The rain fell heavily on the roof of the Academy. It was the middle of the night and the students were all in bed. The steady beat and thrum of the rainstorm was the only sound headmistress Cordelia Foxx could hear. She lay in her bed in her nightgown on top of her white sheets staring at the ceiling. Her honey blonde hair flowed over her pillow. Her hands were clasped on her chest. She lay quite still, her chest rising and falling with her breath but otherwise unmoving. Her bedroom was spacious and ornate, filled with furnishings only fit for a Supreme, ruler of her coven. Her bed was large and luxurious, the centrepiece of the room. Sometimes the sheer size of it made her lonely.
Tonight, as they did every night when she lay in bed, her thoughts turned to Misty. She carefully unwrapped her pain layer by layer. It was a package she carried hidden throughout the day, only to take out and examine each night like a terrible treasure. During the day it was easy to forget. The noise and the constant activity of the school kept her mind busy. It lifted the oppressive weight of the truth for awhile. She was doing important work. What she had always wanted to do. Helping young women reach their potential. Making the coven stronger. In the days it was enough, but at night, when she was alone, it all seemed so meaningless.
For the hundredth time she ran through it all again in her mind. She thought about each of the tests , The Seven Wonders, ultimate tests for determining who the next Supreme. Four girls had taken the test when it became clear a new Supreme had been called. She had thought Misty was ready. She could feel her power growing. She could almost hear the hum of it, the pure white energy. She had been the one to encourage Misty. She had wanted her to be the next Supreme. Imagined the good she could do for the coven, for the world. It had been the worst mistake of her life. Misty had never had a chance. None of the girls had. Cordelia had always been destined to be the next Supreme herself.
Misty, the girl who could not die, had entered her own personal hell and been unable to awaken from it. Whatever she had found there had been so terrible, so hurtful to her soul, that it had become trapped there. Cordelia could not bear the thought of it. Someone so kind and caring and full of light being trapped in her own personal nightmare. Myrtle had said there was nothing she could have done. But surely –
A massive thud made her jump and sit up in her bed. Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! Were they under attack? Extremists? Witchhunters? She could hear cries of dismay from downstairs. The bangs of opening doors and thuds of footsteps. She flicked on her light and hurried out into the hall. Some of the girls, bleary eyed and anxious, were emerging from their rooms. Cordelia cast her eye around for her council, Zoe and Queenie. She saw Kyle first, their butler and bodyguard, hurrying towards her, ready to hear her instructions.
"Everyone stay calm!" she said, as finally, Zoe and Queenie, appeared.
"Remain in your rooms," she said, "we are going to find out what's going on."
The three women headed down the stately grand staircase to the front door, while Kyle stayed behind to make sure the girls went back in their rooms. Delia swung open the heavy front door and stared into the night beyond.
"What the hell?" said Queenie.
It was hailing, but there was something very wrong about the hail stones. They fell to earth with a heavy thwack, but in the front porch light Cordelia could see they were the wrong size, the wrong colour. The women walked out onto the veranda and stopped at the edge of the shelter, reluctant to venture further. Thankfully, the storm seemed to be abating, with only a steady thump every thirty seconds or so.
Cordelia stepped out into the front yard. The wet grass made her bare feet cold. Despite Kyle's efforts a group of students had gathered at the door to watch in silence. Cordelia bent down and picked up the nearest hail stone. Queenie and Zoe came to join her.
"What is this?" asked Zoe, a worried frown on her face.
"I have no idea," said Cordelia.
In her hand she held not a hail stone, but a frog. It was dead, but it had been dead before it hit the ground, its belly sliced open with surgical precision. Zoe picked up another one. It was the same.
"They're all the same," said Zoe. "It's witchcraft."
"But what's causing it?" said Cordelia, "And why?"