The Obsidian Chamber

46

Diogenes entered the library, carrying with him a silver bucket of ice and a bottle of champagne, with two glasses. He set them down on the side table and turned to Constance, who was sitting at the harpsichord bench, idly turning pages of sheet music.

“Do you mind,” he asked, “if I enjoy a glass while listening to you play? If you’re in the mood to play, of course.”

“Certainly,” she replied, turning to the keyboard. He could see the music on the stand: preludes from L’Art de Toucher by François Couperin. Uncorking the champagne, he filled his glass and eased himself back into a chair.

He was concerned; more than concerned. That morning, Constance had arisen at ten, which seemed to him very late, although he wasn’t sure — some people did sleep excessively long. She had eaten very little at dinner the evening before, and hardly touched the magnificent breakfast he’d prepared for her. It had now been almost forty-eight hours since the infusion, and she should be showing its effects — strongly. Of course, this life was very new to her, and an adjustment was to be expected. What he was noticing could well be emotional rather than physical. Perhaps she was also having second thoughts.

While he was thus preoccupied, he heard the first notes of the Premier Prelude in C major, slow and stately. It was not a difficult piece of music from a technical point of view. But as her fingers moved over the keys, and the rich low sound of the harpsichord filled the cozy room, he heard that the notes were uneven, tentative; he winced at a wrong note, and another; and then Constance ceased playing.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I seem to be rather distracted.”

Diogenes made an effort to disguise the strong feeling of dismay, even panic, that arose in him. He set down the glass, rose from his chair, and came over to her, taking her hand. It was warm — too warm — and dry. Her face was pale, and half-moon shadows had formed under her eyes.

“Are you feeling well?” he asked, casually.

“Very well, thank you,” came the sharp retort. “I just don’t feel like playing.”

“Yes, yes, of course. Champagne?”

“Not tonight.” She removed her hand from his.

Diogenes thought for a moment. “Constance, before dinner, if I could just have a moment of your time. I need to do a little routine blood work, now that the arcanum has been in your system for two days.”

“I’ve been pricked enough, thank you.”

Not nearly enough for my taste, thought Diogenes, but quickly removed that unworthy thought from his head. “Really, my dear, it’s a necessary part of the process.”

“Why? You never mentioned it before.”

“Didn’t I? I’m so sorry. Quite standard, I assure you. A routine follow-up to any drug infusion.”

“What could be wrong?”

“Nothing, my dear, nothing! Just a medical precaution. Now, may I? Let’s just get it over with.”

She brushed the hair out of her eyes. “Very well. Be quick about it, please.”

She began to roll up her sleeve. Diogenes went to the cupboard where he kept the infusion supplies, removed a blood draw kit, and came back. He laid a sterile pad on the side table, placed her white arm upon it, strapped the tourniquet, tapped her veins, inserted an extra-large Vacutainer needle, and drew thirty milliliters.

“Do you really need that much blood? That’s enough to choke a vampire.”

“All quite standard.” It was indeed far more than the usual amount, but he needed plenty to work with.

He quickly withdrew the needle and applied a cotton ball, taped it, and folded her arm up. “Done!” he said as brightly as he could muster.

She gave an irritated sigh. “I think I’ll go to bed early. I feel drained — literally.”

“No dinner? I am preparing brochettes d’agneau à la Grecque.”

The irritated look on her face softened a bit. “I’m sorry, it sounds lovely, but I’m not hungry.”

“Perfectly fine, not a problem. Shall I see you upstairs?”

The look came back. “Please don’t hover so. I can manage on my own.”

She disappeared through the library door, and a moment later he heard her light tread climbing the stairs.

He waited, listening acutely to the extremely faint sounds of her movements; the water running; and finally silence.

Swiftly, Diogenes took up the vial of blood and hastened through the darkened halls to the basement door, descending to his laboratory. Now he gave full flow to his feelings of apprehension. He quickly began setting up the tests for her blood work, chemistry panel and blood count, fibrinogen, hemoglobin A1C, DHEA, C-reactive protein, TSH, and estradiol.

At a certain point later that night he found that his hands were shaking, and he took a moment to put everything down, close his eyes, fold his hands, center and empty his mind. Then he continued, maintaining focus. There could be no more mistakes.

It was after midnight when the final results came in. As the numbers reeled off and the picture became clear, Diogenes began to shake again. It was a disaster. Where had he gone wrong? But he already knew the answer. Because he’d had at his disposal material from only a single cadaver, he’d had to cut a few corners, and he had made a few minor and perfectly reasonable assumptions.

But medicine was never straightforward. He should have started with the material of two cadavers. It wasn’t a fatal mistake; at least, not yet. But for Constance’s sake it was a problem that needed to be solved — immediately.

As dawn broke over the ocean, Diogenes quietly made his way up from the basement. He briefly retired to his chambers, changed into his morning gown, wetted and brushed his hair, patted his cheeks to bring back some of the color, and descended to the kitchen. To his surprise, he found Constance at the espresso machine, preparing coffee.

“You’re up early,” he said, freighting his voice with good cheer.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

And she looked it. Dark circles, a gray tinge in her otherwise pale complexion, faint blue veins visible in her neck and bare shoulders, a sheen of perspiration despite the cool morning. Diogenes stopped himself from asking if she was all right.

“My dear, I hope you won’t mind, but I have to rush off to Key West today, to purchase some botanicals and equipment for my lab. I’ll be gone all day, overnight, and part of tomorrow perhaps. Will you be all right alone?”

“I’m never better than when I’m alone.”

“Mr. Gurumarra will be here if you need anything.”

“Very well.”

Diogenes took her hand briefly, turned, and left.