by Graci Kim
Hattie raises her hands in exasperation, and I want to melt into the floor and disappear. I hate being the reason they argue. “Seriously, it’s okay, Hat—” I start, trying to calm my sister.
“What’s disrespectful is not even giving Riley a chance,” Hattie continues. “If she tanks the initiation and the Cave Bear Goddess doesn’t give her a Gi, then fine. Or if Riley doesn’t want to do it, then that’s also fine. But not giving her the freedom to choose? That’s wrong on so many levels.”
When Eomma doesn’t respond, Hattie squeezes my hand, and a determined look appears on her face. I call it her “boss face,” because no one in their right mind would mess with Hattie while she’s wearing that expression. “As soon as I’m old enough,” she says, “I’m gonna run for Gom elder. And when I do, mark my words, I’m going to shake up that place. The whole secret-society thing is so outdated.”
“I have no doubt you will achieve that, and so much more,” Eomma says, and I totally agree. I mean, why stop at council elder? Hattie for president! I can see the enamel pins already.
I squeeze Hattie’s hand back and feel a warmth spread through my chest. For everything I don’t have, I definitely won the jackpot as far as my sister goes. She is literally the Best. Sister. Ever.
“It’s a shame you can’t just do a spell to share your magic,” I joke, trying to lighten the mood. “One where the recipient doesn’t need a Gi. That would solve all our problems.”
A grin spreads over Hattie’s face. “Crowdsourced magic. Now that would jolt the clans into the twenty-first century, right, Eomma?”
We both look to Eomma, and she laughs nervously.
Hattie and I share a glance. Eomma only laughs like that when she’s hiding something.
“No. Way,” Hattie says. “There actually is a spell for sharing magic with a saram, isn’t there?”
My jaw falls to the ground. Impossible!
Eomma mumbles something under her breath but still avoids our eyes, and that is a dead giveaway. “It’s not that simple, girls,” she finally admits. “It’s dangerous, and even if it worked, it wouldn’t be permanent. The spell would have to be redone again and again—”
“What’s the name of the spell?” Hattie interrupts. “And where can we find it?”
And were you ever going to tell me about it? I silently ask, my gut rolling into a tight knot.
Eomma closes the spellbook in her hands with a decisive thud. “This conversation has gone on long enough.” She looks at the clock on the wall and gasps. “And we’re going to be late for temple! Quick, go get your appa. We’re leaving in two.”
She hurries us out of her consultation room, and I get my butt moving. I wouldn’t miss temple for anything.
“Rye!” Hattie stops me in my tracks and grabs my arm. “Did you see Eomma glance at the book when I asked where we could find the spell?”
I shake my head. I hadn’t noticed. I was too busy wondering why my parents had kept this from me when they knew how badly I wanted to become a witch.
“I know that book’s only supposed to have healing spells in it,” Hattie continues, “but maybe Eomma just told us that so we wouldn’t snoop. Maybe the magic-sharing spell is in there, too. In fact, I’m sure it is. Where else could it be?”
I frown. We’re not allowed to touch the family spellbook—not until Eomma and Appa deem us ready. And besides, breaking rules makes me erupt in hives.
“But, Hat,” I start, “you know I was joking before, right? Even if the spell is in there, I could never ask you to share your magic. Besides, Eomma said it was dangerous. She wouldn’t lie about something like that.”
She snorts. “Who said I wanted your permission? Didn’t you hear me drone on about choice before? If I want to share my magic with you, who are you to stop me?”
I stare at her, wondering what I ever did to deserve such a fearless sister.
Hattie lowers her voice, and there’s an excited twinkle in her eye. “Looks like we need to get our sticky hands on a certain spellbook, wouldn’t you say?”
As she drags me to Appa’s consultation room to fetch him, I hear a small voice in my head.
Could I actually become a healing witch—a real Gom? Could this be my chance to do my parents proud and prove to the gifted community that I belong?
I know I shouldn’t get my hopes up. It’d just be a recipe for disappointment.
But here’s the real crux of the problem, folks: I, Riley Oh, have a sweet tooth.
And hope? Well, hope tastes sweeter than candy.
H-MART IS ONE OF MY FAVORITE places in the world. I mean, it’s hard not to love it. It’s a grocery store full of the most delicious things: every variety of gimchi you could ever dream of, ice cream in the shapes of watermelon wedges and corncobs, and don’t forget the little counter that sells tornado fries (basically an entire potato spiraled out and fried on a stick—drool).
But those aren’t the only reasons I love this particular H-Mart. It’s also one of the secret entrances to the temple. The gifted community is really paranoid about their secret getting out into the saram population, so the Gumiho clan (they’re the illusionists) use their glamour magic to hide us in plain sight. Genius, really.
For example, right now, my family and I are walking through the refrigerated aisle of brightly colored milk drinks, past the sweet-potato-cake stand, and toward the counter that sells Korean fried chicken. To the saram eye, the cherubic-faced man at the counter might look like an ordinary chicken vendor. But those of us from the gifted clans know he’s actually a Miru guard. The Miru clan are protectors descended from the Water Dragon Goddess. They have either superhuman strength or speed, which make them ideal for protecting our secret portals and entrances.
“Hi there. Could I interest you in some K-fry today?” he says brightly.
In response, Eomma and Appa each rub their wrists together, and their Gi bracelets reveal their gifted marks.
“These two are with us,” Appa adds, nodding at Hattie and me.
The Miru protector checks out the gold symbols on my parents’ wrists, and then he nods toward the swinging door to his left, which leads to the kitchen. “You may pass.”
We push through the door into the bustling kitchen and immediately smell the delicious waft of sweet-and-spicy fried chicken. But it doesn’t last long. As we continue over to the walk-in fridge and step into its chilly belly, we are transported to the lobby of a grand building with high ceilings and marble floors.
I come here every week, but the temple never ceases to take my breath away. At first glance, it looks like a super-fancy hotel. The Miru guards protecting the lobby could pass as doormen, and there’s always soothing music playing in the background. A sandalwood fragrance lingers in the air, like those signature perfumes some hotels have.
But it’s so much more than that. Once you jump into the elevators, you get a sense of the temple’s true scale. There are eighty-eight levels, and so many rooms on each floor that no one can keep track of what’s behind each door. Most of the rooms aren’t accessible without the right keys, but Auntie Okja says some doors are portals to the various gifted temples around the world, while others house mythical creatures visiting from the Godrealm. They say there’s even a door that takes you to the Spiritrealm (the place we go when we die), which, frankly, blows my mind.
“Hurry, girls,” Eomma urges, pushing us out of the elevator at level 88 and toward the big bronze doors. “Mr. Pyo is going to make us pay for being late.”
And she’s right. As soon as we enter the sanctuary through the heavy wooden doors carved with animal heads, Mr. Pyo’s booming voice calls out.
“Well, well, well. Good of you to join us, Oh family of the Gom clan. You’ve interrupted the service, but I’m sure you have a very important reason for being tardy. Please, why don’t you find a seat while the punctual members of the congregation sit and wait.”
We lower our heads and quickly sit in the Gom pews while hundreds of eyes follow our
every move.
“Absolutely mortifying,” Eomma mumbles under her breath.
“Ugh, he’s the worst,” I whisper.
“Agreed,” Hattie and Appa echo.
Mr. Pyo turns his attention back to the service, and I eventually get the nerve to raise my eyes from my lap and look around.
The large hexagonal chamber is full to the brim today, with witches from the Gom clan, the Samjogo clan, the Miru clan, the Gumiho clan, and the Tokki clan all sitting in their respective pews, which fan out from the center. Each block of pews ends with a polished bronze plaque brandishing the clan’s motto, beneath a tall statue of their patron goddess. The icons are made out of materials that match their clan’s colors—jade for the Tokki, blue lapis for the Miru, gold for the Gom—that kind of thing. Of course, the Horangi clan’s pews are empty. The sixth clan hasn’t been allowed at temple for years.
As per custom, the five elders are standing in the raised center of the sanctuary next to the Gi cauldron, which is basically a large black urn with clawed feet. It has the symbol of the two suns and two moons branded on its side and is filled with sand from the beginning of time. Sticks of incense poke out from its top, reminding me of candles on a birthday cake.
The elders are all wearing hanboks in their respective clan colors, including Auntie Okja, who’s in gold. She’s my mom’s older sister, and the Gom elder on the LA council. I give her a small wave when her eyes meet mine. She winks back in response.
“Now, as I was saying,” Mr. Pyo continues, “today is not a normal Saturday service. It is a momentous day for my family and the entire Samjogo clan, as my granddaughter Mira turns one hundred days old today!”
The congregation claps enthusiastically, but my family all glance nervously at me.
Let’s be clear—I love going to temple, I really do. But the one thing I hate about attending each week is the number of Gi ceremonies I have to endure.
When a gifted child turns one hundred days old, the Gi cauldron assesses the witch’s elemental balance and forges her Gi. Parents then keep the Gi safe until the child is old enough to start training for her initiation ceremony on her thirteenth birthday.
Auntie Okja once explained it to me like this: The world has five sacred elements—wood, earth, water, fire, and metal. If a witch can harness the perfect balance of all five, he or she can channel the power of the goddesses and wield the specific magic of their clan.
The catch is that witches are born with only four internal elements. Which is why they must wear the fifth element—the one they lack—around their wrist. A Gi is kind of like a car key. Each witch needs their fifth element to start their car, but the particular car each clan drives (i.e., the type of magic each clan can do) is different. It’s in their blood. For us, the Gom, it’s healing.
Mr. Pyo takes baby Mira from her mom’s arms and carries her toward the cauldron. I instinctively shrink into my velveteen pew cushion, wishing I could melt into its softness and disappear.
“Mago Halmi, mother of the three realms, mother of the six goddesses, mother of mortalkind and all creation,” Mr. Pyo starts, holding Mira up into the air with both arms outstretched. “Today I humbly present to you this child of the Samjogo clan, descendant of the Three-Legged Crow Goddess, for your divine blessing.”
The Samjogo clan chants their motto, Leadership and Wisdom, while the four other elders take turns touching Mira’s forehead with their activated gifted marks. Then Mr. Pyo steps toward the Gi cauldron and declares, “Mago Halmi, let your will be known!”
The congregation goes silent, and for a moment, nothing happens. Immediately, my heart starts to race and my palms get sweaty. A deep rumble emanates from the cauldron, and I count to ten under my breath as Mina’s first element is revealed.
“Her dominant element is water!” Mr. Pyo announces first, as a swirling tornado of liquid materializes above the cauldron. “The symbol of abundance and grace. How fitting for a seer.” Everyone cheers in approval.
The water tornado disappears, giving way to a glowing seed that grows into a tree in front of our eyes. “Her subdominant is wood,” Mr. Pyo calls out. “The symbol of compassion and growth.”
The cheering continues as the third element reveals itself—a pyramid of solid bronze, shimmering as if it had been dipped in glitter. “Followed by metal. The symbol of strength and power.” Mr. Pyo beams almost as bright as the pyramid.
Finally, a blazing bonfire appears in the pyramid’s place, levitating above the cauldron with its hungry flames. “And finally, fire. The symbol of transformation and will. Mago Halmi has spoken!”
My eyes lock on to the fire. I want to look away, but I can’t.
“And so, Mira’s Gi will be forged with earth—the element she does not possess,” Mr. Pyo concludes. “The symbol of fertility and life, and the key to unlocking her perfect elemental balance. May Mago Halmi bless her future as a seeing witch.”
As the fire dissipates, a small glass charm of soft earth appears above the cauldron’s mouth. It looks just like Hattie’s Gi. The cylinder hovers expectantly in the air until Mr. Pyo carefully takes it in both hands and passes it to Mira’s parents.
I clutch my chest, and Hattie takes my hand and squeezes it hard. She knows exactly what I’m thinking about right now.
My parents, being the progressive people they are, persuaded the elders to give me a Gi ceremony when I turned one hundred days old. And I’m sure they meant well. It must have been a landmark occasion for the LA-based clans to see a saram get blessed. Too bad it didn’t go according to plan….
The story goes that when the Gi cauldron was asked for my elemental balance, it sat silent and idle for an impossibly long time. Eventually, it spluttered and wheezed as if it had swallowed a fireball. Then it delivered its final answer.
First element: fire.
Second element: fire.
Third element: still fire.
Fourth element: Yup, you guessed it. Fire.
Then, instead of forging my Gi, the cauldron caught on fire. Literally. The entire thing lit up like the Christmas tree at the Grove.
The thing is, no one ever gets two of the same elements, let alone four. That’s just not how it works. So the council considered the mishap proof that the saram shouldn’t be part of the community, and I was deemed a fiery freak of nature. Sigh. As you can imagine, that was the beginning of the end for me.
“Who cares about Gi ceremonies when we have a magic-sharing spell to cast?” Hattie whispers in my ear. “Forget about back then. We have the future to look forward to.”
I bite my lip. “But what if sharing means you’ll lose your power? And remember, Eomma said it was dangerous.”
“Sometimes you gotta burn your fingers to enjoy the s’more.”
But it’s different for me, I think. I love Hattie with all my heart, but she doesn’t understand that things aren’t as simple for me as they are for her. One false step and the council could ban me from temple altogether. Or, Mago forbid, what if they decided to wipe my memory with a strong dose of Memoryhaze potion? There’s a reason I keep my head down and my mouth shut. It’s safer this way.
Then again, seeing Mira get her Gi, and knowing Hattie’s going to be initiated soon, it makes me wonder…. If I don’t take this chance now, will another ever come again? Will I live the rest of my life regretting the one opportunity I had to fulfill my potential?
It’s probably a result of my burnt nerves, but after a moment, I give in to Hattie’s enthusiasm. As the sweet taste of hope returns to my mouth, I whisper back, “Guess we have to figure out how to open Eomma’s safe, then.”
Hattie’s eyes light up so bright, I can see my reflection in them. “That’s the smartest thing you’ve said in years.”
We both sit there pondering the mechanics of enchanted safes, when Mr. Hong, the Miru elder, begins making the community announcements. The first piece of news is that the date for the gifted library’s grand reopening will be announced soon. The library h
as been closed for over ten years, so it will be a massive celebration for all clans around the world.
The second announcement is about an upcoming Saturday School trip to the traveling carnival. Saturday School is where kids go after temple service to learn more about the gifted clans and the Godrealm and stuff. Kind of like school for witches, but only once a week. As for the carnival, it’s one of the highlights in the annual gifted calendar.
Suddenly I have an idea. “Isn’t Professor Ryu teaching Saturday School today?” I whisper to Hattie.
She ponders for a second and then slaps me on the arm. “I like how you think!”
Professor Ryu is one of those super-liberal, ditch-the-lesson-plans-and-let-the-students-direct-the-learning type of teachers, and she claims there is no such thing as a bad question. She’s also from the Tokki clan, and Kindness and Heart isn’t their motto for nothing. She’s one of the nicest people we know and probably our best way of finding out how to break the safe’s enchantment.
“And for the final piece of community news,” Mr. Hong continues, “a cautious word of warning for our loyal congregation.”
The other elders visibly tense, including Auntie Okja.
Mr. Hong clears his throat a few times before speaking again. “It has come to our attention that the Horangi clan has attempted to make contact with some members of the council.”
The temperature drops in the sanctuary and the hairs on my arm rise to attention. No way.
“The council has convened on the issue, and we suspect the excommunicated clan may be planning another attack on the community. We ask that everyone remain vigilant and take necessary precautions. If you see any of the scholars loitering around gifted property, report them to us immediately. And if any try to make contact, it is imperative that you do not engage. They are dangerous and should not be approached.”
Nervous murmurs ripple down the pews, spreading out from the center of the room like lava from a volcano. Eomma and Appa share a look of concern, and my eyes are immediately drawn to the empty benches in front of the red-jasper statue of the Mountain Tiger Goddess—the ex-patron of the Horangi clan.