Page 94 of Lucy Undying

Boston, December 29, 2024

My Little Cabbage,

Thank you for your letters. I’ve read them so many times I know them by heart. I told Vanessa—my therapist—all about you. She’s going to send this so you don’t have to worry anymore. And the backpack strap is a great idea. It’ll smell like you, so I’ll find it anywhere.

I’m glad you can tell me you’re scared. I’m scared, too, which I haven’t been in ever so long. It’s a novelty! Look at you, bringing even more sensations and emotions back into my life.

We can’t be scared if we don’t care what happens to or around us. Now we care. And because we care so very much, we’re going to win. I know it.

So: I’ll endeavor to take up all your dreaming time from now on, leaving Dracula no space in it. And I’ll be there soon. Because I have news, too. Not “I’m showing up with Dracula’s head as my new clutch” news, because it would be difficult to match to a dress and I’m still vain enough to be bothered by that, but “I officially know we’re on his trail now” news. With bonus surprise allies! I saved a couple of old friends, and they’re on our side.

My time in Boston proved you were correct: Dracula is behind Goldaming Life. All the vampires here are connected to the organization and also Dracula, and therefore violently invested in protecting him. Arthur and Doctor Seward must have worked with him back in my day, rather than kill him. Then they used Dracula’s power and influence to amass a fortune while giving him a foothold in a new land. Our focus must stay on getting close to the top of the Goldaming Life pyramid. That’s how we’ll find him.

I know it’s an unbearable burden on you. I wish Goldaming Life weren’t involved. I want nothing more than to swoop in and rescue you from it all. Burn down your old home while we’re at it.

But we’re on our way to you now. Which is good. Being apart from you feels like going too long without rest—the borders of my self feel less solid.

You make me feel real.

See you in your dreams—

Lucy

P.S. The Lover—her name has nothing to do with our relationship, we’re only friends and also she’s not quite sane a majority of the time—wants me to tell you hello, and also wants to know if you’re friends with any serial killers or know where she might find some. I told her it was unlikely, but promised to ask.

78

Salt Lake City, January 10, 2025

Iris

Oh god. I’m going to die. I’ll never get to tell Lucy I love her. Why was I writing about nightmares and my childhood bedroom when I could have been telling her how much I adore her? How it feels like I spent my whole life desperately hoping she was out there? How discovering her feels like an actual miracle?

“Miss Goldaming?” Dickie prompts.

I snap back to attention. The draining of my will to live must have shown in my glazed expression. “That’s me,” I chirp.

I know I can’t actually die of boredom, but…do I know that for sure? Maybe this is Dickie’s secret evil plan. Make me sit through so many financial disclosure meetings that I slowly wither and die, leaving him free to do whatever the hell he wants.

I remind myself that this suffering is for a reason. But with yet another infinite afternoon spent trapped in this soulless chrome and glass conference room, I’m regretting our decision to be big brave heroes instead of small happy hiders.

Dickie drones on. “If you’ll turn to page 72, subsection 29a. The bylaws of the nonprofit branch of Goldaming Life, Inc. I’d like to draw your attention to…”

He keeps talking. How does he keep talking? Dickie is a naturally renewing energy source. I’ve found a grudging respect for him, with his cadaver hands and his sunken eyes and his bafflingly thick, lustrous hair. Maybe it’s the hair that’s leaching vitality from the rest of his body. Cracked and yellowing fingernails, bluish papery skin, near-purple lips, everything sacrificed to keep that hair vital and glorious.

My phone alarm goes off. I stand so fast, I feel a little dizzy. That could be from my treatment earlier, though. “Time’s up! I get to go to the library now.”

“It’s heartening to see how much you value your education.” Dickie’s tone indicates otherwise, but he has to let me go. It’s part of our deal. I go to an I-Vee Center near my school for treatments once a week, and then I pop into the office, where Dickie punishes me for refusing to just sign whatever they put in front of me by reading whole sections of company legal documents aloud. But in return, they let me live on my own and attend classes at the University of Utah. Not my first choice, but it’s miles better than the other big college here where my sexuality could get me kicked out. Charming.

I fought so hard for these compromises, though. I bartered with Dickie on everything from how long our weekly meetings could last (two hours) to how often I’ll see their private doctor for my gold agglutinin treatments (once a week) to whether or not I’d have my own security team (couldn’t get out of it).

I don’t care about any of it in the long run, but every concession I won made it look likelier that I was coming back of my own free will. The more they believe me a petulant but willing participant, the less they’ll look at what I’m actually doing.

Which reminds me. Gotta pretend I’m getting more invested. “I have some ideas for how to expand our charitable giving.”

Dickie’s eyebrows rise. “Really?”

“Yeah. I’m excited. But not excited enough to stick around and listen to you for another hour, so I’ll tell you next week. Bye.”

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