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.
The scholars weren’t always cursed. In fact, they used to be the upholders of knowledge and truth in the gifted community. They were the keepers of the sacred texts at the gifted library, and they were well respected. Revered, even.
But then, almost thirteen years ago, everything changed. Auntie Okja said that under the leadership of their new elder, Ms. Kwon, the clan became obsessed with power. Ms. Kwon claimed she’d figured out a way for witches to become as powerful as the goddesses and that she would pursue it until the scholars became divine themselves. When the other five clans accused them of heresy, Ms. Kwon led a Horangi attack against the gifted community. You were either with them or against them.
Luckily, the scholars were stopped before a full war broke out. But not before a bunch of innocent witches were killed, including the Gom elder at the time, who happened to be my best friend Emmett’s mom.
Anyway, as punishment for their actions, the Mountain Tiger Goddess disowned the Horangi clan and cursed them never to be able to wield her divine power again. And anyone seen colluding with the clan would be stripped of their own gift, too. As you can imagine, the council had no choice but to banish them from the community. The scholars’ lust for power had made them dangerous, and it ultimately led to their demise. Sad story, really.
“And on that rather somber note, I conclude today’s service,” Mr. Hong finishes. “May Mago be with you this coming week.”
“May Mago be with you,” the congregation echoes in prayer.
Soon the kids start to gather near the elevator to go to Saturday School, which is held in the building next door. Hattie runs to use the restroom, and I see Professor Ryu’s digital perm bobbing above the crowd of kids. My heart races. Our plan had better work.
“Riley, do you have a moment?”
I turn around to see Auntie Okja standing there in her beautiful golden hanbok. She looks as graceful and poised as ever.
“Of course, Auntie O.” I smile at her warmly. “What’s up?”
“I’m so sorry about your ceremony. I tried my best, but the council overruled me.” She tucks a loose strand of my hair behind my ear, and I melt at the tender gesture. “You know I’m always looking out for you, right? That even if it might not always seem like it, I only want the best for you?”
I nod and look at my feet. “I know, Auntie O.”
For a second, I want to spill the beans. I want to tell her our plans to steal Eomma’s spellbook and to cast the magic-sharing spell. Maybe she’d talk some sense into me. Or perhaps she’d offer to help us. Like she said, she only wants the best for me….
But the moment is broken when Mrs. Lee, the Tokki elder, comes and ushers Auntie Okja away for some urgent council business.
“By the way, I have some new plans for a diversity-and-inclusion campaign,” she says to me before leaving. “Can I run them past you later?”
“Of course,” I say. “Will look forward to it.”
“The only thing you’re gonna look forward to is getting half of my magic,” Hattie whispers, pulling me away to join the other students. “And yes, I know what you’re thinking. And no, we are not asking Auntie O for help.”
I look away, hoping I can hide the guilt written in Mago-size letters on my face. You’d think I was a book the way Hattie reads me.
“But maybe she would?” I try.
Hattie snorts. “Oh, you have so much to learn, young grasshopper. She’s a council elder. There’s no way she would help us if Eomma won’t. If we want to do this, we’re on our own.”
I frown so hard my eye twitches.
“If the tables were turned, would you do the same for me?” she asks.
“Without a doubt,” I respond immediately. “You know I would.”
“Then it’s settled,” she says, grinning. “We have ourselves an enchanted safe to crack.”
THE BUILDING NEXT DOOR TO THE H-Mart is a noraebang. Norae is Korean for song, and bang means room. So a noraebang is a song room—aka a private karaoke room. It’s where teenagers go to hang out with their friends and sing their favorite pop hits at the top of their lungs. It also happens to be another secret entrance, this time to Saturday School.
“OMG, can you believe the news about the Horangi?” Jennie Byun, with her manicured nails and Ralph Lauren Polo dress, says in her annoyingly loud voice as we walk up to the doors of Gangnam Style Karaoke. Everything from her invisible braces to her perfect designer handbag irks me. “My mom told me our Samjogo elder received a vision this morning when he touched the fried chicken counter. And get this: The excommunicated Horangi elder—Ms. Kwon—was trying to break into the temple. Freaky, right?”
There
