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just over half an hour’s drive west of Rafina . The road wound over Mount Penteli , a fairly sparsely populated area of pine-scented forests, with the occasional very grand house interspersed among acreages whose little old cottages were as much a part of the landscape as the grape vines and olive trees planted on the land. Traffic was light, consisting mostly of agricultural vehicles, although once the Mercedes passed a truck carrying massive slabs of marble.
    Set in spacious grounds on a quiet crescent high above the city, the clinic rose sleek and white against a backdrop of leafy green trees and brilliant blue sky. A receptionist in the lobby took her name and spoke briefly into an intercom. Within minutes Brianna was escorted to Noelle’s consulting room on the second floor, where the doctor wasted no time getting down to business.
    For the next hour she outlined the various stages of testing a potential donor to determine if she fulfilled all the requirements for a traditional bone marrow harvest, explaining each step with the succinct clarity of a true expert in her field.
    “Naturally, we’ve combed the international registry of unrelated donors hoping to find a perfect tissue match, but so far we’ve unfortunately come up empty-handed,” she concluded. “And since time is very much of the essence in Poppy’s case, we’re faced with settling for what we call an alternative donor such as a parent, who offers a half match. Poppy’s mother is deceased—”
    “Yes, but what about Dimitrios ?”
    “He’s been tested, but is unable to help his daughter.” Noelle lowered her glance to the open folder on her desk and closed it with gentle finality. “Obviously, I can’t discuss the details with you. Professional confidentiality and all that, you understand.”
    “Of course.”
    “We’re very lucky that Poppy’s mother happened to have an identical twin. If it turns out that you’re a suitable donor and you’re willing to go through with this procedure, Brianna, you really will be giving your niece the gift of life.”
    “I’m absolutely willing. Nothing you’ve told me today has changed my mind about that.”
    “Do you have any questions?”
    “Yes. What comes next?”
    “I’ll book you for a complete physical assessment—and I do mean ‘complete’. By the time that’s over, there’ll be nothing about your health, past or present, that we won’t know. We do this for two reasons. One is to make sure you’re a suitable donor, free of infectious diseases—this being a fairly significant factor in your case, given the amount of foreign travel your work involves—and the other is to protect you. We gain nothing by saving one life if, in doing so, we compromise another. Once we’ve cleared those hurdles, we’ll begin the actual protocol as I’ve explained it to you.”
    “All right, then. When can we get started?”
    Noelle smiled. “I love your enthusiasm and certainly don’t want to say or do anything to diminish it, but this whole undertaking has been sprung on you out of the blue, and I must therefore insist you take some time to absorb just what it involves.”
    “How much time?”
    “A few days. A week maybe.”
    “But why? You’ve told me everything I need to know.”
    “No. I’ve told you what to expect in terms of the surgical procedure as it affects you, should you prove to be a suitable donor.”
    “Why do I get the feeling the other shoe’s about to drop?”
    “Because that’s the easy part. It’s what comes, or might come next, that’s not so predictable.” She rested her forearms on her desk and fixed Brianna in a candid gaze. “Sometimes a transplant just doesn’t work. Should this happen with Poppy, it’s imperative that you understand it’s not your fault. Assuming you pass all the tests with flying colors, I’ll be booking you for a couple of sessions with our staff psychologist, just to be sure you’re prepared in the event of a negative outcome.