Page 46 of Lucy Undying (Dracula #1)

46

London, October 7, 2024

Iris

When we get on the train in the morning, something’s shifted in Elle. Maybe it was the shock of the storm, or the aftereffects of whatever drugs she took at the rave. But she seems relaxed and happy. She points out various features of the landscape, telling me historical anecdotes. I love how much she loves history, how engaged she is in the world around us and everything that happened to make it what it is right now, today, this moment.

That’s the strangest thing about her, I think. Because as much as she loves history, Elle is absolutely in the moment. Every moment. I wish I could be the same way, but I’m dreading what I have to do.

Before we part at the train station, just as I’m about to tell her not to bother coming over again because I’ve changed my mind about selling things in the house, she leans close. Voice heartbreakingly sultry, says, “Don’t forget to look right.”

My heart flutters. I reach into my pocket where—like a lovesick teenager—I’ve been carrying the backpack strap she ripped off when we met. “I swear I’ll remember.”

And instead of doing what I meant to and cutting her loose, I wave goodbye. I catch a cab back toward Hillingham. This driver is gruff and silent, radiating annoyance. I lucked out with Rahul my first day here. I get out at the nearby shops for more food and toiletries. Plus coffee. Always coffee.

My feet drag. When Elle comes over later today like we agreed, I’ll fire her. Remove myself from her life before she gets hurt. Or, worse, before she willingly removes herself. Preemptive heartbreak.

I laugh darkly to myself as I carry my bags down the sidewalk. “Go on, girl,” I say, thinking of every movie ever where a child has to drive away a beloved pet for their own good. “Get out of here! I don’t want you anymore.” I pantomime throwing a rock.

But Elle isn’t a half wolf who belongs in the wild. She’s the most beautiful, funny, intriguing person I’ve ever met. I’ve still got to set her free for her own good.

A huge hand grabs my arm. I’m yanked into a narrow alley and shoved up against a brick wall. My backpack digs into my back, my shopping bags drop.

It’s both a shock and no surprise at all to find myself face-to-face—or at least face-to-chest, since she’s easily a foot taller than I am—with Ford, my mother’s favorite bodyguard. I stare up at her, instantly switching into the lazy smirk I know enrages her. If I could reach into my purse, I could take care of her. But she has me pinned. “Ford. What brings you to London?”

Her lips peel back from glimmering white teeth. I swear they’re bigger than they should be, and that she has more than the average person. All her features are like that: Something is off, but you can’t quite put your finger on it. And by the time you figure out whether she’s beautiful or terrifying, it will already be too late.

“We’re watching you,” she growls.

“Boring. I’d tell you to get a life, but we both know that’s not an option.”

I’m sure she’s about to hit me or break my neck. She’d probably be justified. It must take tremendous restraint to have a regular conversation with someone who ran over you with your own car. Twice.

But also to be fair, “Run over me once, shame on you. Run over me twice, shame on me,” right? She should blame herself.

She gets her rage under control and takes a step back, shaking her head as though disappointed in me. “We’re watching you for your own protection. It’s not safe here.”

“Yeah, craziest thing. Today as I was minding my own business, a woman attacked me from out of nowhere and dragged me into an alley,” I say, dead-eyed and deadpan.

“You’re a child. ” Another sneer distorts her features, making her look downright demonic before she smooths it away. Her face is once more vast empty planes broken by sharp lines. “You should come home, where you’re protected. Where you belong.”

I unclench my jaw and give what I hope is a convincingly sullen eye roll. “I’m going to, god. I just need a breather. Taking care of the properties here before I get buried with the avalanche of stuff waiting for me at home. Did you ever think maybe I’m dealing with, I don’t know, the pain and trauma of losing my mother?”

Even Ford isn’t stupid enough to buy that. She steps closer again, barely a breath between us. I have to crane my head all the way back to look at her. I can’t hide the panic coursing through me. I know on an animal level that I should never, ever be this close to her.

A smile seeps across her face like pooling blood. “The lawyer said I have to give you to the end of the week, and then I can drag you home. I’ll enjoy that.”

“Yuck, Ford, keep it in your pants.”

She lets out a low, disgusted grunt. But before she steps back, something snags her attention. “What is that? That scent.” She leans even closer, putting her head down so her face is right against my neck. I twitch with revulsion, but I don’t move. I don’t show fear.

She breathes in deeply, then jerks away, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “You always reek of coffee.” Without another word, she leaves.

I stay in the alley for a few minutes, trying to get my heart rate and breathing back under control. I knew they were watching me, but now they want me to know exactly who’s here. The clock is ticking. My first impulse is to sink down to the dirty ground and sit in my despair. Give in to a good wallow.

Instead, I walk numbly back to the house, calling Rahul on my way. When I get to Hillingham, Elle’s on the doorstep, her head tipped back to take in the sun. She has a to-go cup in her hand, and another for me on the step beside her.

“Elle, hi,” I say.

Her smile shifts to concern. “Hey. You all right? I should have called first, sorry. Did you want to take the afternoon off instead?”

I shake my head. “It’s not that. What would you do if someone offered you a hundred thousand dollars to never talk to me again?”

Elle’s voice is perfectly cheery. “A hundred thousand before or after taxes?” Then she can’t contain her teasing laughter. It’s spilling out of the curve of her eyelids, her pursed lips. She shakes her head. “Iris, that’s such a weirdly specific hypothetical question. Where did it come from?”

Experience, I think. But instead, I say, “Don’t invite anyone in if they come knocking, okay? Even if they say they know me.”

Before she can ask a follow-up question, I unlock the door and go into the den. I can’t wait for the used bookshops to get back to me. I’ll go to the nearest one and take what I can get. I start loading the worthwhile books into a box.

Elle puts a hand on my arm, stopping me. “Seriously, what’s the matter? You were quiet the whole train ride back, and now you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“My mother is haunting me. Not literally. But she keeps reaching out from the grave to drag me back home, and things are catching up faster than I’d wanted. Anyway. It doesn’t matter. Point is, you should stop coming over. It’s not safe.”

She looks confused. “I’ve been in a lot worse places than a dusty old house, trust me.”

“No, it’s not that, it’s—”

There’s a honk from outside. “That’s Rahul,” I say. “Come with me to sell these books? I can explain on the way.” I’ll get her out of Hillingham and then make sure she never comes back.

“I’ve got this one.” She takes the heavy box of books from me. “Why don’t you grab a stack of paintings. We’ll do as much on this run as we can.” Elle heads out, leaving the front door ajar behind her.

Seized with paranoia now that I know Ford’s in London, I open the safe and take out Lucy’s two journals. The one I’m already reading, and the one I haven’t started yet. If I have to run at a moment’s notice, I don’t want to leave Lucy behind. The diaries fit snugly into my purse. I should take my whole backpack with me, always, but I can’t balance it right now. I awkwardly embrace several bad paintings and haul them outside, setting them down on the porch so I can lock up.

A rustling noise from the hedges announces the fox’s appearance before it steps clear of the greenery. Its eyes are narrowed, its teeth bared. At the same moment, Ford appears from behind the house, running full speed toward me. So much for her deadline.

This time, I’m ready. I reach into my purse, whip out my spray bottle, and send a stream toward the fox. It yelps in pain and diverts, running blindly into the hedges with a crash. I turn just as Ford is leaping over the side of the porch. I give her several good sprays. She falls, legs caught in the railing. Her scream is anguished, and she leaves red gouge marks as she claws at her face.

I abandon the paintings and sprint for the street, spraying indiscriminately behind myself. Elle’s waiting at Rahul’s car with the passenger door open.

“Go!” I shout. “Get in and go!” I jump into the back and slam the door as Elle does the same.

Rahul looks out the window. His eyes widen, and he floors it. We peel away down the narrow street, tires screeching as Rahul takes several tight turns much too fast. “Who the hell was that woman?” he asks. “Why is she chasing you? And was that the fox again?”

Elle is turned around, watching for pursuit behind us. “Were they waiting for you to come out?”

“Yeah.” I lean back in my seat and put my special spray back in my purse. My phone rings. Dickie. I silence it. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, Elle. So. What do you two know about vampires?”