Page 59 of Lucy Undying

She lets out a surprised breath. I can’t tell if it’s half laugh or half cry. And then she kisses me.

50

Boston, September 26, 2024

Client Transcript

It’s amazing how quickly men will confess when staring into the glowing red eyes and dripping fangs of death. That night, I delivered Hans, Baris, and four other Nazi spies to the Doctor.

“A little warning next time,” she grumbled, hauling the unconscious bodies through the door. “The professors I work with prefer a little discretion.”

“I saved the president from being assassinated and the Soviets from being framed for it.”

The Doctor gave me a level stare with her depthless black eyes. “And is the war over?”

I didn’t know what I’d expected. Praise? Excitement? I would get neither from her. So I went back to the bar, and I went back to work.

I prevented seventeen—seventeen!—more attempts to assassinate Turkey’s president and blame one side or the other. I never even met the man, and yet it felt all I was ever doing was keeping him alive. In between killing everyone trying to kill the president, I made Italian fascists miss crucial meetings so the British could intercept their messages, passed Nazi secrets on to Greek operatives trying to liberate their country, and prevented my fellow barmaids from being assaulted more times than I could count.

One, Ingrid, was working extra shifts killing as many Nazis as she could. I adored Ingrid. She was loud and funny, quick with a knife, and an excellent kisser. She didn’t know I knew about her after-work activities, which suited me fine, because I had no interest in involving her in mine.

Though there were rumors about me among every intelligence operation in the city, no one could figure out who I worked for, because I didn’t work for anyone. No one could kill me, because I’d already been killed by something far worse than any of them. And no one could catch me, because they all saw a slightly different woman when they looked at me. Just a beauty behind a bar, pouring their drinks and listening.

The Doctor complained about the smell of alcohol every time I crawled into our sleeping space. She also asked the same question whenever I delivered new bodies to her: “And is the war over?”

The answer was always no. No matter what I did, the same plots popped back up. There was always another Hans, always another bomb, always another gun. And through it all, I had to smile and nod and giggle, pretending to be interested in dull men’s dull machinations, pretending like I couldn’t tell exactly what they were thinking, exactly what they wanted.

I often saw my fiancé sit on a stool at my bar, or a lecherous old Dutch man wink at me from across the room. I met all four of them in Istanbul, those men who had loved me and failed to save me. Sometimes they were the ones I was helping, and sometimes they were the ones I was killing.

It wasn’t really them. But it was easy to get lost in time and see them in other people. It still is. One night I sat on the floor of a dark apartment, holding the Texan in my arms. “Why couldn’t you have saved me?” I whispered. “How did you save Mina but not me?”

He didn’t answer, because he wasn’t my Texan. Also because he had been poisoned and was quite dead.

All that purpose and determination that had brought me to Istanbul was drying up and withering away. I had no roots to sustain myself. I got sloppy. I got careless. And I got Ingrid killed.

We often fell into her bed after a long shift if neither of us had somewhere to be. One night as she was getting dressed again, a bloody knife slipped out of her boot. She froze, unaware that I knew all about her activities and could smell the blood long before the knife was ever revealed.

It was my lack of reaction that gave her pause. She sat on the end of the bed. “Wilhelmina,” she said, and I wished she could call me Lucy. Maybe that was part of why I was getting so lost in my head. “I kill men.”

I laughed. “Me, too.”

“I kill Nazis,” she clarified, mildly alarmed at how readily I’d volunteered my confession.

“I know, my pretty darling.” I pulled her close between my legs and began braiding her hair. “I like that about you.”

“How long have you known?” She was breathless with both fear and relief.

“Since we met. You always smell like blood.” I remembered that was a strange thing to say, so I hurriedly added: “And I saw you dragging a body to the Bosporus the night before you started working at the bar. I would have helped, if I’d known you.”

She laughed. “You’re insane.”

“Of course I am.” I pressed a kiss to the neat part between her braids, then held her close. Ingrid was like unhallowed ground. A place I could rest and find some relief. I didn’t love her, though. She didn’t know me, and how can we love those who don’t know us? “I’ll always help you get rid of bodies. Just ask.”

Her eyes brightened. “I have a list. And a plan.”

I should have gotten more details, but I was always looking for someone to tell me what to do. Ingrid’s plan would lead to my best and worst and last night in Istanbul.

Ingrid’s plot was already nearly in full bloom. Seven Nazi and Italian operatives were targeting the British ambassador’s secretary. He held the code to a safe in the ambassador’s office. Inside were details of troop movements in Europe. That was where I came in. The seven men needed to isolate the secretary in a location where no one would look for him or notice he was missing. What better way than using their new friend Wilhelmina to attract his attention and lure him up to a hotel room?

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