To tell the truth, Victoria and Jennifer had been warned by the sanctuary sentries that the chamber was under a blood-seal for a private ritual, but Victoria had brushed the warning aside with the arrogance of a High-Blood Nixon.

In the Silver Ridge, few dared to challenge a Nixon’s scent-claim, and while the High-Bloods were often cold, outright defiance of their presence was unheard of. Triumphant, Victoria bared her teeth at Avery, certain she had sniffed out a pathetic lie.

“Avery, if you covet the relics of this hall, stop weaving phantoms. I might allow you to scavenge the leftovers once the Master Curator arrives to greet me,” Victoria sneered,...