Rebel Witch
By Kristen Ciccarelli
Wednesday Books
ISBN: 978-1250866936
456pp.

Kristen Ciccarelli’s Rebel Witch arrives with the weight of expectation on its shoulders. The sequel to Headless Hunter and the concluding part of a duology loosely inspired by The Scarlet Pimpernel, it enters a space already thick with narrative promise.

The first book introduced readers to a carefully constructed world — an alternate 18th-century England and France, where magic is outlawed, resistance is underground and the line between survival and subversion is razor-thin. Headless Hunter, while uneven and occasionally slow, had moments of genuine intrigue. Rune, the protagonist, emerged as a figure of quiet resistance, navigating a society determined to erase her.

The novel built its world with care, layering atmosphere over a framework of political repression and magical inheritance. Its storytelling was inconsistent, but its mood lingered. Unfortunately, Rebel Witch struggles to inherit that momentum. What could have been a satisfying conclusion to a thoughtful premise, instead, feels rushed, flat, and — most disappointingly — largely unengaging.

The novel picks up soon after the events of Headless Hunter. Rune is now fully embedded in the resistance. Her evolution from reluctant observer to active rebel is understandable from a character arc perspective but, thematically, it undermines the ambiguity that once made her interesting. In the first book, Rune’s power lay in her ability to hide in plain sight, to subvert from within. That tension — of being both insider and outsider — created a quiet urgency. Here, that complexity gives way to direct confrontations and unambiguous declarations.

The shift towards more overt storytelling is part of a larger problem: Rebel Witch often tells rather than shows. Where subtlety might have allowed emotional or political stakes to sink in, the writing instead explains everything. Characters spell out their motives, inner thoughts are overly clarified and moments that might have held weight are diluted by exposition. This bluntness strips the novel of the mystery and tension that The Scarlet Pimpernel — the novel Ciccarelli loosely references — used to such great effect.

Baroness Orczy’s 1905 classic offered a protagonist who used performative foolishness to mask his subversive work. It played with masks and expectations, asking the reader to engage in the deception. Ciccarelli’s version of this conceit feels too literal. Rune is not hiding behind absurdity or charm; she is simply declaring her position, over and over again, in a world that has somehow become less dangerous for doing so. The subtlety and suspense of operating in secrecy are largely abandoned.

This directness also affects the central relationship in the book. Rune and Gideon, whose dynamic was initially tinged with danger, attraction and betrayal, are meant to anchor the emotional core of Rebel Witch. But their chemistry never feels organic. Instead of growing through shared experiences or meaningful dialogue, their connection is asserted in the text but rarely felt.

Gideon, who was introduced as a conflicted figure — a hunter of witches torn between duty and affection — now reads as inert. His arc, which should carry emotional weight, is undermined by how little tension remains between him and Rune.

The writing doesn’t help. Ciccarelli’s prose is serviceable but rarely memorable. It moves the plot forward but does little to evoke feeling or create lasting imagery. At times, particularly in the middle chapters, the pacing becomes mechanical — plot points fall into place, action scenes arrive and pass, but without the immersive texture that would give them depth. The reader is not invited to dwell in this world, only to follow its events. For a book about resistance, identity and sacrifice, Rebel Witch feels strangely emotionless.

That’s not to say the novel is without merit. The thematic foundations remain strong. Ciccarelli continues to explore questions of power, identity and how women resist systems that seek to erase them. The metaphor of magic as both inheritance and burden is a compelling one, and in the book’s final third, some of this begins to coalesce again. When Rune is forced to confront the consequences of her choices — not just politically, but personally — the narrative briefly regains its footing. The atmosphere returns. Stakes feel real again. And the ending, while not especially surprising, manages to bring a measure of resolution to the characters’ arcs.

Still, there’s a persistent sense of missed opportunity. The premise — an underground network of witches navigating courtly politics and magical persecution — offered enormous narrative potential. So did the historical setting, which gently reimagines the Age of Enlightenment through a fantastical lens. Yet so little of this is explored with depth. Political factions exist mostly as background noise. Moral dilemmas are raised and quickly resolved. Characters that once hinted at complex inner lives are reduced to narrative functions. There is movement, but not development.

Ciccarelli is a writer with a clear vision. Her world-building is intelligent, and her sensitivity to gendered power dynamics is evident throughout. But where Headless Hunter allowed itself time to breathe — even to a fault — Rebel Witch moves too quickly and too plainly. It tries to deliver action, romance and closure but, in doing so, loses much of the texture that made the first book worth investing in.

In the end, Rebel Witch fulfils the basic requirements of a sequel: it continues the story, raises the stakes and concludes the arcs of its major characters. But it does so without much grace. It doesn’t deepen its ideas so much as repeat them more loudly. What was once subtle becomes explicit. What once simmered now fizzles out. Readers who were invested in Rune’s journey may find closure here — but not much satisfaction.

Rebel Witch is not a failure, but it is a disappointment. A compelling set-up, rich with potential, is resolved in a way that feels more obligatory than inspired. The ideas remain relevant, but the execution lacks the nuance and emotional pull to make them resonate. For those who enjoyed the quiet suspense of Headless Hunter, this sequel may feel like a step backward — louder, faster, but ultimately emptier.

The reviewer is a writer and philanthropist, passionate about books, girls’ education and random acts of kindness. X: @TUDawood

Published in Dawn, Books & Authors, October 5th, 2025