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The rain had been falling for almost ten days straight. Blake Weaver's eyes – as blue and cold as ice, according to her perennially absent mother – were fixed on the drops that ran in rivulets along the library's picture windows, her face bleak. Is it going to stop? she wondered; she wasn't thinking about the abysmal weather.

She could hear the three girls seated behind her exchanging catty observations. One of them – Taylor Turner, the biggest bitch Blake had ever met and by far the worst of the three – had drawn a rough caricature: big head, big boobs, dirty brown hair. The caption she'd chosen was 'Charlotte the harlot.'

Original. Blake rolled her eyes and twisted her dark blonde hair into a knot at the nape of her neck, revealing some of the purple rose tattooed there to her classmates. She was the only student at The Academy of Sir Ian Aldridge with a tattoo; she only got away with it because every generation of her family had attended the elitist high school, spanning over a century.

The whispers shared between Taylor Turner, Daisy Matthews-Michelson and Katherine St. Claire in Row H of Lecture Hall 5 were too quiet to be rightfully heard by anyone but those three; and facing the front, as she was, Blake shouldn't have been able to know what was scrawled on the piece of paper in Taylor's hands. The fact that she, Blake Werner, could – and did – was still endlessly fascinating (and confusing) to her.

She'd known for seventeen years – which was, coincidentally, her whole life – that she was a witch. She was also a member of a coven of witches, formed after the Salem witch trials in 1693. At twelve, she'd been shipped off to a New England boarding school hidden in Topsfield, Massachussets by her parents (which was, evidently, a right of passage); and that was when she'd met the people who meant the most to her in the world.

At sixteen, she'd performed the rituals that granted her power over her magical abilities, and she'd been grappling with the new reality of her world since. The difference between knowing you would one day use magic, and actually using it, was beyond measure.

Students screamed as one of the windows – the one closes to Taylor Turner and her two hench-wenches – blew open, allowing a gust of wind and gusseting rain to tear through the room. Blake let herself smile for just a second as Taylor tore towards the opposite side of the room, trailed by Daisy and Katherine; within seconds, her hair and uniform had been drenched and mascara was left running down their faces in thick, black streaks.

Taylor let out an inhumane scream.

The professor at the front of the lecture hall barely blinked behind his heavy-duty glasses. "Somebody close the window. It's water, Miss Turner – the damage it has done is not, I assure you, permanent."

A few students laughed. Blake was among their number.

"Not funny."

She looked to her left.

Caggie Duchaine – better known as 'Charlotte the Harlot' to some – was staring at her, and her chocolate eyes were dim and disapproving. Though they were the same age, Caggie had met the criteria for ascension sooner than Blake had, and had been enjoying control over magic abilities for almost two years.

It had rendered her boring, unimaginative and, worst of all, responsible.

"She was – "

"I know what she was doing."

Blake rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over the chest of her green plaid pinafore. "Whatever. She deserved it."

Caggie sat still and quiet for a moment, a look of judgement fixed on her face. She sighed and brushed a lock of wavy brown hair behind her ear. The simple gesture reminded Blake of the year she'd spent hating Caggie for her classic beauty: heart-shaped face, doe eyes and flawless, glowing skin.

That wasn't all she'd envied her for, though…she stole a glance across the room at Edwin Arthur, who was still laughing at Taylor's dramatics. She'd hated Caggie because she'd thought, for a year, that she was in love with Ed.

Caggie fixed her eyes on the screen of her Macbook. "You need to remember that we only – "

" – do good," Blake finished. She sighed and glanced at the clock on the wall. In fifteen minutes the school day would end; Blake would head to the dormitories, where she bunked with the other boarders, and Caggie would head to the student parking lot, drive to Main Street and spend the night in the apartment above the Wiccan store, where she lived with her aunt. In any case, the unavoidable lecture she was about to receive wouldn't take long.

"It's our creed," Caggie whispered, as the other students settled back into their seats. The students who'd been soaked by the rain had left the class, leaving almost no-one sitting within hearing distance of the two young witches – Caggie remained cautious nonetheless. "You took the creed and you're a part of the covenant: you're bound to obey."

Blake huffed and opened her email program, clicking through outdated emails from tutors and school newsletters. Her mother had sent her an email while she was on holiday in St. Tropez; Blake didn't bother to open it.

No-one took the creed more seriously than Caggie did. Blake had spoken the words, but she wasn't sure she believed them then and she was confident she didn't believe them now. I honor the creed of the covenant and vow to protect the righteous and the sanctity of the good – it was a laughable promise. Why protect people for no reason other than their obedience? Protecting boring people was boring; wreaking a little havoc now and then was way more fun.

Caggie reflected on the other half of the creed she – and Blake, along with the four other members of their coven – had taken when she had ascended to power:

I will know the sacred power of our honored fallen sisters, and my daughters will know their legend and their ways. I will live in secret, and speak no words of the power I wield, revealing myself only to those of my kind; I will live in safety, with a trusted bond held secret by my coven-sisters, and never abandon them; but I will live in glory, with a power like the world has never seen.

Since 1693, her ancestors had spoken those words. All had upheld them, however unwillingly, and Blake would, too.

All but one, she thought, correcting herself. Two years ago, she (as the eldest) had taken on a position of leadership within their coven when her predecessor, Raani, had run away from Topsfield: no note left, no goodbyes said. That had been a shock to all of them; Blake most of all.

"You should think of the example you're setting for Teddy, Bee," Caggie said sagely, avoiding eye contact. "For Ya-Ya and Ems."

"You set a good enough example for all three," Blake muttered defensively, but Caggie knew that she had hit Blake in a weak spot: living at boarding school – away from her seven-year-old sister, Theodora – took a daily toll on her.

"I need you."

Blake softened. Caggie's arm was resting on the tabletop and she gripped it tightly, squeezing it as if an action as simple as that could convey the enormity of her support. She was separated from her sister, true – but she had three others who needed her just as much. "And you know I'm here for you."

"Let's just make this an event-free year, Bee…deal?" Caggie raised her eyebrows as she awaited Blake's answer. "No suspensions; no mysterious accidents; no in-fighting."

"Deal," Blake agreed, reluctantly.

They both knew that the promise was pointless. Wherever they went – and Blake in particular – trouble seemed to follow.