The Obsidian Chamber

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Proctor eased open the double doors of the library to allow Mrs. Trask to pass through with a silver tray laden with a midmorning tea service.

The room was dim and hushed, lit only by the fire that guttered in the hearth. Before it, sitting in a wing chair, Proctor could see a motionless figure, indistinct in the faint light. Mrs. Trask walked over and placed the tray on a side table next to the chair.

“I thought you might like a cup of tea, Miss Greene,” she said.

“No thank you, Mrs. Trask,” came Constance’s low voice.

“It’s your favorite. Jasmine, first grade. I also brought you some madeleines. I baked them just this morning — I know how fond you are of them.”

“I’m not particularly hungry,” she answered. “Thank you for your trouble.”

“Well, I’ll just leave them here in case you change your mind.” Mrs. Trask smiled maternally, turned, and headed for the library exit. By the time she reached Proctor, the smile had faded and the look on her face had grown worried once again.

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