The House of the Stone

“No,” the doctor murmurs. “You’re sure we can’t shave its head?”


I bite the inside of my cheek so hard it almost bleeds. I don’t know what sets off the lightning, but I don’t want to feel it again.

“You know we can’t,” the Countess says impatiently. “What would people say? I can’t have an ugly surrogate, no matter how practical. And this one is too promising to screw up like last time. We’ll simply have to be more precise in our calculations. The Electress must see results. That is the only way to maintain our alliance. We cannot take any chances now that the House of the Lake has a surrogate.”

She’s talking about Violet.

“I have said it before, your ladyship. Dr. Blythe isn’t the genius he pretends to be.”

“Dr. Blythe is not your concern.” The Countess’s voice is cold. “This surrogate is. All of our previous attempts have failed because those surrogates simply did not have the mental fortitude to withstand the procedures. This one does. I’m sure of it.”

“What happ—” I don’t realize the words are out of my mouth until pain sears my skull.

“A very difficult learner,” the doctor says with a chuckle.

He actually chuckles.

Oh, Violet, I think. I hope, wherever you are, this is not happening to you, too.

The Countess and Dr. Falme make strange parts in my hair, and I hate the feel of their hands on my scalp. I don’t know what they’re doing or why, because aren’t they supposed to be interested in other parts of my body?

The doctor makes notes using numbers that don’t make sense, like “Quadrant five, line twenty-seven, three inches?”

Always like a question. Like he’s asking himself.

“Can we try one time?” the Countess asks.

“So soon, my lady?”

“I want to see how it reacts.”

The doctor smiles indulgently. I clamp my mouth shut. I have no idea what reaction she wants. I won’t give her any, if I can help it.

The doctor pulls on one of the hanging lights, which stretches down like it’s on a spring. There isn’t a glowglobe inside—instead it looks like a helmet with golden hooks all around it. And it’s coming right at my head.

There’s nothing I can do as the helmet settles around my skull. The hooks pinch when they catch on my skin.

“Where shall we start, my lady?” the doctor asks.

There’s a pause while the Countess thinks.

“Not too young. Ten maybe? No, seven. Seven is perfect.”

In an instant, there is a sharp sting in my neck and in three seconds, I can’t feel my head anymore. It’s gone completely numb. Which is honestly a relief. I don’t want to feel anything.

I hear a buzzing sound, like the drills the dentists used on us at Southgate—pretty much everyone has to get serious work done on their teeth when they arrive. It’s a sound that sets me on edge, that makes my skin prickle and every hair on my body stand up.

The buzzing gets louder as the drill or needle or whatever it is gets closer. I don’t feel it go in. Suddenly I’m just . . . gone.

My mother is humming while she brushes my hair. I don’t tell her how good it feels, how I’ve wanted this for so long. She was always so concerned with Sable, getting Sable ready to be a surrogate. She never had time for me. But Sable’s test came back negative.

I sit in front of the cracked mirror in her bedroom and look at my reflection. Mother thinks I’m pretty. I don’t care about being pretty. I want to finish my math homework. But pretty makes her happy.

“There, now,” she says. “That’s nice, isn’t it?”

I beam at her in the mirror. She looks at me and smiles.

Then all the skin melts off her face.

Someone is screaming. They should stop screaming; my mother hates loud noises.

My chest begins to ache, and I realize the person screaming is me.

My mother is gone. Her bedroom has vanished. I’m still in the medical room.

I force my lips closed, my chest heaving. Bile rises in my throat but I swallow it down.