Page 78 of Lucy Undying (Dracula #1)
78
Salt Lake City, January 10, 2025
Iris
Oh god. I’m going to die. I’ll never get to tell Lucy I love her. Why was I writing about nightmares and my childhood bedroom when I could have been telling her how much I adore her? How it feels like I spent my whole life desperately hoping she was out there? How discovering her feels like an actual miracle?
“Miss Goldaming?” Dickie prompts.
I snap back to attention. The draining of my will to live must have shown in my glazed expression. “That’s me,” I chirp.
I know I can’t actually die of boredom, but… do I know that for sure? Maybe this is Dickie’s secret evil plan. Make me sit through so many financial disclosure meetings that I slowly wither and die, leaving him free to do whatever the hell he wants.
I remind myself that this suffering is for a reason. But with yet another infinite afternoon spent trapped in this soulless chrome and glass conference room, I’m regretting our decision to be big brave heroes instead of small happy hiders.
Dickie drones on. “If you’ll turn to page 72, subsection 29a. The bylaws of the nonprofit branch of Goldaming Life, Inc. I’d like to draw your attention to…”
He keeps talking. How does he keep talking? Dickie is a naturally renewing energy source. I’ve found a grudging respect for him, with his cadaver hands and his sunken eyes and his bafflingly thick, lustrous hair. Maybe it’s the hair that’s leaching vitality from the rest of his body. Cracked and yellowing fingernails, bluish papery skin, near-purple lips, everything sacrificed to keep that hair vital and glorious.
My phone alarm goes off. I stand so fast, I feel a little dizzy. That could be from my treatment earlier, though. “Time’s up! I get to go to the library now.”
“It’s heartening to see how much you value your education.” Dickie’s tone indicates otherwise, but he has to let me go. It’s part of our deal. I go to an I-Vee Center near my school for treatments once a week, and then I pop into the office, where Dickie punishes me for refusing to just sign whatever they put in front of me by reading whole sections of company legal documents aloud. But in return, they let me live on my own and attend classes at the University of Utah. Not my first choice, but it’s miles better than the other big college here where my sexuality could get me kicked out. Charming.
I fought so hard for these compromises, though. I bartered with Dickie on everything from how long our weekly meetings could last (two hours) to how often I’ll see their private doctor for my gold agglutinin treatments (once a week) to whether or not I’d have my own security team (couldn’t get out of it).
I don’t care about any of it in the long run, but every concession I won made it look likelier that I was coming back of my own free will. The more they believe me a petulant but willing participant, the less they’ll look at what I’m actually doing.
Which reminds me. Gotta pretend I’m getting more invested. “I have some ideas for how to expand our charitable giving.”
Dickie’s eyebrows rise. “Really?”
“Yeah. I’m excited. But not excited enough to stick around and listen to you for another hour, so I’ll tell you next week. Bye.”
I walk out of the conference room and stop at the third-floor reception desk. They still haven’t let me past this floor. You’d think with my name on the building, nothing would be off-limits, but I’m watched constantly and I can’t go up without someone noticing. Plus, every elevator has a guard I’m ninety percent certain is a vampire.
But the cutie at the third-floor desk is human. She perks up when she sees me, eager to get face time with the head of Goldaming Life. If only she knew how little power I actually have.
“Hey, Olivia!” I lean over the desk. “I love your nails.” It’s true. This week they’re pearly pink with black tips, about as edgy as she can get away with here. The rest of her is perfectly highlighted hair and makeup so subtle it’s an art form.
“Thank you! What can I do for you, Miss Goldaming?”
“You can start calling me Iris, like we’ve talked about.”
She laughs. “Right. Sorry. Iris.” She glances around surreptitiously, like she’s engaging in clandestine behavior.
“Can I get all the Goldaming Life Path recruitment materials? I want to brush up on our talking points.”
“Oh, sure!” Olivia practically skips down the hallway, leaving her desk unguarded and her laptop open and active—which I knew it was by checking out her nails.
Dickie’s still in the conference room, Olivia’s the only person out here, and security won’t be back down this hallway for exactly three minutes. I slip around the desk and shove a thumb drive into her computer. I copy everything—her Outlook address book, calendars, every PDF and document and download.
By the time the security guard walks by on his patrol, I’m once more leaning against the desk, idly scrolling on my phone. Olivia returns and stacks several pounds’ worth of binders, pamphlets, and glossy full-size brochures on the desk.
“Wow.” I shove them into my bag, wishing I had asked for less weighty materials.
Olivia misses my sarcasm. “I know! It’s all so exciting. I went through the Golden Gate two years ago. Here’s my pin.” She gestures proudly to a little gold pin on her collar. “I’m nearly qualified for the next stage! It’s taken longer than I wanted since I started working here, because I just don’t have much time to bring in new members.” Her eyes go wide with muted internal alarm. “But obviously I know what a tremendous privilege it is to be here! I wouldn’t trade this job for anything. It’s amazing, getting to be a small part of what makes Goldaming Life work.”
“We’re lucky to have you,” I say. “See you next week!”
And then my teeth clench and my fists clench and my stomach clenches—I’m just one big clench, really—as Olivia chirps back, “The blood is life!”
“Isn’t it, though?” I unclench a fist to wave goodbye and push the button for the elevator.
Inside, as usual, is a security guard. This one is a stunning brunette, glossy hair done in a high ponytail, eyes dark and clever. Her name tag reads “Del Toro.” She freezes with recognition—most everyone here knows who I am, even if they haven’t met me. To my surprise, though, she doesn’t step aside to let me in.
I squeeze in past her and stand pressed against the wall. At least it’s only three floors. Or, it should be. She presses the hold button as soon as we start moving. The elevator grinds to a halt.
Can’t kill me, I think. Can’t kill me, against the rules. Doesn’t make her any less terrifying.
She turns and fixes her gaze on me, her words so slow and measured it’s clear she’s holding back. “I’d like to know what happened to Grace Ford.”
Shit. Leave it to Ford to find ways to ruin my life even after hers is over. “Car accident,” I say, echoing the official Goldaming Life story. I still don’t know if Dickie bought my thrilling tale. In that version, the one that leaves Lucy out, I cut my arm by accident. That led to the redheaded fox losing control and attacking me. That led to Ford bravely defending me, which led to their simultaneous deaths. It was hard to narrate with a straight face, but he didn’t question it. Just sent a team to clean up their bodies. Which was nice, because I couldn’t exactly bury them in Rahul and Anthony’s new backyard.
Del Toro doesn’t blink. “I’d like to know what really happened to her.”
I smile, a smile that doesn’t touch my eyes. A smile that bares my teeth. A smile I learned by growing up in this fucking cult of predators. “She died. It happens. Even to people like you.”
I reach past her and push the button so we move again. The elevator dings cheerily at the lobby. I exit past Del Toro, who doesn’t say another word.
I can breathe a little better once I’m free of that building. It’s a twenty-minute drive to campus, and I use it to decompress with my favorite modern poets. Yesterday it was Halsey, but today I’m feeling Wolf Alice. They wanted to assign me a driver—aka a babysitter—but I refused.
Once I’m safely on campus, they leave me more or less alone. They’re still watching, but I have the illusion of solitude. In the library, though, I can’t concentrate on any of my homework. I’m tired and achy like always after treatments. Which is why I stopped doing them in the first place. Besides, they certainly didn’t save my mother’s life.
Giving up on homework, I pull out the Goldaming Life nonsense from Olivia, planning to recycle it. But a glance tells me she messed up. A lot of the documents are preliminary drafts, complete with margin notes from the muckety-mucks at the top. It’s only a little gutting to see references to my mother, who must have been in the process of dying at the time these were made.
It’s a surreal inside glimpse of how things really work at Goldaming Life: manipulation, inane influencer-speak, terms that sound desirable but are actually meaningless. I look up things I don’t know about—free ultraradicals, nanoplastics—and find an avalanche of Goldaming Life member social media posts and testimonials. No actual science, but that never mattered. Not when so many beautiful, rich, glowing people are telling you this simple thing will fix everything you hate about yourself from the inside out.
I look up, surprised to discover night has fallen. I can’t see through the window’s reflection anymore. It’s just my own face, thrown back at me. Under the direction of the Goldaming Life Image Consultants, I let them change my hair back to its natural light brown. My curls are healthy and shiny, my face is scrubbed and clean.
Do I look as hollow as I feel? Does it show, how much I miss Lucy?
The worst part is the uncertainty. How long will we have to be apart? Because even when she gets here, we can’t be together. It was pure luck that Ford and the other vampire never figured out Lucy was around in London. With full-time security trailing me here, we can’t risk it. I regret agreeing that we should re-hide her journal and all the other materials. At least if I had her journal, it would feel a little like spending time with her.
I get a notification for an email. My heart lifts when I see it’s from Rahul. They sold the back half of the lot, which means he and Anthony have enough money to start a family and renovate the house. They’re bickering about paint colors and want me as tiebreaker. Rahul also reminds me that the first space they’ve redone is a guest room: the Iris Suite, mine whenever I want or need. It’s all so lovely and normal that it hurts.
“Excuse me. We’re closing soon; do you need anything?”
I look up to find a guy in a U of U sweatshirt pushing a cart. I never know whether people here are actual students, or if they’re Goldaming Life sycophants checking up on me. I can’t trust anyone in the whole world except Lucy. And Rahul and Anthony, but they’re far away and— thanks to Dickie’s expert body disposal team—still completely in the dark about vampires.
“Thanks, I’m fine.” As soon as he turns, my smile drops away. I plug the thumb drive into my laptop and glance at the info I stole from Olivia’s computer. A calendar of appointments, email addresses for the whole company, various directories and disclosures.
This is potentially juicy, though—Olivia’s setting up meetings between the board of directors and a state senator named Harrell. I do a quick internet search and find out he’s the nephew of a Supreme Court justice and head of a Senate committee for business protections. Utah is the worst state in the country for allowing multilevel marketing scams to pretend at legitimacy, the perfect example being my family’s vampiric pyramid scheme.
Maybe I can get invited to the meeting and secretly record it. I’ll also scan copies of the material notes Olivia accidentally gave me. If nothing else, I can leak them to show how insincere the people in charge are.
It’s not enough—nothing short of finding and killing Dracula will be—but it’s something.
The library flashes its lights as a warning. I pack up and leave, face burrowed into my scarf. It’s freezing. I need to get inside. But once I’m past the main walkways, I pause. There aren’t any lights around me, nothing but the dark and the night. I stop, tip my head up, and look at the stars.
I drink in their beauty, and I think of Lucy.
And then—it’s all I can do to stay calm, all I can do to keep my breathing and heartbeat even—I feel it. I’m being watched. But this is different than the Goldaming Life goons. They linger close enough for me to see them. They want to make it clear I’m being observed.
I know exactly who this is. All these years later, awake or asleep, I haven’t forgotten the weight of his eyes. It’s him. All my searching and waiting, all Lucy’s efforts, and this is how it happens. I don’t find Dracula. He finds me.
“Got you, fucker,” I whisper, smiling to myself.