Page 67 of Lucy Undying (Dracula #1)

67

London, October 8, 2024

Iris

“Iris,” Elle interrupts, her voice trembling.

I knew this was where I would lose her. Her eyes are so wide I can see the whites all around the stormy blue centers. She’s crouched on the floor, searching through the various documents: the letters kept for no reason other than to provide alibis, the fake journal of Lucy’s that unfortunately only praised her predators, the accounts of the men, meticulous in their details of trying desperately to save Lucy and yet somehow failing to prevent identical attack after identical attack.

There’s even a letter in a careful imitation of Lucy’s own hand, detailing the events of the night a “wolf” scared her mother to death, absolving anyone of guilt.

There was no wolf. There was never any wolf. Someone drugged the maids and killed her mother, and someone else—perhaps a clever governess who had so many loving letters from Lucy and a whole journal as handwriting references—forged a letter and broke a window to take advantage of the rumor of an escaped zoo animal.

“Look at this part,” I say, pointing to Lucy’s real journal, then to several of the men’s accounts. “They knew she was being attacked. They scrambled to save her, even bringing in a doctor from Europe. They couldn’t let Lucy die before everything was in order, and Mrs.Westenra hadn’t signed the new will yet. Here, see, Lucy can’t understand why she wakes up feeling so strange. Here, where she describes her blood feeling like shards of glass in her veins? Says it feels like everything inside her is on fire? Those fuckwits were giving her blood transfusions without her consent! They didn’t even know what her blood type was. It was actually lucky that someone else was removing the blood before Lucy’s body could destroy itself. It was probably too late for her anyway, but once they had the new will, Lucy’s survival wasn’t essential. Over and over, the same shit happened, and they let it. They ‘fell asleep’ or ‘forgot to spend the night’ or ‘left her mother in charge.’ Bullshit. They knew her mother was incompetent, because they were the ones drugging her!”

I’m ranting now, I can’t help it. I’m so angry and sad. “Van Helsing saw immediately that they were dealing with a vampire, not some wasting sickness. They could have taken Lucy and run. Hidden her. Actually protected her. But they never did. When every legal document was in order, Lucy’s inheritance secured, they let her die. They let the vampire have her, because they didn’t need her for anything else.”

“No, this is—this isn’t right.” Elle picks up various letters and documents, looking at them and then throwing them down. She doesn’t touch the journals, doesn’t even look at them. “This makes no sense.”

“That letter, there. Van Helsing. He describes the vampire. I’m not making it up, I’m not crazy.”

“But you read me her journal. Mina was her friend.”

“Mina was a monster. ” This is the part that makes me the sickest, that makes me wish someone would remove the blood of hers that flows in my own veins. “Two years after all this happened? Jonathan died. You guessed it—Doctor Seward signed the death certificate. Within a month, Mina and Arthur married. But they’d finally attracted too much attention, so they moved to America to avoid the press, with Doctor Seward in tow.”

Elle sits right in the middle of all the papers, staring down at them. “This can’t be right. It’s absurd.”

I crouch in front of her. “I know it sounds insane. But I read Lucy’s journal. I read about what was hunting her. I read what the men said in their papers. I don’t think Van Helsing was in on the inheritance scheme, he was just an old creep they brought in out of desperation to keep Lucy alive a little longer. I trust his account. Read it. Read it, please. He describes the vampire; he knows all about them.” I push Van Helsing’s papers toward Elle, but she doesn’t take them. “The worst part is, they claimed they hunted down and ended the vampire who killed Lucy. There are all these receipts, tickets, travel itineraries, and diary entries. All about chasing Dracula back to Transylvania and destroying him there. But that was a lie, too.”

Elle looks up at me, her face a mask of confusion. “What?”

I pick up the watercolors, toss aside portrait after portrait, most of which I’m sure are of Mina. Her eyes seem different to me now, not teasing or playful, but viciously knowing. She sat for this portrait; she looked right at Lucy, held her gaze, and knew. She knew what she was doing the whole time. The last painting is the one I’m after, though. It’s done with a weaker hand, the strokes less confident, the color washed out except for a few details: the distinctive heavy brow, the aquiline nose, the upsettingly wet lips. But it’s in the eyes. I’d know their hungry, soulless red gaze anywhere.

I hold it up. “This is the vampire who killed Lucy. This is Dracula. And I’m positive they didn’t destroy him, because I fucking know him. When I was a kid, he almost killed my dad after I invited him in.”