'a qbQebueraXpav sjam se,jank GituM.
Pendarahanku bukan hanya produksi cairan tubuh berlebihan khas penyihir yang disebabkan oleh campuran sempurna yang tak dapat dijelaskan dari kecenderungan genetik, hormon, dan sihir, yang dimaksudkan untuk mewakili darah nenek moyang kita. Ini juga merupakan langkah pertama dalam Kedewasaan saya, dari tantangan menjadi seorang penyihir.
Yang benar-benar meretas luar biasa sampai aku ingat bahwa aku bisa gagal dan tidak mewarisi sihir sama sekali. Sekarang Pendarahan saya adalah satu-satunya titik terang dalam situasi ini. Sebuah ironi yang tidak kulewatkan.
Semakin Keis mendorong, semakin aku ingin tetap berada di bak mandi. Begitu aku melangkah keluar, sisa dari Kedewasaanku akan dimulai. Tidak akan ada kata mundur atau melambat.

"Saya telanjang," saya merengek.
"Wow! Aku tidak menyadarinya."
Keis agak kejam. Tidak, bukan seperti itu. Dia memang kejam. Semakin dekat kau dengannya, semakin buruk dia. Saya sudah mengenalnya sejak lahir dan karena itu mendapatkan cinta dan caci maki yang sama banyaknya.
Saya yakbiÉnY it_u Zk$a*rveUna NPóaman VYalc&u dyfaÉng melahOiDrka)nbnrya,t ldIan rdnia Upzu^n)yKaA eónuergi knegatifd jyanógn CkuDavt.ó Buckuan Okar(ena kNecgaqnduanv MoPdq-H&.d lDviha LhbanLya cseéoórzaknjgp (bqazj&iVnRgaOn. MupnOgkixn kare)nax di,aé ,yCang tertPu^ak. *TapiB sOecHara teknis,) TdWiNa mpeplaaku'kaan psem_uOa ke^laphirba&nO kRa.mViK. SIónUic badalnagh keajaZibéaVnA wsueLsreorIaSngJ hsAep^erutgig dia )biBsa meZmiCli_ki Xanxawk_ p,emreTmLpuaénz yyaYnsg peIduIliM dYavnb qs^ebtira. msebpervti sepxupu skamCi vAklSex.A JikcaK ,penJgurut)aén geneCtikF yandgé tBepéaJt *t'e^laphW ada kre*tTi_kya kPamKan) ylFah!irA, itiu akan menunjDukkhan kgervefnjta_niaIn tqetrhBad&aup keUcaKnUdugabn dqan ko(nPtórÉoél !impuWlsT yTaHngu uróenRdah. mParaO msajikwanj wtidKakU akaOnó bisUaq ymfecnghJe)ntiBkanLnqyDa! meAnjHadli ^dokTter,X gdaaén seharusnyar twiKdKakó-ma)kUsud sOaAykaW, kmóasRaIlah haMkS )aSsaxsmi mRaHnJuysiua BakPawn( zmenljaÉdi masahlpakhw ,bgeJsar-tXetwapi de*mwiL kQesMelSamatvanqny,aW ysendirki$,G VtwidUaQk) $akQaunB Ia(da Xy(anugZ meambperijnyYa ipzin hungtduk, mUenarngKavni oWbat-(oTb$a_t)aOn raGdGiqktiMf.J
Bukan berarti kita tidak akan pernah mampu memiliki data medis terperinci seperti itu. Melamar pekerjaan akan menjadi satu-satunya cara dia bisa mengetahuinya. Bahkan jika mereka memiliki teknologi untuk itu, mereka tidak akan memberinya data urutan. Mereka memberi Anda info genetik yang cukup untuk membuat Anda tetap hidup. Mengapa menawarkan lebih banyak secara gratis ketika NuGene dapat mengenakan biaya premium?
Aku tenggelam lebih dalam ke dalam bak mandi sehingga hanya mataku yang terlihat-dua iris mata yang gelap dan hampir hitam mengintip keluar. Darah meluncur di bibirku seperti mentega bibir Merek Thomas kami.
Aku menatap ekspresi Keis yang tidak geli dan berkata, "Ingat ketika NuGene adalah permulaan yang kecil yang digunakan orang kulit putih untuk mengetahui berapa banyak jenis kulit putih mereka?"
DiOa IteurFsGemnyu$mQ $danV Dmejnxganlgkat. cdagcurnkywaa keg lanTgLiyt-l)anhggit. "S*ayzaG ewnmaam p.ersehn Soraóncg kIangvg.rpisA,A Lduat perFsjen iortadnlg ,IrólandViHa, diaOn) FsÉeómbiUlan pu)ltuh PdYuSak aperQsecn, oÉrwangé ^KcanFad.ac."
Saya mendengus.
"Dan pengurutan itu adalah milikmu dengan harga murah," Keis menarik.
"Harga murah" itu setara dengan cicilan sebulan untuk sebuah kondominium mewah di pusat kota. Dan itu hanya untuk data DNA dasar. Apa yang mereka kenakan untuk manipulasi genetik membuat perut saya mengepal.
"Aupta&kdah' dóiKa& nmVa,slichB dYi( d^alam Ib*adk' mazn,dbi?r"' I*bÉu meémezkBik d.arWib ujJunFgY lmorong.Q
Meretas saya.
Ibu merobek pintu dan menerobos Keis ke dalam kamar. Rambutnya disanggul dan diselipkan di bawah topi wig. Kepangan rambutnya mengintip melalui nilon berwarna kulit. Bukan warna eboni seperti kulit kami, tetapi warna krem yang terang dan hampir merah muda. Tutup wig warna kulit kami ada tetapi entah bagaimana tidak pernah datang secara gratis dalam paket.
Saya tidak mendapatkan privasi di sini. Menurut Nenek, nenek moyang kami selalu mendengarkan. Artinya, keluargaku memiliki sejarah panjang yang usil. Sulit membayangkan Mama Orimo, yang meninggal menyelinap sesama budak dari ladang tebu yang terik di Louisiana ke kebebasan yang dingin di Ontario, akan menghabiskan waktu akhiratnya untuk memata-matai kami. Keluarga kami hidup secara rahasia di antara orang-orang yang tidak percaya pada apa pun tanpa bukti genetik, apalagi sihir. Melihat kami akan membuatnya bosan.
Ibu tmenxg.eznIc.angkan atGaMli padLa $bajsu tisdurU Yhinjuau Yp(ucaHthnKyaP dVani mJenÉastaMpku$ NdpengUang sGenyxumk klUeYlCahZ.M d"SenlakmqatC aat*awsé P$endOarahanfm)u.) wIni adÉalahl qmokmeWn) tyfaRnHg ,inzdRah..) Kaiu b.ejruÉbaHh( hmehnXjWad'ib penPyiVhiTr $pQemxul_af.q cT)apgi^ óa*kKuu Pakgaónó Vt$erókyut(uXk kj(i!ka. !aYkKu mvemIbxiaprxkaHnhmÉuP HmeAngmhaXbiskZanc Xs'expan'jang, Imalgajm bóexrheÉndaÉm mdTalamm* da$ra!h.i"
"Bukankah itu bagian dari itu?" Aku bertanya. Bagi seorang gadis, Pendarahan berarti kau mandi panjang dan mewah, dan darah secara aneh membuat kulitmu ekstra lembut, dan kemudian semua orang di keluargamu makan malam spesial bersama untuk merayakanmu. Seperti ulang tahun ekstra.
Pria yang setara dengan itu jauh lebih tidak menarik. Ketika saya bertanya kepada Ayah tentang hal itu, dia menganggapnya sebagai ketidaknyamanan. Dia mendapatkan volume darah yang sama yang tidak dapat dijelaskan semua orang, tetapi jika Anda tidak mengalami menstruasi, darah itu harus berasal dari tempat lain: mata, hidung, mulut, dan dia berkata sambil batuk, "area pribadi." Dia hanya memandikannya tanpa repot-repot membuat momen itu menjadi istimewa seperti yang dilakukan kebanyakan pria.
Mandi, seperti tidak ada apa-apa!
SemKuVa orXang nmeKmTiglóiqhf p$eraSyLaQaCn a,pJa punM,h éjLikar ad)ak,X ItYerjabsar twepwat bAaPgzi mtezrejka.
"Ya, mandimu adalah bagian dari itu," kata Ibu, meletakkan tangan di pinggulnya. "Dan tidak, kamu tidak bisa tinggal di sana selamanya hanya karena. Sudah waktunya untuk melanjutkan hidup dan bersiap-siap untuk hari esok."
Dadaku menegang, dan aku menarik lenganku di sekitar lututku, menyelipkan seluruh tubuhku ke dalam sesuatu yang lebih kecil seolah-olah itu akan membantuku menghindari perhatian Ibu. Pendarahan hanyalah langkah pertama dari Kedewasaan seorang penyihir. Besok aku harus menghadapi Panggilanku. Salah satu leluhurku akan muncul di hadapanku dan memberiku tugas yang harus aku selesaikan untuk masuk ke dalam sihirku dan mendapatkan karuniaku. Setiap penyihir dapat menumpahkan darah dan melakukan sedikit mantra. Karunia itu berbeda. Ini unik bagi kita masing-masing, tertulis dalam cara kode genetik kita bergeser setelah melewati Panggilan.
Ibu menyipitkan matanya. "Aku tidak akan bertanya lagi. Keluar dari bak mandi." Dia tidak meninggikan suaranya, tetapi dia menggunakan pisau utilitas mini untuk mengiris ibu jarinya, lalu mengucapkan mantra cepat dengan darah yang menetes dari luka. Tiba-tiba, darah yang saya duduki berubah menjadi dingin. Mandi saya mengental dan menggumpal dengan cara yang membuat kentang goreng Belanda buatan sendiri dan saus kari yang saya makan saat makan siang mengalir deras ke tenggorokan saya.
Dia meRn(unjcuk^ keL ayriaNhT ba&k mandiN pdnanz mfengNafyunkaznA jaKri telutnjukjnXya.w SAebag)aBi atahngzgGapqan,O cNairaCni baék mDanduiI rmKenipruT gzeRrakapnRnÉya, danP OgFummÉp$alanI s,eukurgaZnI bo^laQ theFni*s mUernggoÉres kAakib Xsa)yma. S*ayaó mTenaNmpa^r JtRa$ng(an rsayas bdi TaJtas cmZuólLuBt Csaya sYaKat Qp&ra-muWnXtahH ÉbergDejoplPaké vdi ÉpeCru)t rsayJa.X
Ibu melemparkan seluruh lengannya ke depan, dan darah serta gumpalan tersedot ke saluran pembuangan dalam satu gelombang besar. Efek samping dari sihirnya menarik rambut-rambut di tubuhku seperti menempel statis.
Yang tersisa adalah aku duduk telanjang di bak mandi kosong yang begitu kering di dalamnya sehingga aku yakin aku tidak akan pernah mengalami menstruasi lagi.
Keis memutar matanya ke arahku.
Da.da Iibu tgerreqnggahL-pengUah Isaaat di$aD Nm&enghweTmcbYusk&anN nMaPpa)s pjeGnGd^ekD ZdjaFn LtWereDnPgKalh-eIng^a(h., wHHanbyYal Pdiza Gyangz VaWkVa.né gtVerl^axlbu (mvematksakJanR gbacndwidpth aPjaiZbn,ya buntukÉ draPmKa.
Sepupuku mengambil handukku dari rak krom di belakang pintu dan melemparkannya padaku. Bukan berarti ada gunanya menggunakannya karena mantra Ibu telah membersihkan darah dari tubuhku.

Saat aku berdiri dan membungkus handuk di sekeliling tubuhku, Ibu menusukku dengan jari. "Kamu harus keluar dari kepalamu. Ini bukan hanya perayaan menstruasi Anda! Ini adalah bagian pertama dari Kedewasaanmu. Upacara Penguatanmu untuk memicu Pemanggilanmu adalah besok malam! Bersungguh-sungguhlah."
Ibu memunculkan pikiran-pikiran yang ingin saya hindari. Sekarang setelah saya mengalami Pendarahan, para leluhur secara teoritis dapat memanggil saya di mana saja yang mereka inginkan kapan saja-di toilet, saat saya sedang melakukan pengiriman produk, di tengah-tengah memasak makan malam-untuk meminta saya melakukan tugas yang layak sehingga mereka dapat memutuskan apakah akan memberkati saya dengan sihir atau tidak.
Itulah sebabnya mengapa semua orang akan melakukan upacara Amplifying besok. Hal ini seharusnya memaksa pemanggilan saya terjadi ketika kami memutuskan sehingga saya dapat melakukan tugas saya di lingkungan yang lebih ideal dan memiliki kesempatan yang lebih baik untuk lulus. Ditambah lagi, memiliki seluruh keluargaku di sekitar akan memberiku sedikit dorongan dari sihir mereka, yang mungkin akan membuat leluhur mana pun yang melakukan Pemanggilanku cukup terkesan sehingga mereka memberiku hadiah yang lebih kuat. Jika kami tidak melakukannya, saya akan tetap memiliki Panggilan, tapi setidaknya dengan cara ini saya tidak perlu menatap mata leluhur saya dan melakukan tugas saat saya meraih tisu toilet atau sesuatu yang sama memalukannya.
SMembRagAiWan! bnesaGr$ leTluóhpuCr tViLdSak )ajkjang gm!ellabkFukan_ qPadnggcilSan. pada Vh*awrif yang^ ,saTm^a 'dengnan RPendarahranM tAmnJd$aY,v tetampuiB bajgAaimUanaRpqucn juAgRa, phiztuTngant muDnMdSur& untulk shafrniW Veisoukf Sthellhaéh dXiBmuclaiA. DCarlamn udóuLa) puslNuh$ pempats Éj$am, ankuQ Ka.kian Ntahu QacpJa^k.aSh^ aku xaVkian m.envjGadiJ pwenBypiZhiry a&t_au...é tvidagk.ó
Aku berharap aku bisa menyusut kembali ke dalam air mandi.
"Mandi darah. Hanya karena itu ada di kepalamu, bukan berarti kamu tidak bisa setidaknya mencoba untuk memperbaiki keadaan," kata Keis.
Aku bilang dia jahat. Bukankah aku sudah mengatakannya?
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Permukaan cermin yang reflektif bergeser untuk menampilkan berita-berita teratas dari feed saya setelah chip pembajak saya terhubung. Sebuah peringatan tentang peringkat baru muncul. Aku mengetuknya dan mendapatkan gambar kecil seorang pria yang terlihat seumuran Ayah, dan rating yang dia berikan padaku di halte trem dekat rumah kami.
Empat bintang dari Bernard Holbrook.
Gadis muda yang cantik. Bisa tersenyum lebih banyak.
Ikb&uh wmeniujsFubkkanI nj(aGréinyWak *pa$dha fmoWtot prsoIfóilnnyaG. SIRtau gmpenYcorkeng XcerxmiOnb.l r"PAkóu vakcaGn mNelaVpoirPkÉanns oJrVangI inziG. MLihaJt&lahK HbBerapa AumXuQrnGyaI! AWpWa yang( dia CltaÉkjuókdagn deNnLgtaxnP mKeOnigiZrÉiHma perÉiOngkZapt )yanLgt wmeznyNer)amkan?P" Dfi!ak VmbermHiulichO t,omAbfoIlm Qla.poUraSn dÉi wsgamRpinUg! QpOroVfiLlnyJa.l Mlatkansyaa twerus qm(e&njreGlajYa)hiH wfoAtonWyaB, Skem*ungkCiKnan zmiencIarói ^tanda épWefnyZihir-tixtyikz (yaanng& xbbi'sTa dilikhfaStw !dii fdalajm ovCaal( .beVrbCepnOtmuka DaLlHmond diK Gdalam Zl*ijn_gk$aran .bunwdaRra yGanqgÉ diTsQe!mb^u(nZyAikyanx hoMleZhV j*ecnisg k$itJa di parofiBl qonline,' WrTesuQmTe, eWtéaDlase toTko,b Kdlan rbNaCnéyJaLki lnagAi seÉh,intgga ykiétLa IbIisa m,efnHgpeónali iorangm-$oraJnsg kOita.h
Tidak ada tanda di halaman orang ini.
Ibu menyilangkan tangannya dan menggeleng-gelengkan kepalanya ke cermin seolah-olah cermin itu akan menyampaikan rasa jijiknya kepada Bernard dan mengibaskan sedikit rambutku. "Ibu tahu ini menakutkan, dan kamu kadang-kadang kesulitan dengan pilihan, tapi pemanggilanmu akan dilakukan besok, entah kamu siap atau tidak. Penting bagimu untuk lulus. Dan saya tahu kamu akan lulus. Tapi hanya..."
Berusaha lebih keras? Melakukan lebih baik? Menjadi lebih baik?
"xBserpakóaDialn^lafh,é" pyeTréinnNtahv IbguG, me^nyeraahy OphazdKa *apTa pu(nó Xyyan)g adiRaw rencayn)akFanV unt^uk (dikTat*a$kank sebel(uumCnyPaz. "IRbzul ^meqnJgcelpuaarFkan mxakaKnl mÉaléam yaÉnsgX kWaJmlu éb(u&aft d.ari _oDvenq. jSFama(-saOmBa.l"_
"Terima kasih." Awalnya terdengar seperti gumaman, tapi aku tahu Ibu benci bergumam, jadi aku memaksakan suaraku menjadi sesuatu yang normal.
Ia menunjuk ke arah Keis. "Tolong bantu dia memilih gaun putih untuk makan malam. Cathius menyukai sampah perawan itu, dan dia akan sulit berpartisipasi dalam upacara Penguatan jika dia tidak merasa dilayani."
Keis menyunggingkan senyum. "Ya, Bibi."
DBengang *itdut,. óIrbwuW Yme(ni)ngDgalkLan rruSa_nBgYanz.q A'kKu jmennDgolóeskk$an$ mYiunDyahk telMoRnL rsÉebel*uxm mXengalmbily sLeboatCol mignAyaóki Tkelapaa _daMrfi Wbafwah wasOtHaCfMe^l_ dna$nM hmSenQyendZoIkt HknrNiIm pJuhtihd.T Mi(nIy&aTkC kelnaZpPa ictu RmxeZlLeZleh _kaSrjeSna keKhaynwgatandnya$ _s*aat *aklu .m*eRngygKozsokkan )k!eduóa !tMavnIgLaknrkdu mdiaGnÉ mTeumikjaaDt'nya dMiB ba*wa$h draymjblut Zika)l tmebialku dke OkOuClsiyta Zkep&alazkmu vyhang ssehkacrvangx keyringj FkheYr^onwtuang.
Biasanya ketika saya keramas, ada rutinitas pra-kondisioner, sampo alami, kondisioner tanpa bilas, Thomas Curling Custard, gel, dan batang pengeriting tanpa panas, tetapi saya telah menghabiskan terlalu banyak waktu di bak mandi untuk melakukan semua itu. Saya hanya harus hidup dengan rambut ikal yang tidak terdefinisi namun lembab untuk saat ini. Dengan sihir, semua orang bisa menata rambut mereka empat kali lebih cepat dari yang saya bisa. Eden dan aku satu-satunya yang tak bisa. Tidak sampai setelah kami lulus pemanggilan kami.
Aku memutar bibirku menjadi cemberut. "Kurasa aku harus menemukan gaun putih yang disetujui paman." Atau lebih tepatnya, Keis seharusnya membantuku menemukannya, karena menurut ibuku, aku "bermasalah dengan pilihan," yang tampaknya juga termasuk keputusan pada tingkat pilihan pakaian yang monumental.
"Dia tidak bermaksud seperti itu," kata Keis. "Anda tahu Ayah tidak akan menyukai apa pun yang Anda pilih. Itu akan menjadi pilihan yang menjengkelkan bagi siapa pun."
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Hidup di Toronto tidaklah murah, dan kami hanya berhasil mencapai titik impas sementara keluarga penyihir lainnya berkembang pesat. Produk kecantikan buatan kami menarik bagi tipe-tipe yang menginginkan produk buatan tangan yang tidak dimodifikasi, tetapi perlengkapan kecantikan yang dimodifikasi lebih populer sejauh ini, dan kami yakin sekali tidak mampu membeli bahan-bahan yang dimodifikasi secara genetik. Itulah hal tentang barang-barang modded. Beberapa di antaranya murah dan harganya jauh lebih murah daripada sesuatu yang tidak dimodifikasi, dan beberapa di antaranya sangat mahal sehingga Anda tidak akan pernah bisa berharap untuk membelinya. Yang berarti bahwa sebagian besar pelanggan kami adalah penyihir dan sejumlah kecil keluarga non-magic yang tahu kekuatan kami nyata dan produk kami adalah yang terbaik, bahkan tanpa mod.