Free Garnet's Story by Amy Ewing Page B

stomach squirms and I turn away. How many times has Mother tried to impregnate Violet?
    â€œI don’t see why surrogates need to come to these things at all,” Carnelian complains.
    â€œI believe your mother’s most recent attempt to have a child has failed,” the companion says. He clearly overheard the same thing I did. “Perhaps she is trying to keep her spirits up.”
    â€œI suppose,” Carnelian says.
    â€œYou know Mother,” I say, glancing over to whereViolet looks miserable, surrounded by gossiping women. “She lives to throw big parties. And she loves to show off.”
    Just then, the dining room door opens.
    â€œThe Countess of the Stone,” the footman announces. “And surrogate.”
    There is no way Mother would have ever invited the Countess of the Stone—unless it was to brag that her surrogate was pregnant. She must have been pretty confident in Dr. Blythe. That seems to have backfired.
    Even Carnelian mutters, “What’s she doing here?”
    They air kiss with fake smiles on their faces and there’s more small talk but I’m ready for lunch. My stomach gives a low growl and Carnelian giggles. I grin at her.
    â€œI’m starving,” I say.
    â€œThat’s what happens when you wake up at one in the afternoon,” she says.
    Once they’ve set up extra places for the Countess and her surrogate, we all sit. Finally. Violet must be nervous. She’s going to die tonight.
    And she does look upset. They serve the first course and for a second I’m distracted by the food. But every time I look at her, she’s staring at the Countess of the Stone’s surrogate. The girl is pregnant—it’s like the Countess was trying to show off by putting her in an extra-tight dress. And she’s even thinner than the Countess of the Rose’s surrogate. In fact, the more I look at her, the more skeletal and fragile she seems. Her skin is like her dress—too tight over delicate bones. Her dark eyes are blank, almost unseeing, her shoulders hunched. I feel a twist of emotion in my stomach and realize it’s pity.
    â€œAnd how are you feeling?” the Countess of the Rose asks Violet. But Violet is just staring at the pregnant girl. Maybe Lucien did tell her about what happens to the surrogates. Maybe she knows this girl is going to die.
    She suddenly seems to realize everyone is staring at her and glances at Mother.
    â€œThe Countess asked how you are feeling,” Mother says sternly.
    â€œI’m feeling fine, my lady,” she says, to no one in particular. The pregnant surrogate looks up at the sound of her voice.
    A tiny hint of life comes back into her dead eyes. None of the Countess’s surrogates last very long, and I wonder how much time this girl has.
    I dig into my food—filet wrapped in puff pastry, Mother’s favorite—but I find myself glancing at the pregnant surrogate more than Violet. She seems to go back and forth between being present and being somewhere . . . else. What has the Countess been doing to her? I’ve heard the rumors, of course, but this seems extreme. How are we all having lunch while there’s a dying girl sitting at the table?
    Suddenly, the pregnant surrogate gasps. She grabs the tablecloth, and out from where her hand touches it, veins of color begin to spread, a deep inky blue. Carnelian screams and Uncle Beryl falls out of his chair.
    â€œGet the doctor!” the Countess of the Rose yells. We’ve all jumped out of our chairs at this point, and then the carpet is going mad, turning a brilliant green, and I back away from it, as if the color could hurt me if it touched me.
    I see Violet crouched by the pregnant surrogate andwonder if she knows how to stop whatever it is the girl is doing.
    Then the girl vomits up a fountain of blood.
    The Countess of the Stone grabs Violet and lifts her up by the neck.
    â€œGet away from her,” she snarls.