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Maya bit her bottom lip, grabbed her bag, and searched for her keys. Casting a quick glance behind her, she made sure she hadn’t left anything behind before locking the Chronicle’s office door. She made her way down the empty halls towards the front doors, the keys jangling softly in her hand. She’d earned the trust of the teachers, who had given her a pair of keys after she’d often stayed late, cutting into their own time to tend to the Chronicle. They had decided that for the sake of their own sanity, Maya could be trusted with the keys.

As she stopped by her locker, Maya frowned at the sight of a piece of paper sticking out. Had it been there earlier? She couldn’t recall noticing it before. Approaching the locker, she yanked the envelope out and opened it, revealing a paper inside. There were no points for originality—it wasn’t the first insulting or threatening letter she’d ever received. The note was composed of words cut out and pasted on the paper, a cliché in the realm of anonymous threats.

“I kNoW wHo YoU aRe,” the note read.

Maya snorted, unimpressed. “So does everyone else in this school. And town,” she muttered, scrunching the note into a ball and tossing it into her bag as she headed towards the doors.

The note reminded her that she had yet to open what Justin had sent via Steve. Stopping briefly, she rummaged through her bag and found the manila envelope. Grinning mischievously, she opened it and slipped out the paper, revealing Justin’s drawings. A year ago, after discovering the quiet kid who sat next to her in History was a drawing genius, she’d asked him to contribute his funnier doodles to the Chronicle. Justin had started the Chronicle’s very own comic strip named “The Ville High,” featuring characters based on real people at the school. It had become a popular piece, given his knack for parodying current happenings.

Her excitement growing, Maya turned and made her way back to the Chronicle office. She unlocked the door, stepped inside, and froze.

The papers slipped from her fingers, cascading to her feet. The Chronicle office was a mess. How could this have happened? She’d been gone for no more than five minutes. Panic surged through her as she realized the extent of the damage.

Suddenly, the door slammed shut behind her. A person who had been hiding behind it grabbed her by her hair, yanking her back into the door.

Maya gave a little cry, dazed by the unexpected blow. Her vision blurred as she tried to fight off the masked assailant. His hands were at her throat, squeezing tightly, cutting off her air supply and reminding her far too much of Clarissa’s punishment.

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He leaned in, whispering into her ear. “Scream if you want... no one will hear you.”

Using his nearness to her advantage, Maya brought her knee up as hard as she could between his legs. “No, thank you... but back at you!” she retorted.

Cursing, the man dropped to the ground, letting go of her already abused throat. “Bitch!”

Maya turned to the door to try and open it, but he grabbed her legs and gave her a hard tug, causing her to lose balance and fall hard to the floor. He straddled her, pinning her beneath him as his hands went to her neck once more.

As before with Clarissa, Maya could feel something building inside of her. It felt different than when she did magic, truer somehow, but she didn’t have time to question it as that something erupted from her. Her blood burned and her skin rippled with power. She could feel that this wasn’t even the full strength of it. Her attacker cried out in shock as he was pulled down flush over her. He tried to move, tried to push away, but he seemed unable to, cursing loudly.

Maya didn’t even know what she was doing, almost like a spectator in her own body as she reached up and pulled off the bottom half of his ski mask. Before she could comprehend her actions, she pressed her lips to his. He froze above her, his eyes wide with shock. Maya’s mind was a whirlwind of questions as she felt something slithering within her, like a serpent coiling in her chest, making its way upwards, tickling her throat as it continued its journey.

He cried into her lips, trying to struggle, and on instinct, Maya clutched the back of his head, her fingers tangling viciously in his hair. She kept him still and trapped as she kissed him harder, the tickling sensation rising until her lips tingled, and he stopped fighting her.

When he began to kiss back, Maya jolted out of her near trance and yanked away, her green eyes widening in shock as she saw a pink mist escaping her mouth and entering his. The man threw himself off her as if hit, clawing at his own mouth and neck, a cry escaping his lips. His actions stilled, an eerie quiet enveloping him as he sat straddling her on the ground. He gulped, moving as if to kiss her again, but when she pulled away, he cursed and scrambled to his feet. Without warning, he hurled himself out of the window, glass shattering everywhere as he made off sprinting.

Maya lay on the floor, her hand clutching her painfully sore throat, almost afraid to stand. What had she just done? Who was that man? Why had he tried to kill her and trash the Chronicle? Was this because she was a witch? Her eyes widened with a new realization. Had that guy been a Witch-Hunter?

Finally sitting up, shaking, Maya looked around the ransacked Chronicle office, feeling horribly violated. This place had always been a sanctuary for her, a refuge, and now it had been desecrated.

Raising a shaky hand to her face, Maya reached for her bag and rummaged inside, finding her phone. With trembling fingers, she quickly sent a group text to her friends: “Emergency at the Chronicle. Need help. Now.”

She then called the police, her voice quivering as she explained the situation. Hanging up, she sat there, trying to steady her breathing, waiting for someone—anyone—to arrive and help her make sense of the chaos that had just erupted into her life.