7. Aura Disruption

Aura Disruption

It's MY Spell, Back off Bitch.

I t'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 soft whoosh of 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's my spell," 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 because I wrote 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 not just a 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 one of 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 even do magic, 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.

I don't even realize how flustered I look until Derek reaches out, grabbing my hand to steady me. "Hey, you okay?" His voice is softer than usual, a little concerned. I glance at his hand, the warmth of it grounding me just enough to snap out of my spiral.

I pull my hand away quickly, trying to gather myself. "Yeah, I'm fine," I say, my voice tight. "But thanks for the unnecessary touch. Wasn't sure if I needed a shower or not today, now I do."

Derek smirks, leaning back in his chair. "Anytime, pampered princess." I roll my eyes at him, but it's half-hearted. The confusion and frustration are still churning in my mind, and I know I'm not going to get any answers here.

"I've got to go," I say, standing up abruptly. "I'm heading back to my dorm for a bit."

Sam looks up at me, frowning. "Do you want me to come with you? You don't look great."

I shake my head. "No, I'm fine. I just... I need to start working on my grimoire again." The bitterness in my voice isn't lost on either of them. My grimoire... for a second time. The thought stings, but I don't have the luxury of wallowing in self-pity right now.

Sam nods, though she still looks worried. "Okay, but let me know if you need anything."

"Will do," I say quickly, already heading toward the exit.

I walk out of the cafeteria, my mind a tangled mess of questions and half-formed theories. Someone has my spells. Someone is using them. And if I don't figure out who, everything I've worked for might be more than just erased. It might be gone for good.

As I make my way back to my dorm, all I can think about is getting to work, trying to rewrite my grimoire, and figuring out how deep this mess really goes.

As I approach my dorm room, I notice a figure leaning casually against the wall nearby. Even from a distance, I can tell it's Sebastian. His dark hair is tousled, and he's got that annoyingly smug expression on his face, like he knows something I don't. I roll my eyes as I get closer, because obviously, whatever this is, it's going to be a pain.

"Careful," I say, deadpan, "your presence might make the wallpaper melt."

Sebastian chuckles, his sharp, white teeth gleaming as he turns to face me. "And here I was, contemplating being nice to you, Zaria."

I sigh dramatically. "Alright, fine. I'll bite. What's this about?"

His smirk deepens—because of course it does. "If you're gonna bite, I think I should show you how it's done first." He winks in that obnoxious, vampire way that makes me want to hex him on the spot. Maybe a wart on his perfect fucking nose.

"Ugh, fuck off, Sebastian," I mutter, reaching for the handle of my door, eager to escape this nonsense.

Before I can open it, he holds out a folded piece of paper, his expression turning more serious. "I thought you might want to see this. It's... making the rounds." I narrow my eyes at him, more curious than I want to admit. After a second of hesitation, I take the paper from his hand, unfolding it slowly. He watches me with that infuriating smirk still plastered on his face.

"What's this?" I ask. And in a blur, he's gone, disappearing down the hallway before I can even think about responding.

"You're not allowed to use your powers outside of class!" I call after him, though I know he's long gone. "Asshole," I mutter under my breath as I turn back to my door and shove it open.

Once inside, I toss my bag onto the bed and unfold the paper fully. My heart sinks as I read it. It's a spell— my spell. Written out perfectly, every word, every symbol exactly as I'd written it in my grimoire. But at the bottom of the page, in small, neat handwriting, is a message that sends a chill down my spine:

"Don't tell Zaria."

My hands tremble as I stare at the words. Someone really did take my spells. They've been spreading them around the school like some kind of magical trading cards. It's not just my grimoire that's gone—it's the work inside it, the pieces of me I've crafted for years.

I throw the paper onto my desk, my chest tightening with anger and frustration. My eyes dart to my grimoire—or at least, the book I thought was my grimoire—sitting on the corner of my desk. I grab it, flipping it open, trying to call forth the enchantments I'd placed on it. But nothing happens. No familiar pulse of magic, no shimmer of spells waiting to be unlocked.

Just... nothing .

It hits me like a punch to the gut. This isn't my grimoire at all. It's just a blank book, enchanted to look like mine. Someone swapped it, took the real one, and left me with this worthless, hollow thing. Rage bubbles up inside me, and before I can stop myself, I hurl the fake grimoire across the room. It smashes into the wall with a dull thud, the pages crumpling as it falls to the floor.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside me. I don't have time to fall apart now. I pick up the piece of paper again, the one with my spell on it, and flip it over.

On the back is a handwritten note. From Sebastian. With his phone number?

"In case you wonder what ‘several inches' really means."

I groan, feeling a mix of disgust and disbelief. "Disgusting jerk," I mutter, crumpling the paper in my fist and chucking it into the bin. Because of course, he had to throw in some sleazy comment along with this entire mess.

I stand there, gripping the edge of my desk, staring at the crumpled paper in the bin. My heart pounds in my chest, a slow, rhythmic beat that's almost mocking me. It's bad enough that my work could've just vanished into thin air. But this—this is so much worse. Someone stole it. They didn't just erase my spells; they took them. And now they're being passed around, handed out like some cheap flyer at a school event.

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 up through 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 was me . 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, my work , 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't move . 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 took me .

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.