“It’s okay, Auntie O,” Hattie assures her, beginning to tip her vial into the cauldron. “We know what we’re doing.”

Auntie Okja shakes her head so hard her perfectly coiffed hair frizzes around her head. She slaps the vial out of Hattie’s hand with one swift movement. “No, you don’t understand. It could kill you!”

My vial has started to tip slowly into the cauldron, but I flip it upright even before Auntie Okja makes it to my side. “What do you mean? It’s only a temporary spell. We’ve done our research. The spellbook said it’d only be risky if cast between witches.”

Auntie Okja cups my face in her hands. My eyes flit to my parents, who are both standing midway between the pews and the cauldron, holding on to each other. They look like they’ve seen a gwisin.

“It’s dangerous,” Auntie Okja blurts out in a rush, “because you’re not a saram, Riley.”

There is a confused murmur from the onlookers, and Hattie’s jaw drops to the ground. I stay frozen, unable to comprehend her words.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Hattie says, her palms raised up. “Back up the bus. Are you trying to say that Riley has been a Gom all along?” She shakes her head and glances at me with a disoriented look on her face. “Rye, what’s going on?”

“No, not a Gom.” Auntie Okja tightens her grip on my face. “You, my sweet child,” she whispers hoarsely, “are a Horangi.”

6: The Tiger Is Out of the Bag

I PULL AWAY FROM MY AUNTIE’S grip and rub my ears, because what I just heard cannot be true.

“Sorry, come again?” I splutter. “I thought you just said I was a Horangi.” The clan name tastes bitter in my mouth.

The congregation lets out a shocked gasp. I’m pretty sure I hear Mr. Pyo using some colorful words that, according to Appa, only drunken sailors and politicians use.

Eomma and Appa have clambered up to the cauldron and are now looking at me as if I’ve grown a Haetae horn on my forehead.

“Tell her,” I say to my parents confidently. “Tell Auntie O she’s got her wires crossed. I’m a saram. You adopted me because my birth parents were teenagers who were too young to raise me. Go on, tell her.”

The sanctuary goes so quiet I’m pretty sure the congregation can hear my heart thumping in my chest.

Eomma takes a big breath and steps toward me. All the color has drained from her cheeks. “Riley, my aegi-ya…”

Hattie squeezes my hand, but the muscles in my face freeze. Aegi-ya? Eomma only calls me baby when she’s about to deliver really bad news.

“We’ll talk about this later, okay? This isn’t the time or place—”