The sharp ticking of the grand clock on the library wall sounded like heavy iron hammer blows in the freezing silence. The air inside the large room was cold, thick, and filled with a suffocating tension that made it hard to breathe.

Victoria Vane sat back in her high leather chair, a cold, ugly, and wicked smile stretching across her pale, wrinkled face. She tapped her gold fountain pen against the dark oak wood of the desk, watching Clara’s face like a hungry cat watching a tiny trapped mouse. She truly believed she had won the entire war. She believed she had dropped a giant, crushing mountain on top of...