Page 1 of Revenge is a Witch

Prologue

The screech of my alarm jolts me awake like it’s trying to summon the dead. It’s not even 7 a.m., and I already want to hex something. Maybe the alarm. Definitely the alarm. But as much as I’d love to snooze it into oblivion, I have things to do, spells to perfect, and people to avoid.

I roll out of bed, my feet sinking into the old, creaky hardwood floor of my dorm room—a room that screams “I’m special” in that subtle, expensive way. Thanks, Mom and Dad. Apparently, donating a small fortune to the school that shaped them into “productive members of supernatural society” means I get the deluxe suite. Or, as I like to call it,The Book Fort.

Seriously, there are more books than space in here. A tower of grimoires and spell manuals looms by my desk, threatening to avalanche at any moment. I’ve got herbs spilling out of jars, crystals littering every surface, and candles tucked into every nook and cranny. But hey, I like to think of it as a chaotic, magical aesthetic. It works for me.

And then there’smygrimoire. My pride and joy. Three years of spells, charms, and enchantments all crammed into one ancient-looking, leather-bound book. The kind of book that you’d expect to see some witch cackling over in the middle of the woods. Except, instead of curses and doom, mine is filled with the really important stuff—like how to make your hair frizz-free in a thunderstorm or get out of gym class with a well-timed sneeze hex. Don’t judge. Practical magic is the best kind of magic.

The alarm blares again, and I curse under my breath, flinging a pillow at it. I need to get up. I’ve got classes to endure and Kyla, my least favorite witch, to tolerate. Ugh. I throw open my closet doors and scan for something cute and quirky. I mean, I have a reputation to uphold.

After a few minutes of digging, I pull out my usual ensemble—something black, something vintage, and of course, my signature red stockings. Can’t be a badass witch without them. It’s a rule. I’m sure of it.

I throw on my outfit, giving myself a once-over in the mirror. Messy, cute, a little witchy, and 100% me. Perfect.

Potions & Poisons

As I step out of my dorm building, the chilly morning air smacks me in the face like a cold, wet fish. Lovely. At least it wakes me up better than that cursed alarm clock ever could. The campus stretches out in front of me, a blend of gothic architecture, ivy-covered walls, and students who are way too chipper for this early in the morning. But hey, that’s what you get at a school for the supernatural and the weird—perky sirens, brooding vampires, and more shifters than you can shake a silver stick at.

I jog across campus, my red stockings flashing like warning signs as I make my way to the Hub, the social beating heart of this madhouse we call school. The place is packed already, buzzing with early risers sipping overpriced lattes from the student-run café. Tables and benches sprawl out in front of the library entrance, with students huddled in their usual cliques. Shifters stick to shifters, sirens gather by the fake fountain—go figure, and the vampires... well, they always seem to lurk in the shady corners, because ofcoursethey do.

I scan the crowd, and there they are—Sammy and Derek, the odd couple of the century. Sam’s sitting cross-legged on the bench, scribbling furiously in her grimoire, while Derek leans back like the human-wolf hybrid model for ‘lazy confidence.’ I make my way over, dodging a centaur with a frappuccino and an elf arguing about rune placement. Ah, another day at Salem High.

"Morning, losers," I say with my usual charm as I approach.

"Morning, witch," Derek shoots back, without even looking up. His tone is that perfect blend of insult and greeting, which we’ve both turned into an art form. He leans forward slightly, giving me that infuriating smirk he’s always got locked and loaded. "Still wearing those hideous stockings, huh?"

I roll my eyes dramatically, placing a hand over my chest. "Oh, Derek, you really know how to make a girl feel special. I’ll have you know these are vintage. But I get it—fashion isn’t exactly your strong suit. How’s that ‘I woke up in a wolf den’ look working out for you?"

He gives me a mock gracious bow. "Takes effort to look this naturally disheveled, you know."

I cross my arms and grin. "Oh, I’m sure it does. Hours of planning, right?"

Sam looks up from her grimoire, finally noticing I’m there, and smiles. "Morning, Z. Derek giving you grief again?"

"As usual," I say, nudging Derek with my foot before turning to Sam. "What are you working on? More last-minute grimoire scribbling?"

Sam sighs, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. "Yeah, it’s due tomorrow, and I still have way too many empty pages. I was hoping inspiration would just, like, hit me or something, but so far... nada."

I raise an eyebrow. "Need a hand? We can catch up in the library after school, and I’ll help you fill it out."

Sam’s face lights up like I just offered her a lifetime supply of glitter pens. "Really? You’d help? Can we make it after dinner?"

I tilt my head and give her a mischievous smile. "Ooo, you two got a fun little date planned?"

Derek shrugs nonchalantly, but Sam shakes her head, laughing. "Family dinner. Nothing fun about that."

I smirk. "Well, that soundsthrilling.But sure, after dinner works for me. We’ll make your grimoire sparkle." Sam beams at me, and I give her shoulder a quick squeeze before glancing at the time. "Anyway, I better start heading to class. You know,Cauldron Concoctionswaits for no witch."

Sam groans dramatically. "I still can’t believe you take that class. Potion making was my kryptonite."

I laugh. "You mean you were terrible at it."

"Same thing," she mutters, but she’s smiling.

"See you both later," I say, waving as I start to walk off.

Derek calls after me. "Don’t blow up the classroom!"

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