The Last Fallen Star, Graci Kim [books to read in your 20s .TXT] 📗

face it—I’m the only one here with their head screwed on straight.”

He takes a long moment before speaking again. “Besides, I lost my mom once to magic. I’m not gonna lose you to it, too.”

I swallow hard and look at Hattie. I have to tell Emmett everything. He needs to know I come from the clan that killed his mom. What kind of best friend would I be to keep that from him when he’s willing to put everything on the line for me?

Hattie’s eyes are sympathetic, but she doesn’t give me a sign either way.

“Stop dawdling,” he says. “Let’s go.”

And just like that, the moment is gone. I know at some point I’ll need to tell him. And I mean, I will.

But not now.

Not today.

Because right now, we have the mother of all creation to summon. And I need all the help I can get.

AFTER WE MEET NOAH OUTSIDE the dojang, he sneakily leads us past his mom’s bodega on the ground floor and then up the back stairs. Hattie and Noah are acting super awkward with each other, and I can’t believe I hadn’t picked up on their lovey-dovey vibes before. Now that I know, I kind of feel bad that I didn’t notice earlier. Sisters should notice these things.

“Hattie says you’re a b-boy as well as a martial artist,” Emmett says to Noah, looking at him curiously. “Are you as good as she says you are?”

Noah stops at the top of the stairs and French-tucks his shirt into the front of his trendy whitewashed jeans. He smiles freely, revealing two dimples at the ends of his mouth. “Sure, I love break-dancing. But it’s easy when you’ve got Miru blood in your veins. Half the work is already done for you.”

Most protector-clan witches are born with either superhuman speed or strength. But Noah was blessed with both. Definitely a case of good genes (and also, good jeans).

“As for martial arts, I get by.”

Hattie coughs. “Humble, much? He’s only the undefeated national Taegwondo champion for his age group, not to mention he also does Capoeira, Hapkido, and Zumba.”

Noah blushes slightly at Hattie’s praise but grins. “Zumba is by far the hardest. Never realized how hard it was to do a shimmy while shaking your hips. You guys should come to a class one day. It’s an awesome workout.”

Emmett tries to hide it, but I see the smile creeping up his face. This is the first time he’s met Noah, but it’s clear even Emmett isn’t immune to his charm. There’s something about Noah’s quiet confidence that screams I’m cool. The cute glasses and fauxhawk don’t hurt, either.

“Seriously, though, it’s nothing special,” Noah explains. “Martial arts kinda comes with the territory.”

Noah’s dad is a Taegwondo grandmaster and comes from one of the most well-known protector families in the Miru clan. His dojang in the heart of Koreatown is famous for churning out Olympic-level martial artists, but you wouldn’t know it by walking in there.

We enter through the staff-only back door. The training studio is drab and outdated, with peeling wallpaper and way-too-bright lights. The sound of voices chanting Taegwondo commands reverberates through the walls.

“Just keep your voices down,” says Noah. “My appa is teaching a class in the front studio, but we should have five minutes before the session finishes.” He leads us down a hallway to what I assume is his dad’s office.

My first thought when we enter the room is Whoa, if Taegwondo were a goddess, this room would be her shrine. The place is littered with trophies of all shapes and sizes—on the desk, on the shelves, on top of a stack of pressed white uniforms, and even on the floor. It’s obvious the dojang has won its fair share of competitions.

Noah closes the door behind him and rests his back against it. He nudges his glasses up on his nose. “Hey, I’m sorry about what happened earlier, at temple,” he says to me. “That was pretty rough. I can only imagine what you must be going through right—”

“Thanks,” I quickly interrupt before he can say anything else to raise Emmett’s suspicions. “I understand you know how to summon Mago Halmi,” I say instead, looking at Hattie for confirmation.

“I can’t say I’ve ever done it before or know anyone who’s tried,” Noah responds. “From what I’ve heard, none of the gifted councils in the country have approved a summoning-spell application for years. But I have seen it in our family spellbook. I even memorized it, because it looked so badass.”

“I told you so,” Hattie says to me, looking smug.

“Would you be willing to teach it to us?” I ask.

Noah pauses and glances over at Hattie.

“We know it’s illegal,” I quickly add, “but we wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. And we wouldn’t tell anyone about your involvement, of course.”

Hattie nods. “It’s the only way we can think of to save our family.”

Noah runs his hand through his hair before answering. “Okay, I’ll teach you. Anything to provide and protect—it is our clan motto, after all.”

Emmett and I raise our eyebrows at each other. That’s an excuse if I ever heard one. We both know the real reason Noah is helping us is because he likes Hattie. Not that I’m complaining.

Noah rummages through the mess on his dad’s desk and somehow finds a pen and some paper. “I’ll write down the incantations for you, but you’ll also need to find some ashes of death and the elixir of life to complete the spell. That, and a willing initiated witch.”

Hattie raises her hand. “Willing witch present and accounted for.”

“Any chance you have access to some ashes of death?” Noah asks.

We all go quiet. They’re not exactly something you can find on the shelves of a supermarket, and I’ve never seen them stocked at our clinic.

Emmett clears his throat and slowly raises his finger—the one with his silver band on it. “Could this work? It contains some of my mom’s ashes.” He coughs uncomfortably.