Resting Witch Face

Forbidden fruit is sweet . . . until you take a bite.

Being the dud in my coven wasn't the worst thing—until they decided to re-evaluate our contributions. Without magic, all I had was a resting witch face and a smart mouth. Neither will save me when the next full moon comes. Having the last name Byrne can only get me so far.

I'm doomed. In my panic, I broke into the coven's library, hoping to find a simple spell even an idiot could pull off. Instead, I blew up half the building, destroyed most of the ancient texts, and somehow ended up half-naked in the high priest's office.

I thought that was bad.

Turns out, my stupidity unlocked the seals blocking my magic, and now I'm being hunted by every supernatural jerk with a grudge. There's only one way to survive:

Master the cursed book that got me into this mess. Or die trying.

My name is Hazel Byrne. I'm a witch. And I'm totally screwed.

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Hljóðbók: 20 januari 2026