Cover

“This book will sink its teeth into you.”

—Stephen Graham Jones

Reluctant Immortals

A Novel

Gwendolyn Kiste

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Title Page

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Dedication

To Charlotte and Bram

Thank you

one

It’s almost sundown in Los Angeles, and Dracula’s ashes won’t shut up.

He’s been at it since yesterday, calling out for me, calling out for anyone, his voice strained and distant, so soft I can never quite make out the words, so unforgiving I can never escape him. I cover my ears and recite a prayer I no longer believe, but it’s not enough to blot out the sound of him.

I have to try something else. I have to bury him. Again.

So now here I am, standing in the shadow of the Hollywood sign, a shovel in one hand, an urn of his ashes in the other. Up here on Mount Lee is as good a place as any to lay him to rest. It’s remote and hard to get to, and at the very least, I won’t forget where I put him.

The last bits of daylight have dissolved across the horizon, and I move through the overgrown weeds, picking a spot between the letters Y and W where the earth is soft and malleable.

Then I start digging.

Below me, the city buzzes pleasantly like a swarm of locusts. It’s the middle of June, the heat creeping in, and this isn’t how I wanted to spend my evening. Of course, I never want to spend my nights with him, but what I want doesn’t count for much.