The Room of Echoes was alive again. Eight figures took their seats, their expressions bitter. The circle of chairs filled one after another as the air hummed with power.
At the head of the circle, Maren sat, her blood-red robe falling neatly around her. On the altar in front of her lay the silver dagger, cleaned of the blood it had already tasted. The faint gleam from its blade caught the light of the black candles.
Mallory sat at her right with her book of records already open, her inked-feather between her fingers.
The thin man broke the silence first, "So? Did it work?"
Maren didn't hesitate. Her eyes glowed faintly. "Carla—Liora is dead."
The room erupted with joy instantly.
A chorus of laughter, growls of satisfaction, clapping hands against armrests. The amber-eyed man leaned forward, grinning wide. The pink-furred wolf tipped her head back and howled. Even the cloaked half-shifted figure slammed his fist against his knee, pleased.
