MARCILLA:
I walked down the desert highway, under a canopy of stars so bright that they might have seared my eyes if I’d looked at them too long. In the east, far to my right, the thinnest sliver of moon glimmered dully. A cool breeze brushed my face. It was beautiful.
I had begun walking just after dark, and had already come a fair way. I wasn’t in any particular hurry, and was not walking particularly fast, but the open spaces always put a spring in my step that the concrete canyons of cities never do. My only luggage was my light rucksack thrown over my shoulder, so I wasn’t heavily burdened. As I walked, I stretched my arms out and threw my head back, luxuriating in the feel of being out in the open. It had been far too long.
I almost missed the pale wash of headlights when they flickered over me from behind, only my shadow on the road alerting me to the car coming up behind. Instinctively – I’d been catching rides for so long – I stuck out my thumb, and immediately regretted it. Oh, whoever it was would probably not stop anyway, I thought.
I was wrong. The car – a dark compact hatchback with an engine whose sound was little more than a barely audible murmur – slid to a stop just ahead. Two steps and I was standing beside the front door.
“Where to, young lady?” someone asked from inside.
I bent to look in. The only occupant, the driver, was in shadow, but then moved forward just enough so that reflected headlights faintly illuminated his face. “Where do you want to go?”
My mind flashed back briefly to the map I’d looked at on my phone last night, and picked – at random – a tiny dot I’d seen on it, far to the north, and only noticed it due to the name. “I’m going to Broken Rock.” He’d probably never heard of it and in any case I was sure he wouldn’t be going that far.
“All right,” he said, to my astonishment. “Get in, then.”
There was not much I could do without looking like an idiot, so I got into the front left seat. The driver waited for me to pull the seat belt over my shoulder before he let in the clutch and we moved off. “Broken Rock is more than three hundred kilometres away,” he said casually. “Were you planning on walking all that way?”
I shrugged, glancing covertly at him out of the corner of my eye. He didn’t look particularly like a potential serial killer of lonely hitchhiking women; medium height, slightly overweight, slightly balding, hunched forward over the steering wheel as he drove. Of course, many serial killers look perfectly ordinary, but it’s not as though I didn’t know how to defend myself if necessary.
“I would’ve got a ride eventually,” I said. “After all, you gave me one, didn’t you?”
He snorted but made no further comment. For that I was grateful; I’ve had far too many rides with people who wouldn’t stop asking questions about why a young and pretty woman was out by herself at night and it usually led to them pressing their attentions on me. Often I’d had to take drastic action when I hadn’t wanted to.
The car speeded up, the engine settling into a deep rumble which made me realise it was a lot more powerful than it looked. The desert flashed past on either side into a blur. I couldn’t decide if we were over the speed limit or if he even cared.
Of course I had no intention of carrying on as his passenger to Broken Rock. I hadn’t the faintest idea what the place was like or any plans to go there. And I was beginning to regret getting in the car in the first place.
I didn’t actually want to do him any injustice. I wasn’t even hungry. I just wanted to be out of the car and by myself again.
I saw the lights of a town over on the eastern horizon, far to our right. Up ahead, at the very limit of the car’s headlights, the highway split, the right hand road curving away in the town’s general direction. I didn’t know what the town was, and didn’t care. It was just an opportunity to get away from the car.
“You know,” I said conversationally, “I’ve changed my mind. Could you please drop me off here? I’ll stop by at that town for a day or two.”
He said nothing, just pressed down on the accelerator. The car leaped forward even faster. The turn-off flashed past and was gone.
“I said,” I repeated, louder, “Can you please stop and…”
“I heard what you said,” he replied shortly, without even looking at me. We were going so fast that the headlights seemed pale knives carving a way through the solid mass of the night.
I was now worried, very worried indeed. Whatever he was up to, I had no desire to have any part of it. How could I have ever imagined him to be harmless? All right, I thought grimly, here goes.
“Why aren’t you stopping?” I asked. “I just want to get off.” I couldn’t see his eyes, which were fixed on the road ahead, but I let my voice deepen and roughen, putting all that I’d learnt over the years into the tone that hopefully would make him obey for a while, long enough for me to get out. Voice had served me well once or twice in the past. “Stop. I command you. Let me out now.”
“That trick won’t work on me, Countess.”
My heart seemed to stop, and my face went numb with shock. “Countess? You must be mistaking me for someone else.”
“No I’m not,” he replied. “Let’s not play games. I despise games. You are Mircalla, Grӓfin von Karnstein, the last Countess Karnstein of Styria. I’ve been tracking you for several days.”
My fingers curved into claws at the name, the name I hadn’t heard in over a hundred years, the name that was once mine. I felt my fangs begin to grow and pulled them back into my jaws with strong mental effort. “If you’re a Hunter,” I said, trying hard to sound calm, “I have to warn you that I’ve been tracked by Hunters many times. And, obviously, since I’m still here, I’ve always won.”
“I’m not a Hunter,” he said, “but we know all about your skill at fighting or evading them. The tricks you use are incredibly ingenious. That’s one of the reasons we want you.”
“We? Who is this we you talk about?”
“Haven’t you guessed by now?” Still blazing down the road, he turned his head at me, and let me look into his eyes at last. And if it had not been for the habits of so many years, the iron discipline I’d had to teach myself, I’d have screamed. As it is, I gasped.
His eyes were pools of infinite space, which seemed to go on for ever. They sucked me in, pushed me between galaxies and universes, tore me through black holes and spat me out in bursts of X rays and radio noise, They plucked me, pulled me, spun me around, and dropped me in a whirlpool where everything I’d ever known, everything I’d ever been, spun around and through me. I was more than merely naked. I was nothing.
I found that I was back in my seat, shuddering. He’d stopped the car and was regarding me patiently. His eyes were almost human now, but with distant sparks inside them, as though stars dwelt in his skull.
“What do you want of me?” I asked, when I could control my breathing enough to be able to speak. “Why have you been…tracking me?”
“Yes, that.” He smiled. His smile was very broad and had no humour in it at all. “You will do certain…tasks…for us, when we tell you. You can be assured these tasks are all within the scope of your normal proclivities.”
I fought to control my thoughts. “And what do I get in return?”
“Remember how it felt to go out in the sun?” he asked. “Remember when you could enjoy the day? I can give you that ability again. In fact, you’ll need it for what we’ll tell you to do.”
“I can go out in the day. The burning up thing is a myth.”
“I know. But you’re weakened during the day, barely able to function. You have none of your powers and abilities. You’re as weak as the commonest human being. What I’m offering is your full abilities and all your power, day and night. What do you say?’
My head swam with the need surging in me at the idea. To be able to be out in the day, with all my strength, free to do as I wanted! Who could ever gainsay that? When had I last felt the sun on my face without cringing away from it instinctively? When had I last been able to go out into the daylight without feeling as though I was suffocating and that weights hung by chains from my hands and feet? And yet…
I had to know. “What if I refuse your offer? Will you destroy me?”
“Destroy you?” He seemed genuinely astonished. “Now why would I do that? I’ll just drive us on and drop you off at Broken Rock, as you’d wanted. We do know others of your kind, you know, Countess. We’ll just approach one of them instead. But you…you’ll spend the rest of eternity wondering what might have been.”
“Fine.” I swallowed saliva compulsively to wet my suddenly parched throat. “All right then. I’ll do it.”
He nodded, as though he’d known it all along. “It won’t be all bad, you know. If you’re working for us, you have some measure of our protection. It isn’t a bad thing, having, uh, friends like us standing behind you.”
I ignored that. “What do you want me to do?”
“In here…” he reached across and tapped the glove compartment, “you’ll find a name, an address, and some photographs. Find this young woman, and turn her.”
“Turn her?”
“Right. Remember, you are not to kill her. If we wanted to kill her we’d have done so ourselves. Your task is to turn her.”
“Why do you want me to…”
He held up a hand, interrupting me. “That is not your concern. Your business is merely to find and turn her. That is all. Do you accept?”
I hesitated only a millisecond. The thought of sunlight drove nearly everything else out of my mind. “Yes,” I said. “Oh yes.”
“Good.” He reached out. “Give me your hand.”
I held out my right hand. He pressed a fingertip to the inside of my wrist. There was a moment of exquisite agony, too fleeting to be really sure it had been there, and then he dropped my hand. “It’s done.”
“You mean I’m…”
“As promised. Now, there are a couple of other things.” He held up a finger. “As long as you keep your side of the bargain, you will have the abilities I just gave you. Do you understand?”
I nodded.
“No. Say it, so it goes on the record. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“If you break the terms of the bargain, we will withdraw this benison.’ He held up another finger. “Secondly; I, or one of my colleagues, will contact you from time to time. When we do, you are to drop whatever you are doing, no matter how important it may seem to you, and follow our orders. Is that clear?”
“Yes. It is.”
“The rest of the time, though, you are free to do as you choose, and go anywhere you want.” He smiled that terrible smile again. “With your new abilities you have no limits in that.” A third finger went up. “Now, I am aware that you don’t use your real name anymore, Countess. What name would you rather use until we meet again? Millarca? Or…Carmilla?”
“I’m calling myself Marcilla these days. I’d like to go on with that for a little longer.”
“Very well, Marcilla.” He tapped the glove compartment again. If this had been a movie, his fingertip might have flashed or glowed, but since it wasn’t, it merely tapped. “All right, in here you’ll also find a passport made out in the name of Marcilla Karnstein.”
“Do I need a passport?”
He just stared at me. “…a passport,” he said eventually, “as well as a driver’s licence, registration, and insurance papers for this car. I wish you the best of luck, though I doubt you’ll need it.”
“Wait, what’s your na…” I looked up from the glove compartment, and he was gone. I was alone in the car.
I’d never even got to ask his identity, let alone just what he was, demon or angel.
Not that it mattered, really. Demon or angel, it’s impossible to decide which one’s more irredeemably vile.
_________________________________
ENID’S DIARY:
13th April:
I found a photo of Mam today, in the back of the bookshelf. I don’t know how it got there. It was from before she got sick, when she still had all her hair. I looked at it and I started crying, like a waterfall.
Stupid, stupid. She’s been gone for five years. Crying isn’t going to bring her back.
Bloody Trace called me on the phone while I was still crying my eyes out. Stupid cow. Hasn’t she heard of WhatsApp? I didn’t take the call and then she got all miffed. Sent me a lot of messages that I was freezing her out.
Can’t I have a moment to myself?
Trace is getting a bit much. It’s as though she thinks we were still twelve or something, sitting whispering in the back of old Mrs H’s History class. And she still has both her parents. It’s unfair, that’s what it is.
Da called this morning, said he’s in Spain or Portugal or somewhere, said he had to go. He always has to go. I can’t remember when I saw him last and I can’t be bothered to check this diary back to find out. I might as well be a full orphan, for all he’s here for me.
I wonder if he thinks of Mam at all.
I hate writing this bloody diary, but I promised Mam I would. She said it would bring me structure and organisation in my life. All it’s doing is proving to me how boring and pointless my life is.
Saw that girl again today. I wonder who she is.
16th April:
Trace came to the shop today, all giggly, as though she’d won the bloody lottery. Luckily Mrs B was out and there were no customers, or I’d have heard all about it afterwards, the fat old cow.
Said she’s found a new bloke, and he was fit and that. She finds a new bloke about once a month. Don’t know what she does with the old ones. Eats them, maybe, but then she’s thin as thin.
He’s taking her to dinner tomorrow night, she said, Why don’t I come along?
Why should I, I asked, you don’t want me mucking up your dinner, I’d just be in the way. I didn’t want to see her lovey-doveying with him either, just to show off to me. It makes me sick.
No you won’t, she said, there’s going to be someone else there, someone you want to meet.
Yeah? I asked, who?
Vivek, she said.
Vivek, I said, that Vivek? But he left town, didn’t he? Went to college doon south?
He’s back and you should take a look at him, she said. He’s real fit and all.
I shrugged, tried to look uninterested, but Trace noticed right away. You still fancy him, right, she asked, you do, right?
All right, I used to fancy him, but that was then. Don’t be such a git, I told her.
You’re coming, she asked, aren’t you?
Since you won’t give me a break until I say yes, I said, yes, I will, all right. I saw a shadow across the shop door and turned to see if a customer was about to come in.
But it was the girl again. She looked at me through the glass and walked on.
Who was that, I asked.
Trace turned around but the girl was gone already. Who, she asked right back.
Nobody, I said, some lass. I’ve been seeing her around the last few days, here and there. Maybe she’s doolally, now where do I meet you?
Then Mrs B came back in and Trace had to buy a potted cactus so I wouldn’t get told off for rabbiting at work.
I wish I could find a better job.
17th April:
Day started off bad and got worse. First, I forgot to take the biscuit and bread crumbs for the birds like I always do. Poor buggers have to eat, too, and they always wait for the crumbs at the corner. But I’d nothing for them.
Then Mrs B was mad from the moment I came in and got more and more livid all the while. She said I was winding her up and couldn’t even make the bouquet old Miss Haversham with the cats had ordered. I’ve been making bouquets for years, even before I started working here, and she never saw anything wrong with them before. I’d think it was her time o’ the month but the old bat’s certainly past all that by now, must be sixty if she’s a day.
So by afternoon I was, myself, fuming and when I got home I just wanted to put my feet up and forget Trace, but she called to nag at me and said she’d come and get me if I didn’t go. I didn’t have the energy to argue so I dolled myself up a bit and headed out.
Saw the girl right away, leaning on a lamp post at the corner. I walked right past her and she didn’t even turn her head to look as I went by. Deffo she’s either simple or a loonie. She dresses well, though; you can tell her gear is top quality though it’s just black jeans and light jacket over a dark tee.
Trace and her bloke were waiting for me near the bus station and we went to the new restaurant that used to be the post office until they closed it down. I forgot the bloke’s name the moment I heard it. Eric or Adam or something. He’s just like all of Trace’s other new blokes, thin as a wire and tall so he stoops. By this time next month she won’t remember his name herself, I bet.
So we sat and Vivek arrived. He’s got a short curly beard now. Good looking, yeah? The problem is he knows it. I didn’t much like the nosh, it was too spicy for me. When it was time to go he said he’d walk me home, as though I don’t know this town better than I do the back of my hand. But he’s fit and I was tired of Trace and Whatever not even paying a moment’s attention to me all evening so I said all right.
Then when we were out in the street and walking I saw that girl again. She was looking at me and just then Vivek decided he wanted to kiss me. I wouldn’t have minded but the girl was staring and so I said no, thanks, and turned my face away, but he caught hold of my shoulders and turned my mouth to his. He smelt of ciggie smoke. It felt like kissing a wet ashtray.
I saw that girl still watching and Vivek did too. He dropped my arms and walked away saying something about seeing me another time. Right, that’s what I wanted, more forced ashtray kisses.
Passed the girl on the way home. I thought she was about to say something to me but she didn’t.
Let Trace talk me into another do like today’s and I’ll give her an earful, see if I don’t.
19th April:
Saw her outside the house two mornings in a row. She watches when I feed the birds, doesn’t move a muscle or say a word.
Is the girl following me?
20th April:
Had a strange dream last night. I was in a big, very big, dark hall sort of space. There was no furniture but windows all the way down to the floor on two sides. Through them you could see that the sky was red, like there was a fire somewhere. On one side you could see a sea, the waves came right up to the window. On the other side there was a black plain, as far as the eye could see, but nothing grew there.
Except very far in the distance I could see something coming, shaped like a person walking. The light was too dim to see who or what that was, but I suddenly knew very well that I didn’t want to see it close up. I’d rather jump into the ocean through one of the other windows than let it get close enough to me to see what it was. But when I tried to open the sea-side windows they were all shut fast as fast, and I couldn’t even turn around because if I did I knew I would see that thing at the window behind me.
Woke with blood on my lips. I thought I’d maybe bitten myself, but couldn’t see a thing in the mirror. And old Mr Baker the dentist said my gums are all right, so it can’t have been them.
Mrs B was almost a little nice today. And I didn’t see the girl either.
Where does that girl go when I don’t see her?
_________________________________
MARCILLA:
She’s a nice young woman, and that’s the problem.
I don’t mind this town. Old grey stone buildings with steeply slanted roofs, neat streets, some of which are still cobbled…it all reminds me a bit of home, or, rather, what home used to be like. I suppose it’s all new buildings now in Styria, after all these years and all these wars.
It feels strange to be back in Europe again, after so long, just as it feels strange to be able to walk around in the sun without any discomfort. Even the air tastes different. Everything’s on a smaller scale, more crowded together, even in the woods where the trees grow cheek by jowl. It feels almost like a living museum sometimes. But then I’m a museum piece myself.
I remember how difficult it was to travel across the world in the old days, especially when one had to cross the seas, in a time when people actually believed those like me could exist. Now I merely parked my newly foisted on me car at a paid underground garage, took a shuttle bus to the airport, and used some of the money that had also been in the glove compartment for an economy ticket. I slept most of the way; the air hostesses were politely astonished at the woman who could sleep over sixteen hours without a break. What? No, of course we don’t sleep in graveyard dirt or coffins. What kind of savages do you take us for?
I was held up a little in customs. I think it was because I had almost no luggage, just my one bag, and so they decided I must be smuggling something. Then when they finally and unwillingly let me go, I rented a car and drove up here. And I found her easily enough.
Turning someone is nothing like what you see in the movies. Just biting someone won’t turn them; if it did the world would be full of our kind. It requires a process, and that process includes forming a physical and emotional connection. So, I had to watch her for days, to understand just what I would have to do to make that connection.
And, of course, there was the problem; she’s nice.
I don’t necessarily mind turning someone if I have to, if there’s no alternative. But it’s never easy for me, either. And it’s always really hard when that person is someone I don’t think deserves to be turned.
To be like me isn’t something I would wish on anyone.
Ah, anyway. She’s not that good looking, to be honest. Medium height, slightly plump, brown hair she doesn’t know what to do with so it’s always hanging in wisps across her forehead and down her, actually very sweet, face. But I’ve been watching her, and I’ve yet to see her do so much as tear a leaf casually from a tree. She is the type of person who would honestly balk at hurting a fly.
After turning it will be so hard for her, so terribly hard.
I wonder what they want her for, but I’m aware that I’ll never know.
Of course I’ve been discreet in watching her. At first I watched her so that she couldn’t see me, and then I watched her so she could see me, but others wouldn’t unless I wanted them to. Invisibility isn’t, of course, a thing that exists, but I haven’t got to be over three hundred years old without learning how to escape the notice of people I don’t want to notice me. Except, of course, when I do want them to notice me.
So when I saw that tall brown youth with the short beard kissing her, and she obviously not enjoying the experience, I let him see me, too, just enough to make him think that being somewhere else was a good idea. When she then walked towards me I was almost tempted into making the first move to direct contact, but she wasn’t ready for talking to me. Not yet.
But she’s intrigued by me, and why wouldn’t she be?
I don’t think I’ll have to wait much longer for us to get to know each other face to face.
_________________________________
ENID’S DIARY:
22nd April:
Trace has already got rid of Eric or Adam or whatever he was called. That must be a record. I asked her what made her dump him so fast and she said he didn’t like her singing. As though there’s anyone in the world can stand her singing. Why did you want to sing for him anyway, I asked. Because he asked me to, she said.
God, they deserve each other.
Been on the rag the last three days. When I got home from the shop my tampon had leaked and my knickers were soaked. Lucky I didn’t trail drops behind me all the way, I suppose. I know some pillocks who’d follow someone dripping like that, pointing and laughing.
It’s been three days since I’ve seen that girl. Hope she’s all right.
Wait…why did I write that? Why should I care if some daftie who likes to lean against walls and stare at me disappears?
I don’t know.
Da called today. When are you coming home, I asked. I’ve to go meet someone in Scotland on business, he said. But I heard a woman laughing in the background and I think I know why he never comes back anymore.
At least I don’t have to see it and admit that it exists. But after he rang off I threw myself on my bed and cried my eyes out for half an hour.
Whatever would Mam say?
23rd April:
The crimson tide is less today. I’m feeling a lot better, too, less bloated and that. I also haven’t cried for a whole day, not even when I thought of Da and that woman.
Looked around for the girl on the way to work. No sign of her. Took a walk around town afterwards, all the way to the park, and put down the crumbs for the birds while looking around, but still no sign of her.
I’m getting worried about her.
I must be going daft myself.
24th April:
Her name is Marcilla.
She’s sitting on my bed right now, wrapped in a blanky, her fingers curled around a cup of tea. Her clothes are in the washing machine. All of them.
In between writing this I keep looking up to watch her. She’s too busy staring into the tea to notice. It’s the first time I’ve been able to really get a close look at her.
How old is she? About my age, eighteen, nineteen? Twenty at most. She’s fit. I mean, really, really beautiful. The kind of face you’d expect on telly. Her skin’s smooth as smooth, but quite pale. Not white as white; when she blushed her cheeks seemed to glow from inside. Her hair…I think it’d feel like black silk if I ran my fingers through it. I’d kill for hair and skin like that.
Her mouth’s very red, but it’s not lipstick. When my hand brushed her face when I was trying to pick her up not one smudge of it got on my skin. It must be just naturally red like that.
The oddest thing is her eyes. They’re really dark red, I mean almost like dried blood. I want to ask if she’s an albino but that’s none of my business, she might say, and she’d be right.
So how did she get to be in my bed, wearing a blanky and nothing underneath but a hottie, cradling a mug of tea?
Last night I had another bad dream. Not like the one with the hall, in this one I was walking through woods, and I knew them, these were the woods behind the railway lines on the south of town, the ones the wild lads go to and scag themselves up. I wouldn’t go there myself, even during the day, but this was at night. And when I touched a tree it was sticky wet. I could feel the wet stickiness on my hand, even in the dream, though I knew it was a dream.
Then I heard someone crying. Not like she was crying because she was sad, crying because she was hurt, maybe bad hurt.
Of course I knew at once it was the girl. I walked towards her cries and found her lying on the ground, all her clothes muddy and soaked in blood. She’d been attacked, was my first thought, maybe she was dying. When she heard me coming she raised her head and looked at me, and I ran to her. But when I reached out to help her up she disappeared like smoke into the air. I kept running about looking for her but didn’t find her again.
Then I woke up and it was really early in the morning, maybe five, and cold like ice. I should’ve just rolled over, tucked in the blankies, and gone back to sleep, especially since it’s Sunday and the shop’s closed. But I couldn’t. What if the girl was lying out there, attacked and hurt like that? I needed to go look for her in the woods and find out.
Daft, I know. I’m a numpty. But I couldn’t leave her like that. If I were lying in the woods like that…I’d want someone to come for me.
I heard the whimpering before I even opened the front door. It was really faint, like a puppy perhaps, hurt in the ginnel between our house and that thick couple who moved in last month, the ones who never pull their curtains when they go at it in bed.
Well, I saw her immediately. She was lying in the ginnel, in the big pool of mud that’s always there except in summer, curled up into a ball, arms around her knees and that. She was covered in mud and water and when I ran to pick her up she was so cold she felt like ice.
Can’t say how I got her indoors, not really. I just remember her collapsing on the living room floor in front of the telly. She was soaked through. I began to drag her clothes off but she revived enough to start getting them off herself, so I went to get a couple of towels soaked in hot water so I could wipe her down. When I came back, she was starkers.
I’ve seen other girls naked before, of course. I’ve even seen Trace bare a couple of times, when she stayed over and didn’t bother to shut the bathroom door. But I never saw anyone even a bit as lush as this lass. I can’t even explain how good she looked, like a statue that you see in museums, only alive. Her jugs stuck out like pears, with nipples that were stiff with the cold, like little bullets. Her tummy was flat – wish mine were as flat! – and her fanny shaved, so I could see her slit. I tried not to stare at it but I think she saw me ogling. Didn’t try to cover herself up, though. She let me wipe her down and then I led her to my room, gave her the blanky and the hottie, popped her clothes and the towels in the wash. Her threads are top quality, as I’d thought, and I think her boots would cost me six months’ pay. Anyway, I got her the tea. Only then did we start talking.
Marcilla, she said her name was. She’s got an accent, can’t place it but definitely not from around here. With that name she’s probably not even a Brit. She said she didn’t know how she’d come to be in the ginnel, just said she’d been cold and hungry and lost in the woods and must have somehow wandered here in the darkness. Said she’d never been so cold in her life.
I want to hug her to warm her.
24th April {Later}:
I’ve asked her to stay with me for now. Can’t turn her away when she’s like this, can I? But even if I could, I don’t want to.
Trace called, said let’s go out tonight to the movies. Not on your life, I told her, Aunt Flo’s still hanging around and I’ve got the cramps from her.
I don’t want to see Trace right now.
Marcilla’s eaten not a thing all day. I wonder what she’d like for dinner.
_________________________________
MARCILLA:
I’m with her. I’m in.
I hate having to resort to this kind of subterfuge, but it couldn’t be helped. I was hoping to get close enough to her to talk to her by the middle of the week, but then I smelt the sharp, metallic tang of her menstruation starting. It hung like a pall in the air inside her bedroom window. The smell of blood is something I still have difficulty controlling myself around. It takes so much effort that I can’t devote the attention necessary to much else.
I’d been inside her bedroom before. I’d slipped below her door like a slip of shadow, and kissed her lips as she slept, the kiss of dreams so that she’d, hopefully, dream of me. It doesn’t usually work the first time, and it didn’t that time either. Whatever she dreamt of, it left her disturbed and unhappy.
But I’d watched her since then, got to know more about her, and this time I’d been sure I’d plant the image of me in her dreams. But her bedroom air was already heavy and metallic with the tang of her menses, and I’d had to leave as quickly as I came before I lost self-control with the urge to feed.
For the next several days I had to stay away from her. I drove my rental car up to Glasgow, and in Easterhouse and Drumchapel found food among the chavs that came out after dark. I didn’t kill any, of course; that kind of thing draws attention. I never kill except when I have to. But those hooligans wouldn’t be getting around much for a few days after I was done with them. And maybe they’d learn to leave women out alone at night in peace.
Last night I drove back. I parked the car where I always did, in a by-lane outside town where nobody would find it. Then I walked to her home, slipped in through the cracks, and kissed her into dreams. I hoped this time I would be successful, but, standing over her as she slept, I felt a pang of regret so deep it hurt me to my marrow.
It couldn’t be helped. I’d been told what to do.
Slipping back outside, I’d been about to go on my way, when I saw the muddy patch, and then it all came together. I revised my plans on the spot. She was a nice person, the kind who would help someone hurt. I would use that to get to her.
And so here I am.
She’s sitting opposite me now, scribbling away in her diary and believing I’m not watching her through the drifting steam rising from this tea I haven’t actually drunk. I’ve not been so close to her before, or – at least so she must believe – so vulnerable, completely naked under this blanket, and, as far as she knows, disoriented, sick, and hurting. And yet she never hesitated an instant in helping me, or thought even for a moment of calling the authorities. I didn’t have to prompt her with Voice at all.
Damn it. She really is a good person, and what I’ll do to her is abominable.
Sometimes I hate what I am.
_________________________________
ENID’S DIARY:
25th April {Morning}:
Last night I woke up in the small hours and went to the WC. When I came back, Marcilla was sitting in the chair by my window, looking out.
Can’t you sleep, I asked her. I’d given her Da’s bed in his bedroom (I don’t think of it as Mam’s, no longer. She’s never going to use it again, is she?) And I’d rather Marcilla used it than that woman who Da’ll bring back here sooner or later, right? But here she was, fully dressed except for her boots and socks, tilted back in the chair with her feet propped on the windowsill.
No, she said, I don’t want to sleep anymore anyway, not now.
What are you looking at, there’s nothing out there, I told her.
A lot more than you think, she said, the night’s a lot more interesting than the day. I got into bed and she sat down on the edge of the bed, looking down at me. Some car came along the street and the headlight bounced off the wall and into her red eyes. They glowed like fire.
You have such pretty eyes, I found myself saying, I wish I had eyes like yours. She bent over me slightly and smiled. Why, thank you, Enid, she said, you’re a very lovely person.
Now that’s a lie, I know I’m a fat cow, everyone says so, even Trace, I started saying, but she put her finger against my lips. Don’t say a word, she said, that’s not true. She leaned over me and her hair fell like a curtain over my face, but I could still feel her eyes.
And then she kissed me.
It was just a moment’s touch of our lips. I’ve never been kissed by a girl before, but her lips were soft as soft, not like the way the lads kiss, not like Vivek. I started to open my mouth to hers, but she jerked back and sat up. I’m sorry, she said, that was presumptuous of me, I shouldn’t have done that.
No, I said, I liked it, and I’d have reached out my arms to pull her to me for another kiss, a proper one, but she jumped up from the bed and sat back in the chair and was looking down at her hands. Why do you talk so posh, I asked, to change the subject, and what’s that accent, anyway? Where are you from?
Styria, she said. I thought she said Syria and was going to ask if she’d fled the war but she said, no, Styria, it’s in Austria, but I’ve been all over the world.
Lucky for you, I said, I’ve not even been to London except the once. I wish I could get out of here and travel. I sat up and hugged my knees. Your parents travelling with you, are they?
She laughed a little. First time I heard her laugh. No, she said, my parents died a long time ago. Don’t be sorry, she said, before I could even open my mouth, it was so long ago that I don’t even remember them.
My Mam died, I said, but I remember her. I miss her every day. When I said that I suddenly began to cry. And next thing was she was back in bed holding me and I was crying my eyes out on her shoulder. There, she said, let it out, I’m here, I’ll be with you.
Mam was the only person who’d held me like that, I started to explain, but that only made me cry harder. And she held me and rubbed my neck and shoulders for I don’t know how long. I must have fallen asleep like that because when I opened my eyes it was almost going dawn and Marcilla wasn’t there sitting beside me.
At first I thought she’d gone to bed, and then I was suddenly terrified that she’d left, so I jumped out of bed and ran, in my nightie and barefoot, to check Da’s room, but the bed was empty. Then I ran down to the front door, but it was locked from the inside. I was about to run to check the back door when I heard her behind me, saying Why, Enid, what’s the matter?
And there she was standing behind me, between me and the front door.
Where had she been and how did she get there?
I was looking for you, I said, I thought you’d left.
I just went for a walk, she said, I wouldn’t leave without telling you. Now come up to bed.
She took me up, and sat beside me stroking my head, and the next thing I knew it was full morning and she was sitting on the side of the bed looking at me.
_________________________________
MARCILLA:
What the hell am I doing?
I came to her room in the night, silent in my bare feet, to seed her dreams further, to make her dream of me; but she was gone. I could hear the toilet flushing so I sat waiting till she came back. I talked to her when she got into bed, and all of a sudden she told me that my eyes were pretty.
This took my breath away. Nobody says my eyes are pretty. Especially in the night, when they glow red, my prey are terrified of them; of me. But this girl, helpless in her bed, her throat pulsing with blood, had only one thought of them, that they were lovely.
Who was the last person to say such a thing? My mind slipped back over years and decades and two long centuries, to the time I was with another girl, the same age as this one, in a bedroom considerably more ornate than this, in a castle whose walls were long crumbled. For a moment that girl’s face seemed to shine in this one’s; my heart, hardened as it is by far too much pain, wrenched in my chest, and before I knew what I was doing I had pressed my lips to hers.
It was far too much, too soon. I knew that immediately, and threw myself back, but the damage was done.
Not to her, to me.
As I held her in my arms as she cried for her dead mother, as I felt her warm live body shudder in my embrace, I realised the bitter truth.
After more years than I can remember, I am falling in love again. I’m falling in love with her.
I thought about this when she finally fell asleep. It had been a couple of days since I had fed, and I could have easily fed from her, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Like a slip of shadow, I left the house and drifted down the street until I found the house of the woman who owned the florist’s, the one who never found the charity of mind to treat Enid well, for all that the girl did most of the work. I slid in through her bedroom window and fed from her as she slept; not too much, not so much as to do her lasting harm, but she wouldn’t have the energy to be nasty for a few days.
I don’t always feed only from those who deserve it, of course, but when I can I do. It makes me feel a little better about all the other things.
Then I returned, hoping Enid was still asleep, only to hear her panicked voice calling my name.
Now I’m sitting by her, watching her sleep, her eyelids flicker in dreams, and my heart beats with every pulse of hers.
Again, what the hell am I doing?
_________________________________
ENID’S DIARY:
25th April {Evening}:
I worked Saturday, so I had today off. Marcilla slept a bit – in my bed – while I was writing in my diary, visiting the loo, showering and that. By the time she got up it was past eleven. She went to bathe and I made breakfast, orange juice, toast and omelettes, nothing too fancy. That’s too much for me, she said when she saw it. Of course not, I said, you need to eat, you didn’t have anything last night, either.
She didn’t really eat much, in fact apart from a few sips of juice and a nibble or two at the toast she didn’t really eat anything at all. I’ll be fine, she said, I should go.
No, I said, I need you to stay. Please don’t go. I reached out to catch her arm. I need you. I can’t be alone. Please stay, at least for today.
And she stayed.
Tell me about your travels, I asked her, but I hardly even listened to what she was saying. I just kept looking at her and feeling more and more as though I couldn’t bear to be without her ever again.
Then Trace called. So, she said, you missed a good movie last night, I’m coming over tonight to your house, we can go out for a bit. I’m bored.
No, I said, don’t do that, I don’t want to go out. You can’t possibly still be on the rag, she said, but suit yourself, I’ll get some wine, we can sit and watch sexy films on the telly, don’t tell me you don’t want to do that. Please, Trace, I said, I don’t want you coming here tonight. Trace fell silent for a bit and then suddenly she said, Ooooooh, I get it, you’re going to have a lad over and get his thing inside you, right? Who’s it, Vivek?
Shut your gob, I said, I don’t have anything to do with him anyway; but she only laughed and said, tell him I said hello and try to not get up the spout, and called off.
I’ve had enough of Trace’s rubbish, I realised. Or maybe I knew a long time ago and it only took being with someone like Marcilla to make me admit it to myself.
Who was that, Marcilla asked, Enid, you look a little annoyed. Am I interrupting plans you had?
No, it’s just that mate of mine, you’ve seen us together at the shop. And I don’t think she’s really my mate anymore. Saying that reminded me that Marcilla had been around for days everywhere I was and then she wasn’t. I missed you, I said.
You did? she asked. When?
When you disappeared for a few days. I was worried about you. I looked all over town for you. I was terrified something had happened to you.
She was silent for a long time and I was beginning to think she was miffed when she suddenly got up and went to the door.
Enid, she said, with her back to me, I’m going to ask you something, please think hard before you answer. I can walk out of here right now and I promise you’ll never see me again. Or I can stay, but then your life will never be the same again, I can promise you that, too. What do you want me to do?
If anyone else had asked that I’d have been frit out of my mind. But with her I didn’t even have to hesitate, not for a moment. Stay, I said. Never leave me. Stay.
Next thing I knew was that I was lying on the floor and she was kneeling by my side, kissing my eyes and mouth over and over, and when I was able to think again I could hear her talking.
Enid, she said, Enid, are you all right?
I am now, I said, more than I ever was, as long as you aren’t going to go away.
You’ll regret it, she said. Someday you’ll want a boyfriend, a husband; you’ll want children. You’ll want to grow old with someone you love.
I thought back to Da and his woman and how he never even mentioned Mam anymore. No I won’t, I said.
You might change your mind, she said. You’ll change your mind and then it may be too late.
I don’t know, I said, but I know one thing. I can’t be without you ever again.
She looked at me with an expression I never saw before. You won’t be, she said. If anyone comes between us I’ll tear them to pieces.
And I think I believe her, too.
_________________________________
MARCILLA:
I sit here on the floor kissing Enid over and over, trying to bring her back from her faint, and at last I decide, all right, if I’m in love again, I’m in love again, there’s nothing I can do about that. So I might as well embrace it.
Her words hit me like a blow, a harder blow than I’d felt in longer than I remember, when she said she’d missed me and was looking over town for me. The only thing people feel for me is relief that I’m no longer there – unless they’re Hunters, who want to find me to kill me. In all of the eternity my existence seems to have stretched, who last told me that she missed me? I suddenly realised that I could still cry, and that my eyes were filling with tears.
So I gave her a chance. Let the creature who gave me that accursed car ride take away my daytime again, but if she wanted me to leave, I would. I asked her, standing with my back to her so she wouldn’t see the tears trembling in my eyes, the tears which made the door before me waver. But she said she wanted me to stay.
And then she fainted.
Oh, Enid, light of my life, I love you.
I love your stringy hair, your sweet face, your tiny ears, your gently swelling belly, your long artistic fingers that probably never held a paintbrush since you were a schoolgirl, your stubby pink-nail-polished toes. Damn you, and damn me for what I must do to you, but I love you.
I tell you that I love you in between kisses, while you sigh and mumble and fight your way back to consciousness, and at last you open your eyes. And I tell you what I will do to anyone who wants to separate us.
There’s no holding back now, for either of us.
I pick you up off the floor and take you upstairs to your bedroom, uncaring if you notice how preternaturally strong I am. The bed, beside which I’ve stood watching you sleep, is the sacrificial altar on which we will pledge ourselves to each other. Your fingers fumble at my clothes, unsure and unpractised to undressing another person. I kiss your forehead, your eyes, I lick down the angle of your jaw and on to your throat. You convulse as I kiss the side of your neck, shuddering and moaning, your knees going weak. You fling your arms around my neck, sagging, as I kiss you there again.
“Oh,” you moan in ecstasy. I am only used to hearing moans of fear. Your arousal sends pulses of pleasure through my body and I kiss you again, my tongue tracing the hollow over your collar bone. “Oh, Marcilla.”
“Shhhh,” I whisper in your ear, “relax. Don’t worry about a thing. Let me undress you. Let me see you naked.”
Piece by piece, I slide off your clothes, you making no attempt to resist. Your tee comes off, leaving your breasts, which I’ve never yet seen, encased in a plain white bra. You sigh, thrusting your chest out at me for me to unhook the harness, but you’ll have to wait, my darling, you’ll have to wait a moment for that. I push you on your back on your bed, my fingers curl around the waistband of your tracksuit bottoms, and I pull them off in one smooth motion, one of your socks coming off with it. I strip the other off your pretty little left foot, leaving you in your underwear and nothing else.
I lie down on top of you, most of my clothes still on, kissing your brow, your eyes, the tip of your nose, while your hands pluck at the back of my shirt, trying to pull it off. Your skin is deliciously salt to my tongue, your moans of passion to my ears. When my mouth finds the crease of your armpit, you buck against me as my tongue tickles you, and your fingers clutch at me with more strength than I knew you had.
I rub your breasts through the fabric of your brassiere, feel your nipples harden through the fabric, your ribs rising and falling faster and faster as your breath quickens. I take your hand and kiss it, putting each finger in turn in my mouth and rolling my tongue over it, while my other hand traces circles down your abdomen and dips into your navel. My nostrils fill with the aroma of your arousal, the sex smell permeating the air.
I kiss down your ribs, using the tip of my tongue to tickle your side, making you wriggle. When I reach your hips you raise them into the air, inviting me to remove your knickers; but not yet, I’ll keep you in anticipation for a little longer. I slide myself down your legs, planting kisses along the insides of your thighs, down to your ankles, my lips and tongue tracing the arch of your foot down to your toes. I plant little kisses to the tip of each toe before moving my mouth to your other foot and repeating the process, in the opposite direction.
“Marcilla,” you gasp, “please….I can’t wait anymore.”
By now my own arousal has reached the point that I’m finding it hard to hold back any longer. Keeling, I grasp your shoulders and pull you up enough so that I can reach behind you to unhook your bra. I caress your sides as I move the straps over your shoulders and down your arms, so that your breasts are finally revealed to my view.
“They’re beautiful, Enid,” I tell you, my hands tracing down their slopes to your nipples, hard and proud in the middle of your large pink areolae, so different from my own modest brown ones. I lift your breasts to my mouth one by one, licking and sucking each nipple in turn as my hands caress your breasts’ weight. You buck violently under me, throwing your arms around my neck and pressing your lips against mine, and then fall back, panting.
“I’m sorry…” you whisper. “I’m sorry I finished so soon.”
“It’s just beginning,” I say, as I kiss my way back down your body, until I reach your knickers. The white cloth is so soaked with your fluids that it is almost transparent over your cleft, outlining your labia perfectly. I pull the waistband down, and you raise your hips slightly as I roll the little garment down your thighs, over your knees, up your raised shins and off your feet. You sigh and let your thighs fall open, exposing your little treasure to my view, its pink-sloped valley surmounted by a tuft of brown hair.
“Marcilla…” you whisper, and gesture at me. “Take those off. I want to see you, too.”
I’m more than glad to oblige. My body is eager for your eyes. In a moment or two I’m as nude as you, my clothes in a heap on the floor at the foot of your bed. I slip into bed and lie next to you, propped on one elbow, my fingertip making little circles on the tip of your nipple. You raise your head to let me kiss your upturned mouth. My tongue presses through your parted lips.
You sigh. “I…I don’t know what to do for you. I’ve never been with a girl before.”
“Don’t worry about a thing,” I tell you again. “We have all the time in the world. Just lie back and let me do everything.”
Slipping down between your legs, I spread your thighs a little further apart with my hands, to give myself room to reach your vulva. Your clitoris engorged and waiting, pops out of its hood. You jump a little as I flick it with my tongue, before licking down your cleft. You’re so wet that I go right to sliding one finger, and then two, into your warm, waiting vagina, while my tongue returns to your clit.
You begin to twist and moan as my fingers slide in and out of you, my tongue on your clitoris alternating between flicking back and forth and circling the tip. I can feel the orgasm coming for you before you do yourself, the tension in your pelvis building up to a crest, so I’m ready when you begin thrusting violently against my face and crying out, your pleasure making me thrill inside at the fact that I’m giving it to you.
Finally you lie back, spent, and it’s my turn. Kneeling between your legs, I lift your left leg over my shoulder, lean back on my right hand, and thrust my hip forward so my vulva is pushed against yours. Unhurriedly, holding back despite my own rising passion, I rub myself on you, our wet lips and the nubs of our clitorises sliding over each other. I look at your face, the look of wonder and passion in your eyes pushing me towards the edge. Unable to wait any longer, I begin thrusting harder, my hips grinding in circles against yours. My orgasm is coming, harder than I’ve felt it in many years, and when it strikes like liquid fire between my legs, I throw my head back and cry out involuntarily, shaking with the force of it, wave after wave of pleasure building and breaking.
A little later, I’m lying next to you, our legs entwined, my pubic mound pressed against your thigh, my arms around you. I could do it now, I think, the conditions are right, I could just do it now, but I don’t want to, not without you knowing what you’re in for. How can I tell you? How will you ever love me after that?
“I never knew it would be like this,” you sigh, looking up at the ceiling. Then you turn your head towards me.
“Marcilla,” you say, “I need to tell you something.”
“Yes, my love?” I murmur.
You sit up and look down at me. “I know what you are.”
_________________________________
ENID’S DIARY:
25th April {Early Morning}:
This will probably be the last time I’ll be writing in this diary.
Last night Marcilla and I did it. I’ve done it before, with lads, a couple of times, so I wasn’t a virgin, but I’d never done it with a girl before. I don’t have the words to explain how good it felt but I don’t think I can ever forget it, even if I tried.
Later, when we were lying naked in bed, I finally felt ready to tell her. I know what you are, I said.
What do you think I am, she asked.
So I told her.
And why do you think so, she asked.
Please, Marcilla, I said, I love you, but don’t treat me as if I were a daftie. I’m not like Trace either, who’s never touched a book since school. You look nineteen but you say your parents died so long ago you don’t remember them, you’ve been all over the world, you eat nothing, you disappear at odd hours and then come back from nowhere, your eyes glow in the dark. And then when you came just now and cried out, I saw your fangs. How clever do you think I have to be?
So, she said, you know, and you still want to be with me?
Of course I do, I said, I love you.
It isn’t an easy life, she said. We have to hide our identities all the time, we can’t stay in one place for long, and we have to keep doing awful things. It’s not glamorous at all, not like the movies. Everything you used to know crumbles and dies, everything you know will be dust one day, but you have to go on anyway. Do you want that?
I don’t care, I said, I love you.
And I love you, she said, her words making my body tingle down to my toes. That’s why I’m telling you again, think about this while you still can. Think of what you’ll be giving up.
I thought of what I’d be giving up. Crying alone in my bed nights, fratching with Trace about blokes, being bollocked by old Mrs B for no reason, missing Mam, Da coming home someday with some woman I’d hate at first sight. And on top of that, knowing what I’d be throwing away if I said no. I laughed, only it wasn’t a laugh, not really.
I’m sure, I said, I can’t be surer if I tried. I’m yours, I’m giving myself to you of my own free will, and I want to be yours always.
She sighed. In that case, she said, lie back, my darling, and close your eyes.
I did, stretching my head back so she could get at my throat all the easier, but instead I felt sudden sharp pain, like two needles, not in my neck but in my tit. Then the pain was gone and I felt a different thing, like sweet liquid fire all over me, spreading from my head to my feet and back again, only to pulse in my centre, in my fanny, and out again. I couldn’t move or do aught else but breathe, as the fire pulsed, back and forth, finally settling in my fanny and it made me come, helplessly, again and again and again.
At some point I think I fainted, because the next thing I remember is her kissing my eyes. Enid, she said, it’s done, you can get up now.
I did. I feel no different, I said.
You will, she told me. I’ll teach you your powers, and all you’ll need to know. But we have to leave soon. We can’t stay here anymore.
That’s fine, I said, I don’t want to stay either. What do I need to pack?
So I took what she said, almost nothing except my papers, dressed in a trackie and trainers, and we’re about to leave.
I’ll send a couple of messages once I’m done writing this. First, to Da, to tell him I’m going away and he can bring his dolly bird here whenever he wants because I won’t be back, not ever.
Then, to Trace, saying I hope she has a great life, that she was a good mate (I can lie about things if it’s just to make her feel good, can’t I?) and that she’ll someday meet the bloke for her. I really hope she does that.
And, maybe, one last, to old Mrs B, to tell her that she can blooming well do her own bloody bouquets from now on.
As I said, this is probably the last time I’ll ever write in this diary. I’ll take it along with me, though, as a memory, along with that photo of Mam. But I think Marcilla and I will make more memories together, and I won’t need a diary for that.
Marcilla is waiting at the door, looking impatiently over her shoulder at me. I’m coming, my heart.
I’m coming.
_________________________________
MARCILLA:
We’d just reached where I’d parked my rental car when it happened.
Somehow, I knew it would. In the back of my mind I’d expected it.
He was half-sitting on the bonnet, his arms crossed over his chest, and he greeted us with a grin.
“You get around, I see,” I said. “What do you want?”
“You did what I asked you to, Countess,” he said, “so I just came to congratulate you.”
“Countess?” Enid said, looking from him to me. “Who’s this? What does he mean, Countess?”
“I’ll tell you later. It’s not important anyway.” I turned back to him. “I promised to turn her. I did not promise to give her to you. She’s mine, not yours, and that’s how she’ll stay.”
I didn’t know how he’d respond. I half expected him to try to grab Enid’s arm and drag her away, and I instinctively put myself between her and him. But instead, he began to laugh.
“Oh, this is precious. You really imagine you’ve just defied us?”
“What the hell do you mean?” If I’d thought it would do any good, at that moment I’d have gone for him with my fangs to tear his throat out.
“Just that, instead of one, we now have two of you to do our bidding, and since you’re in love, you ‘ll do it for each other.” He pointed at Enid. “She, too, has the same powers I gave you as of this moment, and the same obligations. I’ll be visiting you again.” And, like a bursting bubble, he was gone.
“What?” Enid said, open mouthed with astonishment. I couldn’t blame her. “What was that?”
“Get in the car, love,” I said. “I’ll tell you all about it as I drive.”
_________________________________
MARCILLA and ENID:
The days have passed after that, one after the other, like a bird’s flapping wing.
Years? Centuries? They might as well be the same thing.
We don’t keep track of the countries our feet have trod any longer, the things we’ve done. We’ve seen everything already, and we’ll see it all again.
I am, we are, Marcilla. I am, we are, Millarca. I am, we are, Carmilla.
I am, we are, Mircalla, Grӓfin von Karnstein. We are she as well.
And I am, we are, Enid.
We have each other, and as we step onwards into the future, that is all that matters.
That is the only thing.
_________________________________
[Author’s note:
Mircalla, Grӓfin von Karnstein, is my favourite lesbian fictional character of all time. I fell in love with her the moment I first read Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu’s Carmilla as a fourteen year old many years ago. I am proud to bring her into the 21st Century, and if readers are willing, I’d be happy to keep her adventures going.
– Anna R.]
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