Page 19 of Revenge is a Witch

She nods, already reaching up to pluck a strand of her shimmering mermaid hair. “Sure. Sounds fun. I’m guessing I’ll find out what this is about eventually?”

I grin, feeling a huge wave of relief. “Oh, you’ll definitely know soon enough. Just, uh, maybe don’t ask too many questions until then?”

Skylar smirks, handing me the strand of hair. “My lips are sealed. Whatever you’re up to sounds like a good time.”

I beam at her, carefully tucking the strand into a small pouch. “Thank you, seriously. You have no idea how much this helps.”

Skylar leans back in her chair, still smirking. “Just promise me I’ll get to hear the whole story later.”

“You will,” I say with a cheeky grin. “And trust me, it’s going to be worth it.”

With a quick wave, I take off back toward my dorm, clutching the mermaid hair like it’s the key to Kyla’s downfall. When I return, Derek’s still in my room, looking only slightly panicked.

“Well?” he asks as I walk in, holding up the pouch. “Did you get it?”

I smirk, tossing the pouch onto the desk. “Oh yeah. We’re all set.”

Heartbroken Witches

The next morning, I head to the hub, hoping to find Sam. After everything with Derek last night, I know I need to check in on her. Even if she’s not the heartbroken type, I’m sure she’s feeling... something. It doesn’t take long to spot her, sitting alone at a corner table, sipping coffee and reading. Her posture is a little more rigid than usual, and the set of her jaw tells me she’s more pissed than sad.

I make my way over, plastering on a sympathetic smile as I drop my bag on the chair beside her. “Sam,” I say softly, “I heard about you and Derek. I’m so, so sorry.” She looks up from her book, her eyes narrowing slightly before she lets out a sharp sigh. I lean down and give her a big hug, trying to pour as much comfort into it as I can. She doesn’t exactly hug back with much enthusiasm, but she doesn’t push me away either.

“Yeah, well,” she mutters, pulling back and taking a sip of her coffee. “You can save the sympathy. I’m not heartbroken. I’m pissed.”

I sit down across from her, watching as she sets her book aside. “Pissed?”

She rolls her eyes, her frustration evident. “I spent ayearwith that guy, Zaria. A whole year. And then, out of nowhere, he decides to suddenly tell me he’s not in love with me? Like it took him this long to figure that out? What the hell is that?”

I nod, trying to find the right words. “I get it, Sam. It sucks. But… you know how shifters are. They’re always looking for their destined mate. Maybe Derek just didn’t want to string you along anymore. Maybe he felt like he needed to be honest with you, so you could both move on and find who you’re really supposed to be with.”

Sam groans loudly, slumping back in her chair. “Destined mate, my ass. You know how rare it is for a shifter to actuallyfindtheir mate? It could be anyone oranything, anywhere in the world! And I’m supposed to just sit around, waiting for him to find his? That’s such bullshit. He could’ve at least stayed with me until that moment happened for him. But no. He decides to dump me now.”

I wince, nodding along. “I know it’s messed up. And you have every right to be upset. You didn’t deserve to be blindsided like that.”

“Damn right I didn’t,” Sam snaps, taking another angry sip of coffee. “It’s like the whole relationship was just… pointless. A waste of my time.”

I reach across the table, squeezing her hand. “It wasn’t pointless. You still had good times, right? But now, you don’t have to waste any more time on someone who isn’t right for you.”

She scowls, though I can see a flicker of something softer behind her frustration. “Yeah, well, it still sucks.”

“Of course it does,” I say gently. “And it’s okay to be pissed. It’s okay to feel like this.”

Sam sets her coffee down with a thud, her gaze hardening again. “Well, there’s one thing I know for sure. I don’t want you talking to Derek anymore. I mean it, Zaria. I don’t care if you see him in class or around campus. I don’t want you anywhere near him.”

I nod, fully understanding why she’d say that. She’s hurt, and Derek’s part of that. “I won't talk to him, Sam.” In public…

For now, though, Sam needs me. And I’m going to be here for her, no matter what.

Fridays are always a special kind of torture—a perfect cocktail of hope and despair. On the one hand, the weekend is right there, so close I can practically smell the sweet scent of freedom. On the other hand, Fridays mean gym class, which, in case it wasn’t clear, is an abomination of sweat, misery, and public humiliation. And to top it off, it’s a class theentiregrade is forced into. Apparently, it’s not enough that we suffer in math or history—we also have to prove we can fail at physical activity together.

No one really cares if we can run a mile or dribble a basketball without tripping over our own feet. Nope, this is all about keeping the “special ones”—the shifters, vampires, and other brooding, supernatural hotties—in tip-top shape. Because heaven forbid the fantasy of the dark, brooding shifter gets ruined by a little muffin top. That’d be a disaster. Can’t have any flabby vampires or out-of-shape werewolves, or else who will fuel the rest of us mortals' daydreams? Meanwhile, the rest of us, thenormalpeople, get to suffer through it too, because why not? It’s like they’re doing us a favor by making us watch them run around all sweaty and perfect.

I spot Derek across the gym, doing his best to at leastpretendhe’s interested in the whole ordeal. He catches my eye, and I give him a subtle nod, our little secret acknowledgment. We’ve got a plan in place, and this whole ridiculous game is just a cover for something much more important than whatever half-hearted sport we’re playing today.

The basketball game kicks off, and it’s exactly as chaotic as you’d expect. The ball flies across the court like it’s possessed, people are screaming and running into each other, and the sound of squeaky sneakers is the gym’s unofficial soundtrack. It’s all nonsense—except for the part where I need this distraction.

Derek, ever the actor, waits for the perfect moment to pull off what can only be described as the most dramatic fumble in the history of sports. One minute, he’s running like a pro, and the next, he’s hitting the ground hard, clutching his arm with a pained expression that almost convinces me.

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