In this excerpt from Her Undying Thirst, our narrator, Laura Bancroft, meets Carmilla for the first time. For background, Josef is a friend of Laura’s father Edward, Emma is Josef’s niece/ward (and Laura’s best friend), and Franz is Emma’s suitor.

First Sight

In the autumn after I turned twenty-one, we attended the party that changed my life irrevocably. Six leagues northwest of the old Karnstein village, Count Carlsfeld hosted a fete in honor of Archduke Charles. It was an elaborate and well-attended affair, with nobles from throughout Austria flocking to pay homage to the illustrious man.

Josef had convinced my father to attend, given the notable personages who would be in attendance – not the least of which was the Archduke himself, under whom both Josef and my father had served – but once there, my father was discomfited by the sheer scale of the festivities. He stayed close to me and Emma, saying little but smiling occasionally at Emma’s chatter.

The opulence of the Count’s ballroom was staggering. Hundreds of charming paper lanterns hung like stars above us, illuminating the jewels and silks of the dancers swirling below. A full chamber orchestra played lively waltzes one after another without pause. My father and Josef went to pay their respects to the Archduke, while Emma and I danced until our feet were sore and we could no longer catch our breath. Then Emma led me and Franz to our assigned table, where my father was already seated. We were on the opposite side of the room from the Archduke and the Carlsfelds, which meant that we could gossip without repercussion, though my father frowned more than once at the tone of Franz’s and Emma’s banter. Josef was nowhere to be found.

A low, thrilling voice suddenly came from behind me. “Excuse me, but would you mind if we sat with you?”

I turned. A pair of night-black eyes, ringed with thick, dark lashes, was fixed on me. They sparkled above a full, wry mouth, in an oval face that was as white and smooth as porcelain.  Dark hair – the same color as my mother’s, I realized with a start – fell prettily over her smooth shoulders, and her dress of garnet-hued silk dipped dangerously low, revealing the round tops of her breasts. My heart pounded loudly in my ears, and she arched a brow and tilted her head as if she could hear it. “I do apologize, but our RSVP was misplaced, and our poor host and hostess have not assigned us seats.”

There was a woman standing beside her, older but no less beautiful. This woman offered her hand to my father and said, “I’m Countess Anna Mueller, and this is my daughter Carmilla. We are most pleased to make your acquaintance.”

My father stood awkwardly, took her hand, and bowed over it. “Edward Bancroft,” he said. He gestured toward me. “This is my daughter Laura.”

The others stood to make their formal introductions just as Josef appeared, both hands occupied with shining crystal goblets full of wine. “Oh, my dear lady!” he said to the Countess, somewhat too loudly (Emma and I exchanged a glance, wondering how much wine he had already consumed). “I am glad you found your way to the table after all! Here,” he said, placing one of the wine glasses at an empty place setting. “Edward, you oaf,” he chided, “pull out the lady’s chair for her!”

Startled, my father hastened to obey, while Franz pulled out the remaining chair for Carmilla.

She hadn’t taken her eyes off me. They moved brazenly from my eyes to my stiffly-coiffed golden curls, from the earrings glittering in my ears down my neck to the neckline of my emerald-green dress. Then her eyes returned to mine again, and the tip of her pink tongue came forth, moistening her lips before they curved upward into a knowing smile.

I shivered, though heat was flooding my cheeks, and I landed on my chair rather less gracefully than I intended as we all took our seats.

The rest of the night passed in a blur. I watched in amazement as the two ladies Mueller managed to coax my father out of his shell. After a sumptuous appetizer we all danced again, laughing boldly in the candlelight and then running outside to gulp fresh, cold air under the shimmering stars. Carmilla engaged everyone in conversation with a charm that was so easy it was almost languid, and when she threw back her head and sent forth her deep, throaty laugh, it sent a thrill through my body, like lightning striking fire into the very roots of a tree.

When we had settled at the table again to enjoy the main course, Emma aimed her attentions at a young woman across the room. “Do you see that dress?” she asked conspiratorially.

“Which one?” Franz asked.

“That one,” Emma said, gesturing with her head until we had all taken note of the yellow dress that was somewhat ragged and very out of fashion. She giggled. “I wouldn’t be caught dead in that thing.”

“Emma,” I chided. “You shouldn’t be so unkind. We don’t know the poor girl’s situation.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” she said, stuffing a bite of venison in her mouth.

I glanced at Carmilla, who was appraising me with frank admiration at this exchange. My eyes returned hastily to my plate, and I took a bite of roasted vegetables.

Emma was not too drunk to notice my interest. “No one could fault Miss Mueller’s fashion, though,” she said. “Tell me, Carmilla, where have you been all these years? You seem so comfortable! One would think you had been to thousands of parties, though you cannot be much older than Laura and myself.”

Carmilla smiled. “You aren’t asking me to confess my age, are you? I might be older than you think.”

“With a mother so young and beautiful, it cannot be so!” Josef protested, his leg pressed against the leg of the aforementioned mother, who bowed her head in acknowledgement at his compliment. “It is strange, though. We have not seen you at other events, and yet everyone here seems to know you.”

The Countess laughed. “I cannot say why they find us so familiar. Perhaps we have common faces.”

Nothing could be less likely, I thought to myself.

“But I can explain why you have not seen us before,” the Countess continued. “My poor child suffers from a terrible illness.”

Carmilla’s confident smile faltered a little.

“Surely not!” Josef interrupted. “I’ve never laid eyes on a woman so radiant!”

His brazenness occasioned an embarrassed glance from Emma, but there was no denying that he was right. Carmilla glowed as if lit by an inner fire, her words sparkled with wit, and she moved as gracefully as a trained dancer.

“It comes and goes,” Carmilla explained. “When it has me in its clutches, I can barely move for days on end, and I think to myself that death must be preferable. But when I am freed from its grasp, life is all the sweeter.”

“Oh, you poor thing!” Emma said. “I know exactly what you mean. I nearly died from influenza a few years ago, and it was so ghastly that I wished for death more than once.” She put her arms around my waist and pulled me into an awkward sideways embrace. “If it hadn’t been for my dearest Laura, I don’t think I would have ever recovered.” Then she kissed my cheek.

Hot blood suffused my face. If I hadn’t been entirely incapable of tearing my gaze away from Carmilla, I wouldn’t have seen the slight, momentary narrowing of her eyes.

“Do you two live together?” Carmilla asked.

“Oh, no!” Emma cried. “Although that would be lovely indeed, wouldn’t it, Laura? Only if we stayed at my house, though. The Bancrofts’ schloss is so quiet and deserted,” she explained to Carmilla. “I don’t know how she stands it!”

“It’s not so bad,” I said softly.

“Oh?” Carmilla asked, cocking her head. “Tell me more.” She leaned forward, her eyes bright and warm. The intensity of her gaze made me tremble, and I lowered my eyes before answering.

“Well, there’s a sort of wild beauty to it. The solitude, the quiet, the cold. I feel like I can actually think there.”

“Unlike here!” Emma said. Carmilla glared at her as though she had interrupted me, although in truth I was glad to let someone else carry on the conversation. “But we’re not meant to think here,” Emma continued, grasping my hand and Franz’s and pulling us up from the table. “We’re meant to dance! Come on!”

I watched halfheartedly as Emma and Franz whirled around on the dance floor, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Carmilla. Again and again my eyes were drawn to her of their own accord. Though she was talking to my father, her eyes kept flickering in my direction, her gaze locking onto mine for a moment before she smiled slyly and returned her attention to their conversation. Her mother, meanwhile, was sitting so close to Josef that it bordered on impropriety, the two of them whispering and laughing drunkenly.

 “Your turn, Laura!” Emma said, leaving Franz panting beside the dance floor and pulling me forward to join her for the next song. We spun wildly among the couples around us, ignoring their looks of consternation. Emma, who was drunker than I had realized, stumbled a few times, laughing when I caught her. As the song came to an end, I guided Emma back toward the edge of the floor, glancing back at our table to see if Carmilla was watching me.

She wasn’t there. My heart sank. Then that low voice came from behind me: “May I have the next dance?”

The music started up again, a slower song this time. The dancers clasped each other closely, moving together gracefully rather than in a giddy whirl. My hand burned at the soft touch of Carmilla’s fingers as she led me out onto the floor, and I was suddenly self-conscious, convinced that everyone could see the heat in me. When I looked around, however, no one seemed to have noticed us at all, their attentions fixed on their own partners. Carmilla faced me and put her left hand on my shoulder, leaning into me and guiding my right arm around her waist. And then we were dancing. The music swelled around us, enclosing us in a world in which only the two of us seemed to exist. We were nearly the same height, and her bosom brushed tantalizingly against my own. She was slender, but I could feel her power and grace as her body moved beneath my hand. A slight smile played upon her lips, and her gaze slipped occasionally down to my mouth before returning to my eyes and locking upon them with an intensity that made me want to look away. But I didn’t look away. 

All too soon, the song ended, and she leaned forward, her breath warm on my earlobe as she whispered, “You’re a wonderful dancer.” Then she released me and stepped away. The space between us felt unbearably cold, and I fought the urge to clasp her to me again. “It looks like it’s time for dessert,” she said, gesturing to the servants who were moving among the tables with platters. “Shall we return to our table?” 

The night was over too soon. When the musicians stopped playing and our host announced an end to the festivities, Carmilla and her mother excused themselves, expressing their desire to see us again in the future. My stomach clenched and my breath caught in my throat as I watched her leave, the pain of her absence lodging inside my chest like a sharp needle. As Count Carlsfeld’s schloss was quite remote, many of the guests were staying the night there, and so everyone who was not planning an overnight carriage ride back to their own homes – ourselves included – headed toward the guest rooms.

The house was spacious, but it had not been built to accommodate quite so many guests, so Emma and I were forced to share a room with a young noblewoman and her mother, Miss and Madame Schneider. The two of them took the bed, while Emma, who was small enough to do so, slept on a chaise. I was assigned to a makeshift mattres of pillows and blankets that Count Carlsfeld’s servants had heaped up appealingly before the small fireplace, which cast a warm and pleasant glow.         

But even after my chambermates had begun to snore softly, and despite the glasses of wine I had consumed at dinner, sleep was elusive. I kept thinking of Carmilla. Her long, white neck as she threw back her head and laughed, the dark hair brushing her shoulders tantalizingly, the feeling of her body beneath my hand as we danced… I kicked the blanket away from me, feeling over-warm. I turned onto my side, curling my knees toward my chest, and began breathing deeply, making each breath slower and deeper than the last. It was a technique that Adeline had taught me as a young girl, a trick to keep the terror of the shadowy unknown at bay and to force relaxation into my restless limbs. Now, as always, it worked.

I dreamt that I was visiting my mother’s grave in Gratz. It was so dark that I could barely see the path before me, but a small light was drawing me toward the gravesite. As I approached, I saw that it was a lantern, illuminating the lettering on the stones that identified my mother and baby brother. The lantern belonged to a tall, thin man, who was furiously shoveling dirt from the grave and heaving it over his shoulder. His face was contorted with effort, and he was breathing in harsh, shallow gulps.

“What are you doing?” I asked, drawing near. The man dug himself deeper and deeper, moving implausibly swiftly, as people do in dreams. He did not answer me, but I saw that he was beginning to uncover the coffin itself.

“Stop it,” I said. “What are you doing?”

I tried to grab the shovel as he heaved it up behind him, but he paid me no mind, and I spit furiously against the dirt that was filling my mouth.

“Stop!”

I jumped into the grave, throwing myself on him. He shouldered me off and shouted with a hoarse voice, “She is a monster. She must be destroyed!”

“No,” I sobbed. “You have the wrong grave!” He had uncovered enough of the coffin to grasp its edge, and he threw his shovel away, heaving instead on the lid. “Leave her alone!” I continued pleading, “She’s been dead for years! She’s nothing but dust and bone now!” –

But my voice stuck in my throat as the coffin lid creaked open, dirt sliding off the wooden surface with a hiss, and I saw my mother lying peacefully on the ivory silks, as whole and beautiful as if she were sleeping.

Fear and joy warred within me. Had we been wrong? Had she secretly been alive all along? Or was the man right? Was she a monster? I reached out my hand to touch her, but before I could, the man reached up and grasped his lantern, and I realized with a shock that it was my father. Then he threw the lantern hard against my mother’s body, shattering the glass, spraying oil and flame all over her.

She opened her eyes and sat up, shrieking with an unearthly howl. Her jaw opened wider and wider, her lips stretching and cracking as the gaping black maw expanded slowly, impossibly, down to her belly. Her gaze, glowing red as the flames consumed her, turned suddenly upon me, and she reached for me…

My own scream rang in my ears as I shuddered awake. My breathing was panicked and shallow, and my heart pounded like a drum in my ears as I tried to remember where I was, to bring myself back into the world. Within a few moments, the panic had receded, only to be replaced by overwhelming grief. I sobbed as quietly as I could into my pillow.

Thankfully, it seemed that neither my scream – had I actually screamed? – nor my sobs had awakened my companions. I lifted my head to be sure. Dim moonlight spilled from the window onto the bed, and it bathed the figures of the two Schneider women. Both lay unmoving. The light from the fire flickered on the chaise, and I could see that Emma’s face was slack with sleep. I was about to lay my head back down when the thin, silvery light from the window suddenly disappeared, casting the bed and its inhabitants entirely into shadow.

Perhaps a cloud is passing over the moon, I thought to myself, but my nerves prickled with the deep, inexplicable instinct that it was something more than that.

Someone was standing outside the window.

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