Soon, a hush falls over the crowd. Hattie enters the sanctuary behind the five elders, and they walk in single file toward the Gi cauldron. My sister is wearing open-toed gold sandals, and her long golden hanbok ripples like gentle waves behind her. A fur headpiece sits grandly atop her head, sporting a row of sharp bear claws that make it look like she’s wearing an ivory crown. Eomma and Appa let out quiet squeals of delight, and I beam proudly beside them. Hattie has worked so hard for this, and her initiation is going to be a breeze.

As she walks, her eyes search the crowd for me. And when they meet mine, she taps the side of her dress, reminding me that her potion is in the hidden pocket of her hanbok. I nod back, and she gives me a quick smile.

“Welcome, fellow witches, to a very special occasion,” Auntie Okja says, starting the ceremony. “For today, we initiate our newest healer into the Gom clan.” She continues with the preamble before inviting Mrs. Kim, the Gumiho elder, to take over.

“Now let’s get this initiation started.” Mrs. Kim steps forward and rubs her wrists together. As her gifted mark glows silver, she chants a spell under her breath. Before our very eyes, a young man materializes in front of the altar, clutching his stomach in pain. He looks so real, it’s hard to believe he’s just a Gumiho illusion.

“Please help me,” he gurgles to Hattie. “There’s something wrong with me.”

Hattie immediately springs into action and goes to the man’s side. She assesses him thoroughly while calming him with reassuring words. Then she announces, “This patient is suffering from internal bleeding. I will now perform a blood-clotting spell.”

Eomma lets out a relieved sigh beside me as Hattie rubs her wrists and casts the spell with familiar ease. All those practice sessions between them have paid off—Hattie looks calm and composed; her lisp is hardly noticeable as she pronounces the difficult Korean consonants.

One down, two to go!

Mrs. Kim reveals the second test, and it’s obvious to everyone what this patient’s ailment is. She is missing big chunks of flesh from her legs, and the other clans, who aren’t used to seeing so much blood, cover their eyes.

I, on the other hand, do a small fist pump. This one’s easy. Hattie needs to do a muscle-grafting spell, followed by a flesh-replenishing spell. And I know she can perform both. “She’s got this!” I whisper to my parents, and they nod back in agreement.

Hattie rubs her wrists again, and when her gifted mark glows gold, she holds her palms over the patient’s legs. As Hattie’s chanting grows in volume, the patient’s wasted limbs begin to transform, the hollowed cavities of sinew and bone filling with muscle and flesh.