Page 15 of Revenge is a Witch

I feel a surge of anger, hot and fierce, bubbling up from somewhere deep inside me. My breath catches in my throat, and I don’t know whether I want to scream or cry. Maybe both. My hands shake as I slam them onto the desk, the pain shooting upthrough my palms doing nothing to quell the rage swirling inside me.

I could’ve lived with the idea that maybe—maybe—I’d made a mistake. That maybe it was me who wiped out my grimoire. But this? This deliberate theft? It’s like someone reached inside me and ripped out every piece of magic, every ounce of pride I’ve ever had in my work. My grimoire wasn’t just a book; it wasme. My ideas, my creativity, my heart.

And now, it’s being tossed around this school like some kind of magical joke.

I stare at the paper in the bin, my vision blurring for a second as the realization hits me again. My spells, mywork, in the hands of someone else. Someone who didn’t earn it. Who didn’t sweat over the pages, who didn’t spend nights perfecting the incantations.

I feel like I could crumble right here, right now. My chest tightens, and I can’t breathe, the panic rising in me, threatening to pull me under. I can’t think. I can’tmove. My entire body feels like it’s going to implode, like the weight of this betrayal is too much to carry.

How could someone do this to me? How could they steal from me, strip me of everything I’ve worked for, and then laugh as they hand it out to others?

The pain hits harder than the anger. It claws at me from the inside, gnawing at my stomach, making me feel sick. I press my palms to my eyes, trying to keep the tears from spilling over, but they burn anyway. I’m devastated. Broken. My grimoire was everything. And now, I feel like I’ve lost part of myself—like whoever took it didn’t just take a book, they tookme.

For a moment, I want to collapse. I want to give in to the overwhelming sense of defeat, to curl up on the floor and let the weight of it all crush me. It’s like everything I’ve worked for,everything I’ve built, has been stripped away, leaving me raw and exposed.

But then, something shifts inside me. The pain doesn’t fade, but it hardens, turning into something darker, sharper. My breathing steadies, and the tremble in my hands stills. Slowly, the tears dry on my cheeks, and I lift my head, blinking away the blur of emotion.

No. I can’t break. Not yet.

Whoever did this—whoever thought they could steal from me, humiliate me, and get away with it—they’re going to regret it. I’m not going to let this go. They’re going to know exactly what it feels like to have something precious ripped away from them.

I pull myself up to my full height, the storm of emotions inside me focusing into one clear, singular thought:Find the person responsible.

Find them. And make sure they know what it’s like to have the things they care about torn from their hearts, too.

I walk over to the bin and pull the crumpled piece of paper out, smoothing it down with trembling fingers. My spell. The one they took. The one they’re passing around like it’s nothing. My jaw clenches, my vision narrowing as I stare at the ink, the neat handwriting that isn’t mine but still holds my magic.

I fold the paper carefully, setting it on my desk. I know what I have to do now. I can’t rest until I find out who’s behind this. And when I do… they’ll wish they’d never messed with me.

With one last look at the fake grimoire on the floor, I turn back to the desk and sit down. There’s only one thing left to do.

Once A Witch

Nope, Just A Bitch.

The school assembly is the last place I want to be right now. A sea of students shuffle in like mindless sheep, herded into the auditorium for yet another boring speech about school spirit or whatever other nonsense the administration thinks we care about. The smell of wet coats and cheap cafeteria food lingers in the air, making the whole place feel like a well-dressed version of a cattle pen.

I sit down in the middle of the row, Sam on one side of me and Derek on the other, which is... strange. Normally they sit together, playing the cute couple routine, but not today. Clearly something’s up, but I don’t have the energy or patience to care right now. I’ve got bigger problems to deal with—like how someone stole my spells and passed them around the school like cheap candy.

I glance around at the rest of the student body. It’s a who's-who of magical creatures and wannabe spellcasters. The fae are clustered in their own corner, probably plotting their next prank.The shifters, as usual, are lounging in the back like they’re too cool for this whole thing, which, honestly, they might be. Meanwhile, the witches are scattered throughout, whispering to each other, no doubt exchanging gossip and judging everyone within a ten-foot radius. It’s like a magical zoo, except I’m the one trapped inside.

The principal steps up to the podium, his voice already droning on before he’s even properly started. He’s one of those guys who thinks he’s inspiring, but he couldn’t hold the attention of a houseplant. I tune him out for most of it, trying to focus on what I’ll say to Professor Malakar after this joke of an assembly. I’ll show her the spell Sebastian gave me—the proof that my work is being stolen—and she’llhaveto believe me. There’s no way she can brush me off now.

But then the principal says something that snaps my attention back to the front of the room.

“And we’re especially excited to see the wonderful range of spells the witches have turned in this year,” he says, beaming like a proud parent. “In fact, we’re pleased to announce that one of these collections will be turned into a book and placed in the school library as a tome for future young witches to draw inspiration from.”

My stomach churns. What the hell?

He continues, oblivious to the fact that my entire world is starting to tilt. “We’ve seen some truly remarkable work—spells with quirky and creative names like theAura Disruption HexandNo-Slip Glamour.”

My heart stops.No. No way.

Those are my spells.Mynames. I grip the edge of my seat, my nails digging into the fabric. The room feels like it’s closing in on me, the air suddenly too thick to breathe.

“And we’d like to congratulate Kyla for her outstanding contribution,” the principal says, smiling out at the crowd. “Hergrimoire will be immortalized as a part of our school’s magical history.”

I nearly vomit right there.

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