Thatâs what she said. To intrigue the buyers.â Dahlia chews nervously on her thumbnail.
The door Raven left through opens. Lot 193 is taken. A few seconds later, Lot 194 follows.
There are only six of us left. The room feels cavernous. A chandelier hangs from the ceiling, dripping with pink crystals and bathing the room in a rosy glow. There is no furniture. Just the dark pink carpet and mauve-painted walls. Itâs like being inside a giant mouth.
âAre you scared?â Dahlia asks quietly.
Now that it comes to it, the hazy feelings I couldnât identify in the prep room have sharpened to a point. Fear. It stabs at my lungs, claws at my stomach, burrows into the base of my skull. I feel it like something other, something outside of me. My palms itch, and sweat beads in my armpits.
âYes,â I say.
âMe too.â Dahlia gnaws at the nail on her index finger. All her nails have been chewed right down to the quick.
âWhatâs your lot number?â I ask.
Her body freezes. âWhatâs yours?â
â197.â
She scratches her nose and looks down. â200,â she mumbles.
Before I can really comprehend this tiny, tattered girl as the most desirable surrogate in the entire Auction, the door opens again.
Itâs as if time speeds up. I watch surrogates 195 and 196 leave, one right after the other, too quickly, surely they shouldnât be leaving quite so quickly, wasnât there more time in between the other girls? And then the door is opening again and the Regimental with the dark eyes who brought me to this room is there and he calls my lot number but my feet are cemented to the floor.
Dahlia nudges me. âYou have to go, Violet.â
The lioness smirks and whispers something to the iced cake, who giggles.
I blink. âIt was nice to meet you, Dahlia,â I say. Then I force my feet to move, one in front of the other, and the Regimental comes closer until heâs looming over me. Our eyes meet, and my fingertips tremble, fear and anticipation merging into a hard knot at the base of my skull. Without a word, he bows and turns, and I follow him into the dark.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOFâNOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
..................................................................
Six
T HE DOOR CLOSES BEHIND ME AUTOMATICALLY, AND FOR one terrifying moment, all there is is darkness.
Then I hear a low hum, and a narrow hallway is illuminated on either side by a path of small square floor lamps. Their yellowish-green light shoots straight up, showing me the way without revealing where Iâm going. The Regimental is a black outline in front of me, his pace slow and even. A weight presses harder against my chest with each step I take, the invisible walls closing in around me. I hear Lucienâs voice in my head, telling me Iâll be fine, and Ravenâs, too, saying sheâll never forget me. I hold on to them, like talismans, trying to keep the fear at bay.
The hallway curves to the left. Then the floor lamps end abruptly and the Regimental stops. Silence.
âWhere are we?â I ask. My voice is hushed and tiny. For ten long seconds, the Regimental says nothing; then, stirred by some unseen command, he turns to me.
âI thank you, Lot 197, for your service to the royalty. Your place is marked. You must go on alone.â He bows low, and steps back so he is behind me.
A rounded, golden door engraved with the various crests of the royal families begins to glow. I have no idea what lies behind it, and suddenly panic seizes me so completely that I think I might pass out. But Raven went through this door. And so did Lily.
My fingertips tremble as they graze the ornamented metal. As if the door was waiting for my touch, it swings open, and suddenly I find myself blinded by a brilliant light.
âA ND NEXT UP, LADIES, WE HAVE L OT 197. Lot 197, please take your mark.â
The voice is polite, almost pleasant, but
The door Raven left through opens. Lot 193 is taken. A few seconds later, Lot 194 follows.
There are only six of us left. The room feels cavernous. A chandelier hangs from the ceiling, dripping with pink crystals and bathing the room in a rosy glow. There is no furniture. Just the dark pink carpet and mauve-painted walls. Itâs like being inside a giant mouth.
âAre you scared?â Dahlia asks quietly.
Now that it comes to it, the hazy feelings I couldnât identify in the prep room have sharpened to a point. Fear. It stabs at my lungs, claws at my stomach, burrows into the base of my skull. I feel it like something other, something outside of me. My palms itch, and sweat beads in my armpits.
âYes,â I say.
âMe too.â Dahlia gnaws at the nail on her index finger. All her nails have been chewed right down to the quick.
âWhatâs your lot number?â I ask.
Her body freezes. âWhatâs yours?â
â197.â
She scratches her nose and looks down. â200,â she mumbles.
Before I can really comprehend this tiny, tattered girl as the most desirable surrogate in the entire Auction, the door opens again.
Itâs as if time speeds up. I watch surrogates 195 and 196 leave, one right after the other, too quickly, surely they shouldnât be leaving quite so quickly, wasnât there more time in between the other girls? And then the door is opening again and the Regimental with the dark eyes who brought me to this room is there and he calls my lot number but my feet are cemented to the floor.
Dahlia nudges me. âYou have to go, Violet.â
The lioness smirks and whispers something to the iced cake, who giggles.
I blink. âIt was nice to meet you, Dahlia,â I say. Then I force my feet to move, one in front of the other, and the Regimental comes closer until heâs looming over me. Our eyes meet, and my fingertips tremble, fear and anticipation merging into a hard knot at the base of my skull. Without a word, he bows and turns, and I follow him into the dark.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOFâNOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
..................................................................
Six
T HE DOOR CLOSES BEHIND ME AUTOMATICALLY, AND FOR one terrifying moment, all there is is darkness.
Then I hear a low hum, and a narrow hallway is illuminated on either side by a path of small square floor lamps. Their yellowish-green light shoots straight up, showing me the way without revealing where Iâm going. The Regimental is a black outline in front of me, his pace slow and even. A weight presses harder against my chest with each step I take, the invisible walls closing in around me. I hear Lucienâs voice in my head, telling me Iâll be fine, and Ravenâs, too, saying sheâll never forget me. I hold on to them, like talismans, trying to keep the fear at bay.
The hallway curves to the left. Then the floor lamps end abruptly and the Regimental stops. Silence.
âWhere are we?â I ask. My voice is hushed and tiny. For ten long seconds, the Regimental says nothing; then, stirred by some unseen command, he turns to me.
âI thank you, Lot 197, for your service to the royalty. Your place is marked. You must go on alone.â He bows low, and steps back so he is behind me.
A rounded, golden door engraved with the various crests of the royal families begins to glow. I have no idea what lies behind it, and suddenly panic seizes me so completely that I think I might pass out. But Raven went through this door. And so did Lily.
My fingertips tremble as they graze the ornamented metal. As if the door was waiting for my touch, it swings open, and suddenly I find myself blinded by a brilliant light.
âA ND NEXT UP, LADIES, WE HAVE L OT 197. Lot 197, please take your mark.â
The voice is polite, almost pleasant, but
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