You'll Be Surprised
Chapter Six

Sandra's Office, Finch Tower, Manhattan - The Present

Sandra Edwards was jolted out of her memories by Thomas Eichhorst's face appearing on one of her monitors. He was in the underground car park, staring up at the writing over the elevator doors. She watched as he reached out to press the CALL ELEVATOR button, and grinned as he pulled away from the silver. She wondered whether he'd use his handkerchief or something to protect his skin and was slightly disappointed when the Flying Shadows delegation, sorry, members of The Chinese American Business Association came to his rescue. She rolled her eyes. They actually thought they were deceiving her with their briefcases and bleached smiles. Or rather, since they (like everyone else) believed in her male alter ego, they thought they were deceiving Alec ffinch-Myles.

Eichhorst and the tong smiled disarmingly at each other and entered the elevator. Sandra leant forward, lips parted in anticipation, as she waited for his reaction to her next anti-strigoi precaution. The doors swooshed shut and the announcement began. She chuckled nastily as Eichhorst's smug smile was replaced by disbelief and terror.

God, it was good to watch him struggle on her hook, twisting this way and that to escape and fearing all the time the purifying burst of light that would blast him to oblivion.

But something was wrong. He wasn't getting out fast enough. He was sluggish and confused. The silver in the walls must be affecting him. As his panic mounted, so did hers. She swung round so her finger hovered over the ABORT UV button as she continued to watch.

'Come on, work it out,' she muttered under her breath. 'Get out of there, hot stuff. Come on. Come on, come on, come on. OhshitohshitohSHIT!'

She stood up. 'FOR GOD'S SAKE, MAN!' she was shouting at the screen now, 'GET YOUR TIGHT LITTLE ARSE OU…'

And just as she pulled her hand back to smack the button, the elevator doors slid open and Eichhorst stumbled out.

It wasn't that she cared about him. It couldn't be that. It must just be that this wasn't the way he was supposed to go. He must suffer first. He had to be punished for what he'd done to her. She needed to hurt him as he had hurt her. And she needed him to be certain who was doing this to him. She needed to look in his eyes and see the anguish as she twisted the metaphorical knife.

The details of her plan were still somewhat fuzzy around the edges. Actually, she didn't have the ghost of a clue as to how she was going to achieve this but something would occur to her, some opportunity would come her way. It always had.

But right now, Eichhorst was staggered. His hair was out of place, his suit dishevelled and, in the brief moment before his rage took over, he looked small and vulnerable. The sight took her back. Eichhorst undone was so… so… She felt the long-dormant squirm of attraction inside her... Well, he was drop-dead, knock-you-off-your-feet, damned bloody sexy, was what he was. She straightened up and skipped to the door. She was going down to meet him and to hell with all the delaying tactics she'd thought up to increase the anticipation.

She got halfway down the corridor before she realised how stupid she was being. She hadn't expected to feel like this again. She would have to get control of herself fast or he would win again.

And he must not win again…

Doctor David Kaplan's Office, Free University, West Berlin – Autumn 1989

Professor Abraham Setrakian reached into his Gladstone bag, withdrew a massive ancient tome and opened it at a bookmarked page. He placed it on top of the four photographs of Eichhorst and Dreverhaven, two circa 1944 and two aged as per 1989, then he stood back to await their reaction. A hand-drawn image of a mature naked strigoi was displayed. It had no nose, no hair, no genitals, the throat folds were unhidden and guillotine-shaped incisors were revealed in a hideous grimace. The creature's skin was a sickly ivory colour and its eyes were black with red edges.

'This is how they look now,' he declared.

The youngsters gaped at him.

After a second, Corey burst out laughing.

'Are you taking the piss?' Sandra asked.

The old man closed the book with a snap. 'Agh! I should have known you wouldn't believe it.'

'And you do?' asked Corey suspiciously.

They both looked expectantly at Setrakian.

'It is the truth,' he said sadly. He turned to Sandra. 'I had hoped that you, at least, would be open to extreme possibilities.'

'I'm sorry, sir,' said Corey wearily, 'But Israel won't accept the testimony of a wild-eyed loony.'

'Corey!' Sandra rebuked him. 'Think what he's been through. At the very least, you should listen to the prosaic part of his tale.'

She gently grabbed Setrakian's arm as he moved to replace the book in the bag. 'And I will listen to everything you can tell me about the two SS "vampires". I'll promise to keep an open mind and write it all down. I can't promise to get it published as anything other than science fiction. But, please - I want to hear the stories.'

Sandra and Setrakian held each other's assessing gaze for a second or two. At length, he glanced at Corey who sighed, shrugged and said, 'OK.'

'Good,' said Setrakian sternly, 'Because we must work late into the night to maximise the time I have available and I do not want Miss Edwards walking the night time streets of Berlin alone.'

'It's OK,' said Sandra. 'Corey's been teaching me some krav maga for self-defence. I can take care of myself.'

'Not against these creatures,' said Setrakian. 'Nor can Mynheer Henke, for that matter, but there is a kind of safety in numbers. If one of you were taken, the other would call for help. That fact, at present, would be enough to put a strigoi off an attack.'

'What kind of martial arts do we need then?' Corey asked sarcastically. 'Swordfighting?'

'Only if Errol Flynn attacks,' Sandra grinned. 'Right, Professor?'

Setrakian managed a grim smile. 'Correct,' he said. 'Forget anything you know about fighting a human - no matter how powerful or skilled. These things are too strong and too fast. Plus a strigoi "tongue" for want of a better word is several feet long. By the time you've thrusted, parried or turned a somersault over your opponent's head, the bloodworms will already be making their way to your brain. And do not put your trust in a bulb of garlic or a crucifix. Those are just the fictions of a fevered Catholic brain. I can teach you enough to stay human. Knowledge, in this case, is not only power, it is your best defence.'

'This book, Professor,' said Sandra, a bit too soon after the professor finished his speech. She took it from him and opened it again at the bookmarked illustrations. 'Was this the one that delayed your departure?'

'No, Miss Edwards,' he said. 'I have had this volume since my tenure in Vienna. This is the work I acquired last week.' He produced a leather-bound, quarto-sized book with no title or lettering on cover or spine. 'These are The Dreverhaven Notes,' he said proudly, as if they would recognise the enormity of the prize he had acquired. 'The first half will be of interest to Mynheer Henke and the latter half to your good self,' he nodded at Sandra, who reached for it.

'…Once you have accepted the truth,' he added severely, snatching it out of her grasp.

He picked out a smaller volume and offered it to Sandra. 'This is my English translation of the last of The Sardu Diaries, my dear,' he said. 'You may safely start its perusal now.'

'Can I take this book as well,' she asked, placing a hand on the open pages of strigoi pictures. Setrakian seemed reluctant but she fluttered her eyelashes and begged, 'Please. I promise I'll take good care of it and return it tomorrow.'

He shrugged, flattered despite himself. 'Oh, I suppose so. I know where you're staying, don't I?' And he winked at her. She didn't find it creepy. It was more like her grandfather giving her a tenner and telling her not to tell her mother.

Corey nodded at the open pictures and nudged her. 'Look, you couldn't use your favourite krav move on them, anyway… they don't have any …erm…' he gestured vaguely in the air in front of his body, slightly embarrassed. '…any …man parts.'

Sandra shrugged offhandedly in acknowledgement of the truth of this but her eyes flicked briefly over the illustration of a strigoi about to feed. What was it the old professor had just said? Something about the strigoi "tongue" being several feet long.

She gave the idea no further thought as she and Corey walked back to their hotel. Neither of them had taken the professor's warnings to heart, they weren't cautious or over-vigilant as they strolled back in the evening crowds and no harm came to them because of their carelessness.

Sandra and Corey's Hotel Room, West Berlin - Autumn 1989

Sandra fell asleep straight after sex and woke early, as was her habit at home. It was still dark and, as there were no stables to muck out, no horses to exercise (and no Corey awake to tire her out again), she stared at his muscular back for a while, then got up as quietly as she could.

She daren't shower and dress, in case it disturbed Corey, so she wrapped the complimentary fluffy bathrobe around her and collected her books - Professor Setrakian's own works plus the ancient strigoi manuscript, which she opened at the pictures.

Sandra had grown up around horses and she knew what a gelding was. She tended to feel sorry for them, to regard them as diminished forms of their entire brothers, especially when her own precocious sexuality began to kick in. Her father had tried to couch the effects of castration in terms of focussing the horse's attention on the business of racing, making him more effective and more fitted to fulfilling his true purpose.

Her brother had helped her to look at it another way.

'Every year, tens of thousands of colt foals are born,' he'd explained to the eleven-year-old Sandra. 'Only a lucky few are ever going to be stallions and get to cover a mare. So it stands to reason that it's a kindness to remove the urge to mate from all the rest. They are happier for it, free from a desire they can satisfy.'

She wondered if the Nazis felt that way about their loss. She snuck over to Corey's luggage and carefully extracted the two 1940s photographs of Eichhorst and Dreverhaven from the document case. She studied each of them in turn.

Sandra was not yet so far gone that she didn't think Doctor Dreverhaven much the better looking man. But there was something about Eichhorst, something about the eyes…A sadness, a sense of loss.

Dreverhaven's eyes said that if they hadn't had the photographer yet, they would soon - whether he wanted it or not. But Eichhorst's said, 'I know you're doing a job and so am I. Let's just get it done to the best of our abilities and go home.' And they said it with a sigh.

Eichhorst had undoubtedly done evil things, many, many terrible and evil things but it struck her suddenly that she wasn't sure he was an evil man. It was illogical but she looked at the eyes again. No one with eyes like that could be truly evil in their bones. Could they?

She compared him to Dreverhaven again. There was cruelty in the doctor's smile and she did enjoy a bit of cruelty. Eichhorst had some cruelty in his smile too but also disillusionment. Her eyes returned to Dreverhaven. The doctor was gorgeous. But if she wanted to gaze on visual perfection she need only find a mirror (or even look at Corey for a slightly diluted beauty). Words like "louche" and "rakish" popped into her mind and…

'Wicked…' she whispered aloud.

'Yes, Sandra,' murmured Corey with concern. 'Evil. That is what evil looks like in human form.' He'd snuck up behind her and she wondered how long he'd been watching her gazing at the photos of Nazis. He sat on the floor beside her and pulled her into his arms. 'And despite what the old professor says, there is no other kind of evil.'

'Wicked,' she corrected quietly.

'Is there a difference?'

'Probably not,' she said, and kissed him deeply. How had someone like her ended up with such a great guy?

'This one…' He held Dreverhaven's photo to the forefront. '…Looks spoilt, doesn't he? He hasn't ever been said "No" to. I don't believe anything's ever been denied this man in his life.'

'Or anyone,' said Sandra, wondering. Her gaze fell on her 1952 copy of Vampires: Real, Here and Trying To Kill You Now by Professor Setrakian, which, through much use, had fallen open at the author's picture. She wondered if even Abraham Setrakian had been denied to Dreverhaven.

She stole another quick look at Eichhorst before she replaced the pictures in Corey's bag. She was sure that Eichhorst had been told "No". Many times. And he'd said it too… Said it to people he'd much rather have said "Yes" to…

Her eyes involuntarily slid back to the professor's image.