Page 13 of Revenge is a Witch

It’s lunch time, and as much as I want to grab something to eat, my mind is buzzing with thoughts of my grimoire. I decide to head back to my dorm and try—again—to get something down on paper. The hallway is packed with students, and I weave my way through the crowd, my mind already mentally cataloging the spells I need to rewrite.

I’m halfway down the corridor when something catches my eye—a familiar shimmer in the air, followed by a softwhooshof magic. I pause, squinting in the direction of a group of students huddled near the lockers. They’re laughing, casually tossing around magical energy like it’s no big deal. But there’s something about the way one of them—the tall, scruffy-looking warlock at the center—casts a spell that makes me freeze.

The words. The motion. The subtle flick of his wrist.

I know that spell.

That’s my spell.

I watch as the warlock finishes the incantation, a soft, silvery light wrapping around his hand before he directs it at one of his friends. The spell hits, and his friend stumbles, momentarily dazed as if his senses were knocked off balance. Then he laughs, shaking it off.

That’s the Aura Disruption Hex.I came up with it last year. It messes with someone’s equilibrium for a few seconds, throwing off their balance just enough to make them dizzy but not enough to cause any real harm. It's like a magical prank, and I definitely didn’t teach it to anyone outside my own circle. But here’s this random warlock, using it like it’s just another spell in his repertoire.

Anger flares up in me, and before I know it, I’m walking straight toward the group.

"Hey!" I call out, my voice cutting through their laughter. The warlock looks up, raising an eyebrow as I approach. He’s got that smug, too-cool-for-school look that instantly irritates me. “That spell,” I say, pointing at him. “Where did you learn it?”

He blinks, clearly caught off guard. “What?”

“The spell you just cast—the Aura Disruption Hex. Where did you learn it?”

He shrugs, trying to play it cool. “I got it from a friend. Why?”

“Because it’smyspell,” I snap, crossing my arms. “I created it. So I’m gonna ask again—who taught you?”

The warlock glances at his friends, and they exchange uneasy looks. He shifts his weight, clearly not wanting to give me a straight answer. “Look, I don’t know, okay? My friend showed it to me. I didn’t ask where it came from.”

I narrow my eyes, stepping closer. “Yeah, well, I’m asking. Who’s your friend?”

He shrugs again, this time more defensively. “Does it matter? It’s just a spell.”

I grit my teeth, feeling my blood pressure rise. “It matters becauseIwrote that spell, and unless your friend stole my grimoire or somehow got ahold of it, there’s no way they should know it. So spill.”

His expression hardens, and he straightens up, clearly done with this conversation. “I don’t know who you are, but I don’t owe you anything. It’s just a spell. I’m not gonna rat out my friend.”

His friends snicker, clearly enjoying the show, but I’m not backing down. “It’s notjusta spell. It’s mine. And if I find out who’s spreading my work around, they’re going to wish they hadn’t.”

The warlock scoffs, clearly unimpressed. “Good luck with that.” He shoots me a mocking grin and walks off with his friends, leaving me standing there, fuming.

I watch them go, my mind racing.That was definitely my spell. There’s no doubt about it.And now someone else is using it like it’s common knowledge. What are the odds? My grimoire goes blank, and suddenly, people are casting my spells like they’ve been passing them around behind my back?

I swallow hard, feeling a knot form in my stomach.Did someone take my grimoire just to spread my spells around the school?

It can’t be a coincidence.

I stand there, stunned, the laughter of the warlock and his friends fading into the distance.

I storm into the cafeteria, still fuming from my encounter with the warlock, my head buzzing with questions that have no answers. I scan the room and spot Sam and Derek sitting at oneof the tables in the corner. They seem to be deep in some kind of disgruntled conversation, but I don’t have the time or mental space to worry about that right now.

I make a beeline for their table, my footsteps quick and determined. “Guys,” I whisper as soon as I get close enough, sliding into the seat next to Sam. “Did either of you show someone the Aura Disruption Hex? The one I made last year?”

Sam looks up at me, clearly confused. “What? No. I don’t even remember you showing me that spell.”

Derek raises an eyebrow, looking mildly amused. “I can’t evendomagic, remember? I wouldn’t know what to do with a spell even if you drew me a map.”

I blink, trying to wrap my head around it. “But there’s no one else that saw me make that spell,” I mutter, more to myself than to them. “I didn’t show anyone...”

I feel the room start to spin a little as the realization hits me all over again. Someone’s using my spell. Someone has access to my grimoire. Or worse, someone is spreading it around like it’s some kind of public domain magic. I grip the edge of the table, my knuckles white. None of this makes any sense.

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