Page 11 of Revenge is a Witch

I smirk. “Around you, Skyler.Aroundyou.”

She shrugs, her grin wicked. “On, in, around—I don’t care. As long as I’m the one holding the chains.”

I burst out laughing. “Good luck with that. You know how well werewolves handleanythingaround their necks.”

Skyler gives a little wink. “That’s why it’ll be fun.”

Hazel looks up from her phone long enough to add, “You’ll get bitten, and not in the way you’re hoping for.” Skyler sticks her tongue out at Hazel, but the teasing is all in good fun. Despite being a mermaid and a selkie—two species that usually don’t get along—these two make it work. It helps that they steer clear of bodies of water when they’re together. Keeping Skyler out of the pool and Hazel away from the beach is a small price to pay for their strange but tight-knit friendship.

“Anyway,” I say, rolling my eyes at their banter, “how’s the gargoyle, Hazel? Still texting him every five seconds, I see.”

Hazel gives me a mock glare. “You try dating someone in college who’s surrounded by people who can’t wait to sink their claws into him. I’m just… keeping tabs.”

“Keeping tabs,” Skyler echoes, grinning. “More like keeping him on a leash.”

Hazel shrugs, not even pretending to be offended. “Better that than letting someone else swoop in.”

I laugh. “You two are something else. One of you wants to chain a werewolf, and the other’s got a literal stone giant wrapped around her finger.”

Professor Bellamy claps her hands, pulling our attention to the front of the room. “Alright, class, settle down. Today, we’re goingto discuss the ethical use of magical persuasion, particularly in high-stress situations where it’s tempting to—shall we say—bend someone’s will to your advantage.”

She waves her wand dramatically, and the crystal orb on her desk flares to life, casting a faint, mesmerizing glow around the room. “Let’s begin with an example. Say you’re in a negotiation with a stubborn warlock who refuses to see reason. Do you subtly nudge him toward your point of view, or do you respect his autonomy and find another way?”

Skyler leans over to me, whispering, “Depends on how cute the warlock is.”

I stifle a laugh, shooting her a look. “Skyler, focus. This could be important someday.”

She grins, but her eyes drift back to Mr. Whitlock. “I’m focused. Just... on something else.”

I roll my eyes and try to pay attention to the lecture, but honestly, these two always make class far more entertaining than it has any right to be. Professor Bellamy continues, her voice flowing through the classroom like the soft hum of magic itself. “Magical persuasion is a delicate art. It requires precision, intent, and most importantly—control. If you lose control, even for a moment, the consequences could be disastrous. You could alter someone's mind, their memories, their will, without even meaning to. It’s like playing with fire—fascinating, but dangerous if you’re not careful.”

Something in those words hits me like a punch to the gut.Control.

Suddenly, the room feels smaller, the air thicker, like the walls are closing in. Control. I’ve always prided myself on having control over my magic, especially with my grimoire, and yet...

I can’t stop the thought from creeping into my mind, dark and twisted:What if I erased my own work?

The idea snakes through my brain, winding tighter with every second. My grimoire was protected, sealed so no one else could tamper with it. OnlyIcould affect it. OnlyIcould have done something to it.

I swallow hard, trying to push the thought away, but it clings to me, pulling me down into a pit of doubt. What if I was careless? What if, in one moment of stupidity or distraction, I accidentally wiped it clean?

My hands clench into fists under the desk. The image of my grimoire—blank, empty, lifeless—flashes in my mind. The panic, the frustration, the shame.

How could I have been so stupid?I think, the words bouncing around my head like a cruel echo.Who else could’ve done it? No one but me.

I can barely hear Professor Bellamy’s lecture anymore. Her voice is distant, muffled, like I’m underwater. My own thoughts are too loud, too overwhelming.

I erased it.

The realization gnaws at me, sinking deeper into my bones. If it was me—if I’m the reason all my hard work is gone—what does that say about me? That I’m careless? Useless? That I can’t even manage something as simple as keeping track of my own magic?

I stare at the blank page in my notebook, and for a moment, it feels like the universe is mocking me. Another empty page. Another sign that maybe I’m not as competent as I’ve always thought.

You screwed up.The thought slams into me, hard and unforgiving.You erased your own spells, and now you’re paying for it.

My breath quickens, but I try to keep it steady, not wanting to draw attention to myself. I can’t let Skyler or Hazel see me unraveling like this. But inside, I feel like I’m spinning, falling down this endless spiral of uselessness. If I was stupid enough todo this—if I really erased my own grimoire—then how can I trust myself to fix it? How can I trust myself with anything?

What if I fail? What if I never get it back?

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