by Graci Kim
We get to our bedroom, and Emmett starfishes out on my bed. “So what’s this super-important thing we need to brainstorm?”
Mong, our fluffy white Samoyed, jumps on top of him to lick his face, and Emmett’s black T-shirt is immediately covered in snowy fur. He could probably make a sweater out of all the Mong hair he picks up at our place.
Hattie and I update him on our plans, and he stares at us in disbelief.
“Wait, so you’re gonna break into an enchanted safe, steal the spellbook, then cast a dangerous spell that your mom has forbidden you to learn?”
Hattie nods enthusiastically, but I frown. When he puts it like that…
He sits up on the bed. “And tell me, what exactly are you gonna tell your parents when they find out? Because, you do realize, they’re gonna find out. Especially when Riley miraculously has healing magic one morning, just like that.” He snaps his fingers in the air.
“Don’t be such a party pooper,” Hattie says. “You know how much Riley wants to be a witch. They’ll come around—eventually.”
He scowls at me and fiddles with his ring. It doesn’t look like anything special, but the inner band has a secret compartment containing some of his mom’s ashes. His dad had it made for him, and Emmett never takes it off. “Do you really need magic that badly? If your mom doesn’t want you to cast the spell, there must be a good reason. Why put yourself in that situation when you don’t need to? You’re fine the way you are.”
His compliment surprises me. Fine is not the most emotive word in the dictionary, but considering Emmett is allergic to emotions in general, it feels like a big deal. He’s obviously worried about me.
I take a donut from his Tupperware and bite into it before answering. It’s Nutella cream cheese, and it’s so good it makes me want to drop a truth bomb. “Because,” I confess, “I do need it. Having magic will make me fit in. Jennie Byun won’t be able to bully me anymore, I’ll finally be accepted as a Gom, and I’ll be more confident and brave and strong, like Hattie. It’s my answer to everything.”
When he stays silent, I feel a spark of irritation. “Come on, Em. You of all people should understand. Don’t you wish you could have stayed in the gifted community? Plus, your mom was the OG in the clan to preach about inclusivity after she married your dad and had you. We’re doing her teachings justice.”
“And look what happened to her,” he snaps, crossing his arms over his chest. “Oh, that’s right—she died.”
I immediately feel like the worst human being ever to have walked this realm. “Shoot, I’m sorry, Em. That was insensitive of me.”
After Mrs. Harrison was killed by the Horangi, Mr. Harrison forbade Emmett from having anything to do with the clans again. He said he’d already lost the love of his life and he couldn’t lose his son, too. As a result, he’s super protective of Emmett and basically treats him like a baby. I forgot that, from where Emmett stands, magic could be blamed for stealing his mom away.
“But you’re not gonna tell on us, are you…?” I mumble.
“Look, I know my dad treats me like I’m thirteen going on five.” He talks through the muffle of Mong’s thick white fur. “But he’s right about one thing—magic is bad news. And I don’t see why you think you need it. Look at me—I don’t need it.”
I frown and bite into another donut so I don’t have to respond. Emmett must have inherited at least a pinch of magic from his mom. I’m convinced that’s why his baked goods always make me feel better—because they have some Gom healing power. I know he’s just got my back, but TBH, it’s a bit rich of him to say I shouldn’t need magic when he low-key uses it all the time.
Besides, now that I’m on board with Hattie’s plan, I refuse to be talked out of it. This is my one chance to live the life I want to lead. Can’t he see that?
He sighs and picks up donut crumbs I’ve dropped on the bed. “But I can see you’ve both made up your minds. And arguing gives me gas. So whatever. Do what you gotta do. Just know I’m coming with. Someone’s gotta keep an eye on you two.”
Feeling relieved, I jump on the bed to hug him, while still holding a donut in one hand. More crumbs fall onto the sheets. “I knew you’d come around. Love you, boo!”
He makes a face and pushes me away. “Ew, stop it. I’ve told you a million times, emotions are bad for your health. They give you wrinkles. Also, I’m getting you a bib for your birthday. No joke.”
“Speaking of emotions,” Hattie says, “we need to get our hands on Eomma’s tears to open the lock. That’s what we need to brainstorm.”
We describe the three-step enchanted lock to Emmett and he immediately rolls his eyes. “Oh, come on, it’s so obvious.”
“It is?” I say. You can’t force someone to cry and collect their tears. It can’t be that obvious.
“What do we do every second Saturday night?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.
“Watch K-dramas and eat tteokbokki,” Hattie answers.
“And why did we have to create a rule that your mom can’t join us anymore?”
I groan. “Ugh. Because she’s got horrible taste in Korean TV shows.”
“Exactly.” Emmett looks very pleased with himself.
Hattie scrunches up her forehead, trying to follow. But it suddenly clicks for me. “I knew there’s a reason I keep you around!” I say to Emmett, grinning from ear to ear. “This way, she’ll be pleased we invited her, and we’ll get what we need. Win-win!”
Hattie’s still looking confused, so I give her a hint.
“Let’s just say there’s a reason they call K-dramas tearjerkers.”
THE NEXT MORNING WE GET UP so early, it’s still dark out. To be honest, I’ve hardly slept, because I’ve been so nervous. When I did sleep, I dreamed Hattie and I had opened our own healing practice complete with yoga lessons, barley-grass shots, and poolside meditation. The whole shebang. It was actually the perfect dream until the clinic got attacked by evil dokkaebi goblins who killed everyone in their sleep. So uh, yeah—not the best night.
Eomma and Appa are still asleep, and we pop our heads in their door.
“We’re just taking Mong for a walk,” I call out, my voice all shaky.
“We’re gonna go the long route, so we may be a while,” Hattie adds.
They mumble something sleepy and indecipherable from their bed and we quickly close the door before they can ask any questions.
We give the door-sin some nice compliments as we leave the house with Mong (who is looking rather surprised by this early morning walk), and we pause on the porch to make sure we’ve got everything we need.
“Lock of Eomma’s hair?” Hattie asks, looking down at the checklist on her phone.
“Check.” I tap the wadded tissue in my pocket. It was easier than I thought to cut off a bit while Eomma was sleeping. She won’t even notice it’s gone.
“Keys to the clinic?”
“Check.” They were on the kitchen bench, where they’re usually kept.
“Box of matches?”
“Check. And do you have the list of possible passwords?”
Hattie nods. “Check. They’re on my Notes app.”
“What about the tears?”
She holds up a small glass vial with the precious drops inside. “Yep, thanks to Emmett.”
Last night we’d invited Eomma to our K-drama binge, which she’d happily accepted. Then we’d suggested we rewatch the final episode of her favorite series, Stairway to Heaven. It’s super old and cheesy, about a woman who gets amnesia and forgets her first love and then goes blind. She gets new eyes donated by this other dude who falls in love with her. Super OTT and total eye roll, but Eomma loves it. And Emmett knew that it would make her cry, because it always does. That’s when Hattie and I had kindly offered her a handkerchief, like the good daughters we are. After that, all we’d had to do was wring the moisture into a vial. Easy as that.
“He’s kind of a genius, isn’t he?” Hattie says.
I grin. “And he knows
it.”
When we get to the clinic, the sun is just starting to rise above the horizon, and Emmett is nowhere to be found.
“Where is he?” Hattie asks, checking the time on her phone. “He’s late.”
“He’s always late.” For all his great qualities, punctuality is not one of them.
“Pssst!”
We turn to see a figure in black stealthily crossing the street. His large sunglasses and wide-brimmed hat obscure most of his face.
“I can’t believe you guys are making me do this,” Emmett hisses as he approaches, pulling his hat down farther. “My dad is going to kill me if he finds out I’m helping you guys break in. You know it’s a crime.”
“You volunteered, remember? Also, we brought Mong to sweeten the deal,” I say, passing the leash to Emmett. Baking and cute animals—that’s basically my BFF in a nutshell. Oh, and Battle Galactic, an online game he’s obsessed with.
He pretends to sulk but breaks into a full-watt smile as soon as Mong jumps up to lick his face. “Nice play.”
Hattie checks her list for the billionth time. “All right, team, ready to do this?”
We nod and put our hands together for a huddle.
“For service and sacrifice,” I say.
“For freedom of choice,” Hattie says.
“For making sure you don’t do anything stupid,” Emmett says with a snort.
Hattie unlocks the door, and we’re lucky there’s no door-sin at the clinic. It would totally rat us out to our parents. With a final nervous glance at one another, we step inside.
The scent of a tonic is thick in the air—something warm and sweet and cinnamon-y that reminds me of the hotteok rice pancakes Appa makes on Saturday mornings (hands down my favorite meal). I take a good sniff, and I’m pretty sure it’s the nectar Eomma gets from her Tokki supplier in New York. The infuser supposedly sources it from some old Greek dudes who work out of the Empire State Building, and the stuff really works. Took a sip once after I fell off my bike, and my cuts and bruises healed like they were never there.
“Mong and I will keep the coast clear,” Emmett says, taking a seat at the reception desk in front of the shelves of dried herbs and roots in apothecary jars. Mong, thinking he’s the size of a Chihuahua, promptly jumps up onto Emmett’s lap, causing my friend to disappear behind an explosion of white fur. “But keep your phones on. I’ll text you if I see anything suspicious out here.”
Hattie and I enter Eomma’s consultation room. A sigh of relief escapes my lips when we crouch down and pull back the black drapery to reveal a discreet wooden box in the corner.
The ancient wood is covered with a tawny lacquer that makes it almost look wet, and shiny brass cutouts of suns and moons decorate its front. The box gives off a slightly mildewed, nutty smell, and as I run my hand along it, coldness seeps into the pads of my fingers.
“Wow,” Hattie breathes. “It’s beautiful up close, isn’t it?”
“You, old wooden box, might just change our lives today,” I say to the safe, and I feel something flutter inside my belly.
I take the tissue out of my pocket and unwrap Eomma’s lock of hair. The clipping is dark and curly and thick. Hattie gingerly passes the vial of tears to me.
“You ready?” I whisper, even though no one can hear us.
Hattie nods. “It’s now or never.”
I dip one end of the hair into the tears and use a matchstick to light the other end on fire. It catches easily, and I drop it into the vial. The flame goes out, but not before my nostrils are filled with a terrible stench.
“Ugh, that’s gross.” Hattie cringes.
I carefully spread the smoke from the vial over the full face of the safe, making sure to get all the edges and corners. Hattie passes me her phone and, looking down at the various passwords we’ve brainstormed, I start chanting them out loud, one by one.
“Gom, Gom, Gom.” (Way too obvious, but worth a try.)
“Gimchi jjigae. Gimchi jjigae. Gimchi jjigae.” (Eomma’s favorite food.)
“Mong. Mong. Mong.” (Eomma’s third child.)
“Jeju Island. Jeju Island. Jeju Island.” (Where Eomma was born.)
“Stairway to Heaven. Stairway to Heaven. Stairway to Heaven.” (Eomma’s favorite K-drama.)
I continue to chant the possible passwords—we even try our names—but my shoulders get tenser and my voice gets shakier with each unsuccessful attempt. Eventually, we run out of words and the safe remains closed.
“The smoke’s almost gone.” Hattie frowns. “What else could it be?”
“Hmm…” I feel frustration bubbling up my throat, but before I give in to it, I close my eyes and put myself in Eomma’s shoes. What would she consider strong and important enough to protect her safe? “What if it isn’t a word or name?” I think out loud. “What if it’s a saying? Like one of those motivational quotes people post on Insta?” It suddenly comes to me. “Wait, that’s it! The clan motto. It has to be.” It’s the phrase she lives by. “Okay, here goes nothing. Service and Sacrifice. Service and Sacrifice. Service and Sacrifice.”
There’s a wooden pop! from the safe, and suddenly, the intricate brass cutouts start to move as if they are doing a choreographed dance. We both gasp as the suns and moons twist and turn and rearrange themselves on the wooden face until, finally, all but four of the cutouts remain. They lock into vertical formation—moon, sun, sun, moon—completing the symbol of the gifted. Then the whole front side of the safe swings open like a door.
“Rye, we did it!” Hattie hugs me tight and grins. Or at least I’m pretty sure she grins. I can’t be certain, because tears have welled in my eyes, making everything blurry. And yes, happy tears are a thing.
Squatting on shaky knees, I peek inside. The interior is smaller than I expected—about the size of our microwave. But sure enough, next to Hattie’s Gi is the spellbook containing all our family’s healing spells, perfected and collected over generations.
My hand gravitates toward the precious volume like a moth to light, and I pull it out. I stroke its soft brown leather cover as Eomma’s words echo in my ears. Our family spellbook isn’t just a book, girls. It’s a private conversation with the divine, connecting us right back to our ancestor, the Cave Bear Goddess. It is a privilege.
I hesitate, my hand hovering over the book like an ominous storm cloud. What would Eomma say if she could see me right now…?
“Go on,” Hattie whispers. “Open it.”
That’s all the encouragement I need. I eagerly turn the front cover, anticipation sparking in my fingers. If we’re right, the magic-sharing spell is hiding somewhere within these pages.
My eyes gaze hungrily down at the first page.
Blank.
I turn another page.
Blank.
“What the…?” I flip more pages, only to find more emptiness. “I don’t…I can’t…” My throat starts to feel tight, and I pick up the spellbook with both hands, flipping the pages back and forth with greater urgency. But no matter what I do, they remain empty.
“Maybe we need to activate it somehow,” Hattie says. “Here, let me have a look.”
I place it in her hands, and immediately the spellbook starts making a soft murmuring sound. Slowly but surely, cursive Korean letters appear on the pages. First, they’re just smudges, appearing in little smears like Nutella stains. But then they spread and grow, until each of the empty pages is filled to the brim with words and symbols.
Hattie looks apologetic. “Sorry, Rye,” she mutters. “It must be spelled to activate when a blood Gom touches it.”
I shrug and pretend I don’t care. But of course I do. A lot. This is exactly why we need to do this spell—so I can stop being the odd one out.
Hattie skims through the book, and at first, all we see are healing spells. Spells for curing migraines to spells for clotting blood. They’re all spells we’re familiar with and, not to be a show-off or anything, I already know most of the incantations by heart.
But then we come across a chapter entitled “Miscellaneous.”
“This must be where it is,” Hattie breathes. We flip through the spell titles as my heart beats all the way up to my temples. And that’s when we see it: the words Temporary Gift-Sharing Spell in big, scratchy handwritten letters.
“Oh my Mago, we did it!” I whisper-shout at Hattie. “I can’t believe we found it!”
Eomma’s door suddenly squeaks open and we almost jump out of our skins.
“Eomma?!” I squeal.
“Nope, just me.” Emmett looks a little sheepish. “What’s taking you guys so long? I’ve already eaten all the Choco Pies in the desk drawer. Can we go now?”
I wave him over to us. “Come look at this, Em!”
Even Mong comes to huddle over the spellbook with us, as Hattie, Emmett, and I silently read the preamble:
Casting this spell will allow a witch’s gift to be shared temporarily with a saram subject for seven days. The witch’s strength will be reduced by half for the duration of this period.
Two notes of warning:
(1) This spell must not be cast between the gifted. Previous attempts have resulted in severe and unintended consequences, including death.
(2) Post-spell, all the saram subjects’ memories must be wiped with a strong dose of Memoryhaze potion to preserve the privacy and sanctity of the clans.
“Pfft, I am not having my memory wiped,” I quip. “Not now, not ever.”
“Defo not,” Hattie answers. “That won’t apply to you. You’re a special case.”
Emmett frowns and clutches Mong. “Guys, this sounds risky. I really don’t think you should be messing with this stuff.”
I ignore his warning and focus my attention back on the page. It’s too late now to turn back—I’m too invested.
Instead, I follow my finger over the hand-drawn pictures of bellflower root, perilla leaf, and hongsam root, and read through the instructions. “So it looks like we make two potions with these ingredients—one for you and one for me. The clinic should have everything we need.”
