BitchCraft: Covens and Tribes.

THREE:

"Suffer not a witch to live! That is a commandment from the most high himself. These--women--or witches or whatever they call themselves are nothing but the devils whores. They have traded their soul for power, fame and beauty!" 

It was just a little past three in the morning, three weeks and three days after their coming out. The coven's, that is.  From her bedroom, the newly appointed Queen of the Witches heard every syllable of every word. Even louder than the echoes of the cheap megaphone the preacher used this early morning to address the thousands of anti-witches gathered just outside the black antique iron gates of Miss Robichaux's Academy was the unconcealed contempt, woven into every sentence as they rolled off his tongue. 

"Right here, behind these gates before your very eyes, these women fornicate with the devil himself. They pleasure him, and in return, he grants them whatever their hearts desire."

Cordelia tosses and turns, exhausted but unable to sleep. This night, like many before it had proven to be a challenge for the new Supreme. Since the day of her ascension to the throne as Queen Witch, these religious heretics had started gathering in front of the Academy. At first, they protested silently, rightfully frightened, as they had no idea just what calamities these so-called witches could invoke. 

I should have stopped them. Maybe if I had intervened right from the start, this nonsense would have died along with Fiona.

But, she hadn't. Against the better judgment of her then equally newly appointed council, she had chosen to play it safe.

'These are sensitive times', Cordelia had said to Zoe and Queenie that first night the Academy had opened its doors to the public. 'These people are not our enemies. They're just confused. It's up to us to educate them, and make them understand not all magic is evil.'

That was the plan. They'd be patient with the world, until the world became used to the idea of real life witches, then they would venture out, using any means possible to explain their existence, and assimilate into society. But things hadn't exactly gone as planned. The numbers of the anti-witch protestants had more than quadrupled since then, blocking off the roads for another half a mile. Thousands of churches from around the globe had pitched in to help the prostrations, donating tithes and offering to help fund and feed the heretics. Jackson Avenue had turned into a police patrolled encampment zone. Their protestations only growing louder and rowdier as they demanded the government release the witches to them for a good ol' hanging. Or drowning. Or burning. Whichever they deemed most the most agonizing to the recipient.

The very thought of one of her girls dangling lifelessly from a tree sent cold shivers down Cordelia's back. Burying her face wholly against her pillow, the young Supreme released a muffled scream. In accordance, the window to her bedroom imploded with a sharp crash. The sound of shattering glass cutting thin slices into the thick, murky New Orleans air.

The thousands of Protestants, hearing the sound of the breaking glass had stopped dead in their tracks. Fear creeping slowly into their hearts. Even Pastor Dubois, himself, had halted, mid-sentence, turning around to see what the commotion was all about.

At long last, silence!

Unfortunately for Cordelia, it didn't last long, as Queenie came rushing into the room, looking around wildly, an ornately designed tribal dagger in hand. Zoe and Kyle followed closely behind, holding hands.

Cordelia jumped out of bed, startled by the sudden intrusion.

"Is everything alright?" Cordelia asked.

"Shouldn't we be asking you that?" Queenie responded. Her dagger still raised, ready to attack. "The window in my bedroom just broke. I thought maybe those bastards were trying to get in."

Kyle tugs at Zoe, motioning with his head towards the broken glasses displayed on the bedroom floor.

"Yeah, Kyle and I were just in the kitchen, having a late night snack when the glass on the windows and French doors shattered."

"Oh..." Cordelia muttered, bowing her head, shoulders slumped.

Zoe and Queenie exchange glances.

"Did you do it?" Zoe asked.

Cordelia nodded, as she sat back down on her bed.

"I didn't mean to, it's just... these powers. I can no longer contain them. I feel like they are about to rip through my skin and flow back into the cosmos. And this..." She points past the window. "Every night! I can't sleep!"

Zoe entangled herself from Kyle and steps forward, kneeling in front of the now sobbing Cordelia.

"I'm so tired." Cordelia managed between fits of tears.

"We can fix that with a little spell I used last week." Zoe says, taking Cordelia's palms in hers.

"No, no need, already tried the sleeping spell. All I got out of it was a garish nightmare."

From beyond the walls they could hear the muffled voices growing louder. No doubt, soon enough, the protestants will start chanting and praying, as they have been doing every night for almost a month.

"Them kids is scared, you know. They always trynna sneak into my room at night. ‘Specially that Spanish one, Thea. She real scared." Queenie said. "We need to end this shit now, or everything would have been for nothin'"

Cordelia nodded in understanding. Of the initial three hundred and thirty three girls that had shown up to Miss Robichaux's Academy on Ascension Day, only thirty three had shown any signs of true powers. But even fewer remained. Most of them fleeing for fear of their lives as the angry mob outside the academy gates grew by the day. Fiona was right, even at her greatest, Cordelia had still fallen short as Supreme. She was so sure it would work. They could cure any disease, they could raise the dead, they could cast peace spells and end wars. With a loaf of bread, they could feed thousands, after all, all it took was a little duplication spell. They could work miracles that would give the Messiah a run for his money. They were real, they were present, not some character in some old text that might or might not have ever existed. But still, here they were, haunted. Hounded.

"We could call the Secretary of State tomorrow morning, I'll ask him to double our guards." Kyle said. "The compulsion spell on him is surely still strong."

"No! That will only make things worse. People already suspect our magic is the reason those guards out front are there, if we double the man power, that will only drive a bigger wedge between them and the rest of us."

"Then what do we do? We only have thirteen girls left, if we are not careful, it'd be down to just three of us again. Right back to where we started." Zoe's words stung, but they were true. Too true.

Cordelia released herself from Zoe's grasp and starts pacing about, anxiously. The noise outside grows even rowdier. Words like whore, devil worshiper, Satanist being repeated over and over again. As if to add salt to injury, Pastor Dubois' megaphone screeched on, and seconds later, his voice is again heard.

"See? See what I've been saying all this while. Their lover has arrived, it is his presence, can't you feel it? His essence covers that house. Look at those windows, he brought with him destruction." His voice rings through, even louder through the house now, with the open windows.

“What do we do?” Zoe asks, again, this time firmer, demanding an answer. Her tone does not go unnoticed by Cordelia who looks up at the girls. Her eyes barely meeting theirs before they are down casted, again.

“I have no idea…”