Page 96 of Lucy Undying

I get a notification for an email. My heart lifts when I see it’s from Rahul. They sold the back half of the lot, which means he and Anthony have enough money to start a family and renovate the house. They’re bickering about paint colors and want me as tiebreaker. Rahul also reminds me that the first space they’ve redone is a guest room: the Iris Suite, mine whenever I want or need. It’s all so lovely and normal that it hurts.

“Excuse me. We’re closing soon; do you need anything?”

I look up to find a guy in a U of U sweatshirt pushing a cart. I never know whether people here are actual students, or if they’re Goldaming Life sycophants checking up on me. I can’t trust anyone in the whole world except Lucy. And Rahul and Anthony, but they’re far away and—thanks to Dickie’s expert body disposal team—still completely in the dark about vampires.

“Thanks, I’m fine.” As soon as he turns, my smile drops away. I plug the thumb drive into my laptop and glance at the info I stole from Olivia’s computer. A calendar of appointments, email addresses for the whole company, various directories and disclosures.

This is potentially juicy, though—Olivia’s setting up meetings between the board of directors and a state senator named Harrell. I do a quick internet search and find out he’s the nephew of a Supreme Court justice and head of a Senate committee for business protections. Utah is the worst state in the country for allowing multilevel marketing scams to pretend at legitimacy, the perfect example being my family’s vampiric pyramid scheme.

Maybe I can get invited to the meeting and secretly record it. I’ll also scan copies of the material notes Olivia accidentally gave me. If nothing else, I can leak them to show how insincere the people in charge are.

It’s not enough—nothing short of finding and killing Dracula will be—but it’s something.

The library flashes its lights as a warning. I pack up and leave, face burrowed into my scarf. It’s freezing. I need to get inside. But once I’m past the main walkways, I pause. There aren’t any lights around me, nothing but the dark and the night. I stop, tip my head up, and look at the stars.

I drink in their beauty, and I think of Lucy.

And then—it’s all I can do to stay calm, all I can do to keep my breathing and heartbeat even—I feel it. I’m being watched. But this is different than the Goldaming Life goons. They linger close enough for me to see them. They want to make it clear I’m being observed.

I know exactly who this is. All these years later, awake or asleep, I haven’t forgotten the weight of his eyes. It’s him. All my searching and waiting, all Lucy’s efforts, and this is how it happens. I don’t find Dracula. He finds me.

“Got you, fucker,” I whisper, smiling to myself.

79

Salt Lake City, January 10, 2025

Dracula

Nothing about this feeding thrills him. It’s merely the dull necessity of logistics. Preparing himself to have the patience necessary to claim you. He’s doing this for you.

He sneers in disgust as a woman trembles under his fingers, bending her neck in invitation. There’s no satisfaction in puncturing her fragile skin. When she faints in his arms, he drops her to the floor like a discarded tissue.

It served its purpose. He’s not ravenous anymore. He can think clearly, make his plans for you. But maybe he should finish this woman, kill her rather than—

There’s someone outside the door. This haze-choked city has become a cage. It’s crawling with vampires; he finds them tedious and loathsome, like children. These new ones can’t truly understand who or what he is. They assume he’s the same thing they are. They’re wrong. No one is the same as him.

The vampire outside, though—he catches the scent and knows it’s her. She’s not a child, she’s a demon. Worse than a demon; a demon at least he would understand, he would relate to. She’s like God. Distant, all-seeing, all-controlling, a force so powerful even Dracula cowers before the cross. God controlled him in life and holds sway over him still in death. Obedience and blessings and holy terror.

He cannot abide the demon vampire woman, hates the very thought of her existence. She’s always watching him, inserting herself into his schemes, trying to control him. He’s cleverer than she is, though. More vicious, more worthy. He’ll make sure she doesn’t notice what he’s doing, and he’ll do it right under her acolytes’ noses.

There’s a peaceful rapture that descends, one he’s missed for so long. He can play at being God, too. He’ll take you from them, and they won’t know until it’s too late.

The window provides a suitable exit. Theatrics have never been beneath him, and at last he feels a prick of excitement. This victim is a means to an end, and you, his end, are waiting.

As he slips free, there’s no line between beast and man. He shifts without a thought, swooping into the darkness and fleeing the scene.

Bat, then wolf. Slinking low, wrapped in the night, because it loves him as he loves it. He pads toward your scent, confident and sure-footed. You’re waiting for him somewhere out there in the darkness, whether you know it or not. And now that he’s sated, he has enough control—just barely enough, though, keeping the edge of hunger and violence that will thrill you as it does him.

He’s ready to start your seduction. You aren’t ready, you can never be ready, and that’s exactly how he likes it.

80

Salt Lake City, January 11, 2025

My Butter Chicken,

I’ll be on this path every evening, walking it, waiting for you, for as long as it takes. But I can’t leave any more letters here for now, because people are always watching me. So know that this one contains my whole heart.

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