Page 68 of Lucy Undying

“That seems excessive.”

“It does, doesn’t it? Listen.” It’s not a stretch to sound exhausted and pushed past my limit. “Just…leave my dad alone. Put Ford on a shorter leash. Preferably so short she chokes herself on it. Let me finish pretending like I’m a philanthropist, donating paintings and shit to museums so I can feel a little better about the piles of blood money I’m sitting on. Then I’ll come home. Three days. You can even book my flight.”

“The private jet will be available then. I’ll make the arrangements.”

“Great. Let’s kill the environment while we’re killing all my hopes and dreams. A clean sweep of destruction. Awesome. But when I get back, things are going to be different. Okay? I get a say. I get an actual voice on the board. If I’m doing this, I’m doing it my way.”

“I’m looking forward to getting you settled where you belong. Where your blood is. Because—”

“The blood is bloody life, yup, got it, bye.” I end the call and throw my phone across the bed in disgust.

Elle scoots around so we’re facing each other. She takes my hands in hers. “We’re running out of time,” she says.

“We are, yeah. I’ve got to go back to the house tonight, sleep there so they don’t suspect anything. We have to make it look like you’re just working for me. Like I’m doing exactly what I’ve told them I’m doing. It’s the only way to keep you safe.”

“But—”

“Please trust me. Go to the museum tomorrow morning. Do your normal routine and job, like I’m not a priority. Sell the paintings if you can, but if not, don’t worry about it. Come over tomorrow afternoon and we can plan more.”

Elle looks torn, but she nods. “I have travel arrangements to make, and I can’t risk being followed. Promise you’ll be careful.”

“They’re not going to hurt me. Especially now that they think they’re getting exactly what they want.” And because I let them think they know how to control me. Threatening and harassing my dad won’t change anything. I’m fully prepared to abandon him. It doesn’t make me a good person, but I already know it’s what he’d do in my shoes.

I climb reluctantly out of bed, then hesitate. “Do you want to keep the journal? Read it for yourself?” I don’t want to leave Lucy here and stop reading, but I trust Elle with it.

Elle smiles and shakes her head. “I wouldn’t be able to do Lucy’s voice nearly as well as you.”

I laugh and throw a pillow at her. “Mean.”

“Bookmark more of your favorite parts for tomorrow. And maybe one of these days you can read the whole thing to me?”

I wish I could. “We won’t have time before I run.”

Elle bites her lip and looks to the side. The light seems to pass straight through her, rendering her nearly translucent. So fragile and vulnerable and breakable. “We will if I come on the boat with you.”

My eyes close. I don’t mean to close them, I just can’t process everything I need to in this moment. None of it feels possible. Not after the life I’ve had, being shown time and again that no one puts being with me over what Goldaming Life offers them—or threatens them with.

“Are you sure?” I can barely force the words out, certain she’ll laugh. That she’s teasing or flirting, or that I somehow missed a cruel streak hidden by her sweet face.

“Ask me to come with you,” she says.

I open my eyes, surprised to find her standing right in front of me. That sense of translucence is still there. It’s not just vulnerability. It’s sincerity. She’s not hiding anything from me. Elle is the only truth I’ve ever found.

“Kiss me,” I whisper, “and come with me. Please.”

She presses her lips against mine, sealing our hope between the two of us. Because that’s what Elle is: hope. That’s what she feels like in my arms. I haven’t had it for so long, I’d forgotten what it was.

Emily Dickinson is right. Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul.

But things with feathers are always so fragile, and I can’t help feeling afraid of what I’m asking Elle to take flight into alongside me.

59

August 30, 1890

Journal of Lucy Westenra

Mina found Jonathan. She’s married.

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