The Jewel by Amy Ewing Page B

is up.
    â€œAre you afraid?” he asks.
    â€œI don’t know.” The words come out on their own, and I realize they’re true. I don’t know if I’m afraid. I’m not sure if fear is the right word. I feel strangely detached, like this isn’t real, like it’s happening to someone else.
    â€œFor what it’s worth,” Lucien says, “I think you’ll be fine.”
    I don’t really know what to say to that. The sand trickling through the hourglass is loud in my ears.
    â€œWhat’s out there?” I ask.
    But before Lucien can answer, the sand runs out. A lock clicks.
    Time’s up.
    â€œLot 197.” The Regimental’s voice is very deep. He fills the entire doorway, his red military jacket tight over broad shoulders, his eyes dark and impassive. “Come with me.”
    My mouth has gone completely dry and it’s an enormous effort to stand. Lucien stands as well, and for a second his body blocks the Regimental from view and he squeezes my hand. Then he glides away, his expression carefully neutral.
    It takes me nine steps to reach the Regimental, and each one seems like an eternity. He turns smartly and walks out the door; I force myself to follow him.
    The hallway is carpeted in a dark pink rug so plush that neither my satin slippers nor his boots make any sound. The walls are painted mauve, and the same globes that were in my prep room glow on the walls. Sometimes we pass other doors, and identical hallways appear, branching off the one we’re on, but they are all empty. Silent. An uneasiness crawls up my spine.
    The Regimental stops so abruptly, I nearly walk into him. The door we’re in front of looks just like the others—simple, wooden, with a copper doorknob. He steps back and stands at attention. I wish he would talk to me. I wish he would tell me what I’m supposed to do.
    I step forward and slowly open the door.
    S OUND BUZZES AROUND ME LIKE A THOUSAND M ARSH flies.
    There is the briefest pause when I enter, then the buzzing starts up again.
    The room is so full of color, it takes my brain a few seconds to process that these are girls—surrogates, not dolls. One pretty blonde stands out, taller than the others thanks to her hair, piled in curls that stretch about a foot above her head. Her pink lace dress flows in endlessly expanding folds to the floor, like an iced layer cake. She’s talking to a haughty-looking, black-haired girl, with skin the color of dark chocolate—her features are feline, like a lioness. She wears one of the costumelike dresses. It’s strapless, the top crafted out of golden plating that dissolves into a rainbow of tassels that shimmer with the smallest movement. Her hair is sectioned into multiple braids, each one threaded with silver and gold. The whole effect is quite fierce. She sees me staring at her and her eyes narrow, looking me up and down.
    I turn away, and my gaze lands on a small figure, alone in the far corner of the room. Then someone grabs my arm and I jump.
    â€œFinally.” Raven’s voice is so familiar that I feel my bones soften with relief. “I was wondering when you’d get here.”
    I stare at her, trying to fit this new Raven into the image I have of my best friend. She is wearing a long robe, styled like a kimono but made of softer fabric, more alluring. It’s patterned in red and gold, the empire waist emphasizing how long her legs are. Her eyes are thickly lined in black, elongating their almond shape. The center of her lips have been painted bright red, so it looks like she’s constantly making a kissing face, and her hair has been slicked back, arching over the crown of her head like a fan, from one ear to the other. Teardrop earrings, rubies encased in gold, hang from her ears.
    I open my mouth, then close it. I don’t know what to say.
    â€œI know, I look like an idiot,” Raven says.
    I want to laugh and cry at the same time.