Page 82 of Lucy Undying

That day, when Elle showed up on the doorstep. I was the one who said she’d come from the museum. I gave her the perfect cover story, wrapped up like a gift. She didn’t even have to do anything to convince me to let her in. And because she’s beautiful and I wanted her to like me, I never questioned it. I thought the coincidence of meeting her again was fate finally doing me a solid.

“Oh, Iris,” I say, walking without thinking into the den. All this time in my family, all this time with my mother’s vicious schemes, and I fell for such an obvious manipulation. Elle didn’t save me from being hit by a car because she happened to be in the right place at the right time. She was there because she was following me.

And then I gave her access to this house, took her with me on a fucking weekend holiday, shared all my plans to run away. Which means Goldaming Life knows everything.

I’m such an idiot it’s actually hilarious. I pick up Lucy’s journal. I want to laugh because it’s yet another thing we have in common: being so besotted with a woman that we let her destroy everything.

No. I can still salvage this. They don’t know that I know about Elle. If she’s been undermining me this whole time, then there are probably things in this house that are worthwhile. Things I wasn’t supposed to find. I searched everything before she did, though, and she never left the house with anything I didn’t give her.

Except…she went in the attic without me. The attic she told me had water damage and nothing worth looking at.

“Everything okay?” Anthony shouts. “Levi’s calling in a moment to discuss how this affects us in terms of taxes and fees so there aren’t any surprises. Rahul’s heading over after his shift with some champagne, and we’ll really celebrate!”

“Great,” I say, hoping my voice sounds normal. “Just gonna go take a bath.” I trudge upstairs, every step heavy with dread and pain.

I don’t know how I looked at Elle and saw sincerity, even love, when there was only calculating manipulation. Of all the betrayals in my life, why does this one feel like the deepest?

Maybe it’s what I deserve. I’m getting Mina and Arthur’s karma. My own heart broken the way they broke Lucy’s. I have three-fourths of a literature degree—enough to appreciate the elegantly cruel poetic parallel of it all.

On the third floor I pass the servants’ quarters, then pause at the ladder leading up to the attic. Maybe I don’t look. Maybe I turn around and run, right now. Leave it all behind. Never know what I wasn’t supposed to find.

But I have to see what Elle was keeping from me. What Goldaming Life didn’t want me to have. I climb up. The attic is dim, a long narrow room with a single round window letting in the last afternoon rays of sun. Crossbeams run everywhere; there’s barely any room to navigate.

At first glance, there’s nothing surprising. A jumble of old furniture, some trunks, a stack of paintings. But what’s not here flashes like a neon sign declaring my stupidity. There’s no water damage. Each new confirmation of her betrayal cuts a little deeper. I turn on my phone flashlight and sweep the area, no idea what I’m looking for. It’s impossible to navigate. I trip, knocking over a stack of framed art.

My light catches on the painting at the bottom. Unlike the others, this one is free of dust. Someone pulled it out recently and spent time looking at it, then stuck it on the bottom of the pile. Why would Elle hide this from me?

I pick up the portrait and set it on a broken chair so I can take it in. Each feature of the subject registers individually, as though my brain can’t process it as a whole yet.

Rich blond hair with a widow’s peak hairline. Apple cheeks. A small, delicately pointed chin. Expressive eyebrows. A hint of dimples punctuating a rosebud mouth. And eyes so dark blue they could look brown or black, depending on the light. A beautiful portrait of the woman I’ve already fallen in love with through her writing, and was starting to fall in love with in real life.

“There you are,” I whisper.

“Here I am,” she says behind me.

70

Boston, September 26, 2024

Client Transcript

Vanessa: For fuck’s sake, Lucy! You weren’t looking for Dracula!

Lucy: What?

Vanessa: You weren’t looking for Dracula! I know exactly what you’re looking for, and I know where to find it. But I won’t tell you unless you tear those other vampires to shreds.

Lucy: Vanessa, you—you don’t want me to die?

Vanessa: Of course I don’t want you to die! And I also don’t want to be turned by you or killed by vampires tonight!

Lucy: [sniffling] Okay then. I’ll need your help.

Vanessa: With wh—[scream]

[sound of clanging]

[muffled thumps]

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