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.”

Hattie nods. “We drink half the potion before the incantations, in the presence of a council elder, then we do the incantations and pour the other half into the Gi cauldron.” She pauses. “That’s totally doable!”

I frown. “Uh, except we need to find a council elder who’s willing to be there. Not to mention we need to get inside the temple to use the Gi cauldron. You know I can’t get in unless I’m with Eomma and Appa.”

“Riley’s right,” Emmett says, pursing his lips. “Doesn’t sound that doable to me.”

I exhale the disappointment from my system, now wishing I’d listened to him. “I knew it couldn’t be that easy. This is never gonna work.”

Hattie, with her eternal optimism, grins widely. “You guys give up too easily. Don’t you see this is perfect? In fact, we couldn’t make it more perfect if we tried.”

Emmett and I cock our heads. Did she just read the same words we did?

“My ceremony’s tomorrow,” Hattie reminds us. “I’ll have just gotten my Gi, we’ll have easy access to the cauldron, and all the elders will be there. That’s when we’ll do the spell.”

I suddenly feel a little sick to my stomach. “Hat, we can’t do it at your initiation! It’s your big day. What will people say? You could get in so much trouble. You can’t do that for me!”

Hattie shakes her head. “Don’t you see? It is the ideal opportunity to make a statement in front of all the elders and the congregation. Once we transfer half my magic to you, you can prove you know the incantations to pretty much any healing spell, which I know you do. And then the council will have no choice but to let you do your own initiation ceremony when you’re ready.” Her eyes light up. “It’s going to go down in history as the day the gifted clans joined the twenty-first century.”

The idea of being the center of attention as I recite the incantations makes me want to puke. But Hattie’s right—I know the words to the spells as well as she does. I’ve just never had the Gi or divine support to power them. If this could help me gain the acceptance and recognition of the council, what else could I want?

That thought alone makes me feel warm and fuzzy, and I squeeze Hattie’s arm. I can’t find the words to express my emotions in this instant, but I know she knows. This means everything to me.

“I don’t mean to be the resident party pooper, again…” Emmett starts. “But why do you think your parents kept this from you, Rye? Even I’ll admit the spell doesn’t seem impossible once you have the cauldron and the elder. So why hide it? It says it’s only dangerous when cast between the gifted.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. I’ve been wondering the same thing. “Do you think maybe…that perhaps…they don’t want me to have magic? That they think I’m not good enough to be a healer and I don’t deserve to be a Gom?” A lump forms in my throat, and suddenly tomorrow seems like a very, very bad idea once again.

“Don’t be silly!” Hattie says, taking a photo of the spell and putting the book back in the safe. “You know Eomma and Appa are super supportive of you. They’re just old school and never thought this was a valid option. We have to show them that some risks are worth taking. Easy as that.”

I remain silent as she shuts the safe door and jumps to her feet. “It’s decided, then. We’ll do the spell tomorrow, right after my initiation.” She ushers us out the door and squeezes my shoulder reassuringly. “Trust me, sis, they’ll come around. They all will. And we’ll be opening up our own practice in no time.”

As always, Hattie’s words lift the weight from my shoulders. She’s right. Eomma and Appa have always been supportive. And once I have my magic, they will be happy for me, too. I grab her and hug her tight, saying a thank-you prayer to Mago Halmi for my sister.

As we rush out of the clinic, excitement and nerves bubble up inside me like a shaken soda can.

One more day, and I will be a healer.

One more day, and I will be able to wield the power of the divine.

One more day, and my community will see me as an equal. They will accept me and embrace me as one of their own.

And then, perhaps, I’ll finally belong.