Page 84 of Lucy Undying

Lucy: [laughing] Absolutely.

Vanessa: Thank you. And then I want to see you off on your travels. What an adventure we’ve had together. And what an adventure you have ahead of you! Please find Lucy, and give her my love when you do.

Lucy: [whispering]

Vanessa: I know you will, sweetheart. I know. I’ll make a special request to be buried in unhallowed ground without any chemicals in my body, so you can take naps with me if you ever make it back here. Send me a postcard when you get where you’re going, though, so I know you made it. Where are you going?

Lucy: The house where I was born, the house where I died.

Hillingham.

71

London, October 8, 2024

Iris

I turn around, the ground itself falling away beneath me. A new fault line cutting through my life. Everything I was, everything I will be. Before now, and after now.

When at last I see her, Elle—my Elle, my Lucy—looks empty. Her portrait behind me has more life to it. Whatever animated her face, those quick flashes of emotion that rendered her a different person from one moment to the next, a creature fully inhabited by whatever she was feeling at the time, it’s all gone. It’s like she’s been emptied out.

I know she’s still inside there, but she’s retreating faster than I can catch her. Already running from whatever my reaction is going to be. I know exactly what she’s doing, because I’ve done it, so many times. She’s preemptively deadening herself to blunt the impact of what I say next. It breaks something inside me, seeing a perfect reflection of what it looks like to kill your heart before someone can do it for you.

She stays still and unmoving, so cold and lifeless she might as well be a statue left in the attic alongside her portrait. All those times she held a cup of hot tea between her hands, warming them. Her food allergies preventing her from eating with us. Pretending to eat on the move, or when I was distracted so I wouldn’t notice nothing was going past her lips. The chill of her lips when we first kissed, the porcelain white of her body turning to a healthy flush after we’d moved together, after my heat became her heat.

I never even had to invite her in—this was her house to begin with. It’s all so obvious. Elle is Lucy, and Lucy’s a vampire.

And, to my infinite surprise, not only do I not care…I’m so, so glad. I step across the obstacles between us and wrap my arms around her. She doesn’t move. No breath, no trembling, no heartbeat. But I don’t care. It’s her, and she’s still here, and I have loved both the girl she was and the woman she is.

“Lucy.” I hold her tighter, putting one hand on the back of her head and pressing her close as I stroke her hair. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

She twitches like her heart is being shocked back to life. The rigid lines of her body melt and meet mine with less resistance. “What?”

“I’m so sorry for everything that happened to you, and everything you’ve probably been through since. I have no idea what it’s been like, but I’m so glad you’re here.”

“How can you say that?” she asks. “You know what I am. You know. Why aren’t you scared? I’m a monster.”

“You’re not a monster. My mother was a monster. My father, too. And the people around you, the ones who let you be preyed on? You were a girl, Lucy. Practically still a child, and they devoured you. Your mother, those men, Mina. They were the monsters.”

“Not Dracula?” she asks, disbelieving.

“Well, yes, obviously he’s also a monster.”

Lucy’s shoulders shake. I wonder if she’s crying, but when her voice finally breaks free, she’s laughing. It’s her real laugh, too. The chimes are older, worn with age and exposure to countless storms, but their sound is still beautiful.

I start laughing, too, because it’s all so absurd. I laugh until I can’t stand anymore, and then I sit, half on top of some old painting. Lucy sits far more elegantly on a chest, our knees pressed together. She’s searching my face. Looking for fear, or rejection, or revulsion. She doesn’t find any of it.

“You really don’t hate me.” Her eyes are wide with wonder. “You’re not scared of me.”

“Oh, my sweet butter chicken, you aren’t my first vampire.” I pause. “Okay, you’re the first one I fell in love with both in person and in writing, and I’m almost positive you’re the only one I’ve slept with, but still.”

She raises a delicate eyebrow. “Almost positive?”

“Well, clearly my vampdar isn’t what I thought it was. Knew you were gay from that first encounter, had no idea you were undead.”

Her wickedly playful smile turns me on with a low, warm thrill. “Technically, I’m pan. All vampires are, since everyone we meet has at least one thing we desire.”

I barely have a moment to worry that she only likes me for my blood before her smile drops. Her face becomes open and painfully earnest. It’s like seeing her naked, truly, for the first time. Every part of her is exposed, and it’s only Lucy in front of me. Desperately lonely, terminally hopeful, forever stopped at nineteen. “I came back here to reconnect with the girl I was. I didn’t realize how badly I needed to forgive her for what happened to her. I tried to find my journal that first night—”

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