The prospect of explaining this disaster to a saram police officer breaks me out of my daze. I crouch down over Hattie’s face and start giving her mouth-to-mouth. Last summer, when Appa suggested I take a first-aid course, I’d sulked for a week. Who wants to learn modern medicine when you can learn magic? But right now, as I pinch Hattie’s nose and breathe into her mouth, I’m so grateful I did.

“Ugh, my phone’s dead!” Emmett cries, repeatedly hitting the blank screen with his finger. He eventually gives up and drops onto the sand next to me. “Please tell me the CPR is working.”

I shake my head as a dam of tears explodes behind my eyes. I know my technique is right, but Hattie’s eyes remain closed and her body is still. “It’s no use!” I cry hysterically.

“Oh, bother. Where did my kitchen go?” I hear someone say.

My eyes flit up toward the voice, and my eyebrows furrow together. I don’t know where she came from, but a frumpy middle-aged woman with frizzy hair has appeared on the beach in front of us. Her knitted vest looks dated, and—I won’t lie—she smells a little like mothballs. But she has a soft, kindly face, and she’s carrying a soup ladle covered with an oily red sauce. There’s a picture of Winnie the Pooh on her apron with the line I’M SO RUMBLY IN MY TUMBLY, which is also covered in red stains.

“Who are you?” Emmett splutters.

My mind reels. “Ma…Mago Halmi, is that you?” Did the summoning spell actually work? Could this Korean Mrs. Weasley really be the mother of all creation?

The woman laughs heartily, and the red moon pulsates in the sky, as if chortling with her. “By golly, no. I’m old, but I’m not that old.” She waves her saucy ladle in the air. “I was just whipping up a low-calorie spicy tofu stew.” She pats her stomach. “I’m on a diet, you see—too many indulgent initiation ceremonies of late. But then I heard one of my baby subjects summon me, so here I am, ladle and all.”

I study the woman again from head to toe. If Hattie didn’t summon Mago Halmi, then who did she summon?

“I do love those honey-drizzled rice cakes, though,” she muses. “And I am partial to a good vintage rice wine on occasion.” She looks dreamily into the distance.

Indulgent initiation ceremonies. Honey-drizzled rice cakes. Rice wine. It all reminds me of Hattie’s ceremony, when the delicious food offerings disappeared into the Godrealm.

Suddenly, it dawns on me.

“Cave Bear Goddess?” I whisper.

The woman smiles warmly and tips her head. “At your service.”