Nightbird

Cynthia Fridsma

Nightbird

2018

Copyright © 2018 by Cynthia Fridsma

Edition License Notes

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

More information about the writer can be found on

www.cynthiafridsma.com

Background cover: Susan Justice AKA Sveva

Cover Design & artwork: Cynthia Fridsma

Photo of Boston: Nelson48

First Printing: 2018

ISBN: 978-0-463-01278-9

Dedication

This photo of Boston downtown skyline has been released into the public domain by its author, Nelson48 at English Wikipedia.

To the people of Boston, who inspire me to keep writing about your beautiful city.

Acknowledgments

Nightbird is the compilation of the eBook vampire miniseries, volumes 1 to 5, published on Amazon in 2018 about vampire Sybil Crewes—she who fights zombies, werewolves, and other unearthly creatures.

Cynthia Fridsma

Preface

As head of Nightbird, Sybil Crewes is working 24/7 to keep America safe from zombies, demons, and other unearthly creatures. Her ultimate goal is to end the curse that turned her into a vampire, but first she needs to destroy The Necronomicon, the infamous book of the dead. Unfortunately, Sybil's archnemesis, The Reaper, uses the book to raise an army of zombies.

Volume 1

1 – The Attack

Near the monument, she found herself face-to-face with a real skeleton with glittering eye sockets. It produced a shrill noise that reminded her of the awful squeal sound of fingernails against a blackboard. It triggered a long-forgotten childhood memory. She recalled the face of her sadistic teacher from her first day of school. His dark beady eyes behind his glasses had made her shiver with fear. She shuddered involuntarily and took a deep breath as she took into account her surroundings: in front of her was the skeleton; behind her were the wolves. It didn’t look good, either way. She had precious little time to decide what to do because the wolves would be upon her in seconds and, judging by their growls, they didn’t mean well . . .

***

Sybil Crewes tapped her pencil on the desk while she glared at the monitor. Her friends were in London, but she was still at the office in Boston to hold the fort. She exhaled. Dammit, she hated to sit still, doing nothing.

Her glance slid to her Uzi submachine gun lying on the desk next to the keyboard. She took a sip from her cup that was filled with a red liquid. She almost choked. She put down the cup and gazed at the wall that needed to be fixed so badly—the plaster was almost crumbling off.

Sybil squinted at the condensation on the ceiling. One day she hoped to find a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, but until then . . . she bit her lower lip. To distract herself, she searched for music on the computer—Jimi Hendrix. She grinned. It was the only silver lining. God, she hoped to find the Chosen One soon. This life, being a vampire and sucking the blood from the innocent was something she had never asked for. But alas, because of The Necronomicon, she was changed. An ancient curse, translated by my father. Sybil narrowed her eyes at the thought. She hoped that her blonde tech nerd, Felicity Walker, had more luck finding the Chosen One. Then she frowned. I haven’t heard from her, yet. Felicity and Jason Weisshart—a freelance reporter who wrote articles about the supernatural—were following Harry Brown on his flight to London. Thinking about Harry, fueled her anger. Harry Brown was a former CIA agent who now worked for her archnemesis, the Reaper. The Reaper used The Necronomicon to raise an army of zombies. God, she thought, if I had the Book of the Dead in my hands, I could not only end the curse but also ends his fucking army. Sybil had faced supernatural threats many times, but she hated zombies. Mindless zombies who wanted nothing more than to chew your flesh. Just thinking about it caused a cold shiver to run down her spine and cut through her bone marrow. Yuck! Disgusting-looking zombies. But it will all end with the Chosen One because he, or she, is the key to destroying The Necronomicon. It had to be a descendant of James McPierson. The pencil broke into two halves when she thought about McPierson. He was the one who had turned her world upside down by selling The Necronomicon to Sybil’s father. She threw the two pieces in the trashcan and pumped up the volume of the music. When a beep sounded, Sybil glanced up. Harry Brown’s voice interrupted the music.

Hello, Mr. Reaper? I’ve located the Chosen One.

An easy smile shaped her mouth, and she muted the sound while the computer recorded the ongoing conversation. Sybil opened a new window on the monitor like Felicity had taught her, to get a map with coordinates. Pleased, she picked up the phone on the desk to call Felicity.

Sybil, I hope you’ve some good news? Felicity asked.

I’d say so, Sybil replied. Harry is at Weston Street.

Are you sure? Felicity asked. In the background, Sybil heard the wind and some street noises. Jason and I are keeping an eye on Harry’s hotel room, and he hasn’t moved yet, Felicity complained.

He used his cell phone which activated your app.

OK. Well then, we’d better hurry, thanks! Felicity hung up.

Soon she’d have the Chosen One. Involuntarily, Sybil rubbed her tongue over her fangs. Feeling restless, she stood and moved to the window. It was getting dark. The sun was about to set. In the background, Jimi Hendrix played Machine Gun. Sybil closed her eyes while she enjoyed listening to Jimi’s guitar solo. Sybil was glad she had visited a few of Jimi Hendrix’s gigs in the 1960s.

Too bad you’re no longer among us, she said under her breath. Some time passed before Harry Brown’s voice interrupted the music.

Mr. Reaper? I’ve destroyed the building complex of the Chosen One. A whole building is burning, thanks to some C-4 I placed in the boiler.

Great, the Reaper replied.

Sybil gritted her teeth after hearing his voice. They had been lovers for more than two hundred years until things had changed drastically once the Reaper had gotten his hands on The Necronomicon. He had told her he wanted to use it to create zombies and gather up all humans in cages like cattle. Feeding them and bleeding them dry, bottling their blood and selling it to other vampires. Sybil stopped him, and suddenly, the two lovers turned on each other. The winner was yet to be decided, but for the time being Sybil kept his army of zombies small so he couldn’t complete his master plan.

Oh, and I captured two of Sybil’s friends: Felicity Walker and Jason Weisshart, Harry announced victoriously and hung up.

All the blood receded from her face. Involuntarily, she pictured Harry’s face and used him as a punching bag. Her friends were in danger, and there was nothing she could do about it. Sybil’s face was getting warm. She pulled her cell phone from the small shoulder bag she wore and proceeded to speed dial Felicity’s girlfriend, Vanessa Dogscape. The dark-blonde data analyst, working for the ATU—Anti-Terrorism Unit—in Boston, could help her because the phone conversation was too short to get his location. Perhaps, Harry discovered his phone was compromised by Felicity. God, when she thought about Felicity, her chest ached. Sybil had saved her life when the Reaper had wanted to drink Felicity’s blood after he had tied her down on a table as a romantic gesture because Felicity was a Buffy the Vampire Slayer look-alike. And Sybil was a great fan of the famous 1990s TV show. But seeing Buffy laying on the table, surrounded by a bunch of candles with classical music in the background, made her furious. For the first time, Sybil and the Reaper argued and split up after Sybil freed Felicity from the ropes and the hungry vampire using his own scythe. That was the start of Nightbird—Sybil’s agency to fight evil. When Sybil dialed Vanessa’s number, it went straight to voice mail, so reluctantly, Sybil left a message and hung up. She turned away from the window, her gaze drifting to the cup on the desk. Sybil grabbed it and drank it in one go. After she wiped the blood from her chin, she exhaled, I need more blood!

Taking large steps she went into the kitchen, holding the cup in her hands. Putting it on the table, she opened the fridge. Besides four cans of Coke and two tomatoes, it was empty. Wait, isn’t that a bag of blood? she wondered and took it out. Ugh, rotten tomatoes. Quickly, she threw it in the trashcan and gazed at the clock on the wall. The shops were still open. If she hurried, she could buy pigs blood from the butcher.

With a sigh, she glanced at her face in the mirror and opened her mouth to glare at her fangs. In the movies, vampires can withdraw their fangs but in reality, they can’t. After a deep sigh, she took the pincer that was near the faucet. Her hand trembled as she closed the pincer on her fang—CRACK! Pain shot through her, but she wasn’t done yet and repeated the same exercise. A sigh of relief went through her after she’d finished.

But the wounds kept bleeding until she healed them with some blood. She grabbed the cup from the table and stared at the bottom. There was some blood left. With a finger, she wiped it clean and used it to heal the wounds. Again she stared in the mirror and smiled—good as new! For a few hours, she could pass for a human. After she rinsed her mouth, she headed for the exit and stepped into her Ford Mustang convertible.

***

A few minutes later Sybil parked the car and paced toward the butcher’s shop. A sign near the entrance read: YES, WE’RE OPEN. Relieved, she opened the door and was welcomed by the sound of a small bell and a rush of warm air. The smell of meat and blood reached her nostrils as she glanced at the shop’s owner, Lewis O’Toole. He was standing behind the counter with his curly brown hair and wearing a stained apron that used to be white at some point in the past. He grinned at her. Well, if it isn’t my favorite blood-loving customer.

Sybil squinted at him, not knowing what to say.

His smile widened. I take it you’re here to buy pig’s blood, huh?

Sybil nodded. Um, yes, please, Lewis.

It’s none of my business, Lewis said, handing her a sealed plastic bucket filled with blood, but why do you want this? He scratched the back of his head and chuckled. You’re not a vampire, are you?

Lewis always asked her the same question, and she never told him how right he was. Instead, she smiled faintly and gave him the money.

Have a nice day, Sybil, he said with a wink.

You too, Lewis, thanks, she replied and stepped outside.

A man passed her on the sidewalk while she carefully put the bucket in the back seat of her car and drove back to the office.

Again she called Vanessa, and again Vanessa’s cell phone went straight to her voice mail. This time Sybil hung up without leaving a message. As she sat at her desk, she took a sip from her cup and rubbed her eyes. A sudden alarm sounded. A thundering sensation went through her, almost make her feel alive and she leaned forward. Sybil glared at the images on the security monitor. Someone approached the building. It was hard to tell if it was a man or a woman while Sybil squinted at the shadow. Immediately, she grabbed her Uzi and ran into the elevator. She emerged from it into a long hallway lined with identical doors on either side—leftover hotel rooms from the building’s former glory. The most recent guests had checked in around fifty years ago. She and Frank were among them when they were still close. A sob came up into her throat. She looked around and realized that certain events in this hotel had been a major turning point in her life. Fifty years ago, a fire had broken out in the hallway near their hotel room. She and Frank—aka the Reaper—had barely escaped the fire as it eagerly licked the furniture. They were later told that a man had doused himself with gasoline and ignited himself. He was the distraught father of a teenage girl whose decapitated body had been found on the side of the road. She and Frank were aware of the fact that this father wanted to burn the two of them along with himself because they were responsible for the brutal murder of his daughter. The poor girl was last seen in their company. It had been difficult for Sybil to deal with this because she knew she had to intervene when Frank threatened the black-haired teenager with a scythe. Still, she had done nothing to stop him, even though the girl had looked so helpless begging for her life. The girl’s eyes were filled with fear and distress before Frank slit her throat. Sybil squeezed her eyes shut when she recalled the girl’s face and swallowed a lump in her throat to suppress her tears. Long story short, after that horrible night the hotel was closed and never reopened until she bought it in the year 2000 (more or less with a grain of repentance because of the girl and her father) and used it as a front for Nightbird. With a sigh, she switched off the alarm with her cell phone and walked on until she was in the great hall.

She paused at the reception desk and glanced at the bell on the counter. She tested the bell. It sounded muffled. Then she lifted it up and blew out the dust and immediately had to close her eyes while waving her free hand in front of her face to get rid of the newly created dust cloud. She pressed the bell again. It worked; the tinkling sounded clear once more. Satisfied, she put it back on the counter.

Now she moved to the barred door that gave access to the hotel. Through the bars, she noticed a silhouette standing near the old tree. Hey, this is a private property, she warned. It is strictly prohibited to enter this area without my permission. This offense falls under the laws of Massachusetts, Chapter 266, Section 16 and gives me the legal right to kick your ass! She opened the door and shone her cell phone’s flashlight on the intruder’s face. Her heart jumped for joy when she recognized her long-lost niece and fervently embraced her.

Catherine, it’s been so long! The last time Sybil had seen her, they were under attack. Sybil had tried to help Catherine, but at the time she was surrounded by about twelve hungry zombies—ugly, decaying monsters!

Sybil used her Uzi to distract and kill zombies. It was back then she’d discovered a bullet to the head wouldn’t stop a zombie. They kept coming. Sybil found out the only way to truly stop a zombie is through beheading. Something she accomplished with the help of a sharp knife after she’d run out of bullets. Since then, Sybil always used a sword to fight against evil.

After the battle, Catherine had gone missing. Now that she was able to look Catherine straight in the eye, she noticed that Catherine’s face was covered with scars. Her skin was torn away altogether in some places. Where were you all this time, girl? After that horrible fight, I looked everywhere for you, but I couldn’t find you.

I was everywhere and nowhere, Catherine remarked. After the fight, I didn’t feel the same. I felt like I was a freak. Besides, I wasn’t sure I still had myself under control after all these bites. She pointed to her neck and shoulder, adding: I was afraid the virus had infected me. You know that one bite is very contagious, let alone multiple bites. It was just too risky.

A cold shiver ran down Sybil’s spine, and she backed away from Catherine and frowned. Then she remembered zombies couldn’t talk. Sybil relaxed. Sorry, sweetheart. The fact that you can talk and have a normal conversation proves you’re still yourself. Come inside and have some coffee.

Catherine nodded. It has been a long time, you and me talking and drinking coffee.

You deserve it more than anyone else. Why didn’t you come here sooner?

Because I was gathering information. Over the past two years, I have infiltrated the organization of the Reaper. That wasn’t so hard since I look like a zombie. All I had to do was growl, and I’m good at that. Catherine demonstrated by curving her fingers and growling at Sybil. Sybil slapped Catherine’s hands. Please stop, you’re freaking me out.

Sorry, Catherine apologized, but that was the only way to get into the Reaper’s organization. You know that he works solely with monsters?

That doesn’t apply to Harry, Sybil reminded her. He’s anything but a monster.

Catherine raised her eyebrows. Harry? You mean Harry Brown? His head is full of brain tumors. He depends on the Reaper’s medicines he gets in exchange for his service. He is a freak like me. Only his looks are far, far better.

Poor thing, I wish that things had turned out differently for you.

Catherine sighed. "Alas, but I do have information. After two years, I discovered the location of The Necronomicon."

Finally, a breakthrough! Sybil gave Catherine a kiss on the cheek.

That’s fantastic! With the book, I can put an end to the curse! Come inside and tell me all about it.

***

Several minutes later they faced each other holding nice warm cups of coffee in their hands. Sybil took a sip of hers. "You said you know where The Necronomicon is?"

Yes, I know where it is. Before I give you the information, however, I want to make a deal with you.

Well, it depends on what you want, Sybil stated, smiling. If you’re expecting a zillion dollars, a villa with a pool, and someone who loves you, then I’m afraid I can’t help you.

Nothing like that, silly. If you have the book, then it means you need to open the hotel, true?

Yes, that’s correct. We need the Chosen One and the relatives of those who were involved in the curse.

Well, if you’re going to open the hotel, then you’ll need a receptionist. That’s what I want.

You want to be the receptionist? OK, I didn’t see that coming. Sybil’s eyes grew wide and she covered her mouth. A zombie receptionist—genuine or not—would scare people away. Perhaps on Halloween, she thought. Sybil looked closely at Catherine. Sybil would do anything for her, but she had to be realistic. Carefully, in order not to hurt her feelings, she said, We would have to do something about your appearance, because . . . well, let’s face it—with your current looks, you’d scare people away.

Catherine looked down at her own trembling hands and let out a sob. Sybil felt sorry for her and gently stroked Catherine’s face. She pitied her niece. Catherine was a former photo model. Her face was in various fashion magazines, and she even got her picture in an issue of Playboy. That was before she joined the Nightbird. Then Sybil’s face brightened as she thought about Dr. Carl Meaning. It’s a good thing we now have a doctor on my team. I’m sure that Dr. Carl Meaning will find a way to restore your skin. Once it’s restored, you can get a job in the hotel, Sybil promised, adding: And of course we still need to refurbish everything here.

There were holes in every wall and the plaster from the ceiling had seen better days. It had almost come off in some places. Catherine looked at Sybil with hope in her eyes and told her where she could find the book. But beware, it’s heavily guarded, she said. I had mound guarding duty for the Reaper . . . that’s how I discovered the whereabouts of the book— she drew her eyebrows together.

Sybil faintly smiled and took her hands and gently squeezed them. It’s good that you came to me.

I had to. How else could you end the curse? But you must prepare yourself for the worst.

No worries. Now that I know where to look, I’ll do everything in my power to get it in my possession. Make yourself comfortable, then I’ll ask Dr. Carl Meaning if he wants to keep you company. You two can talk about which treatment is the best for you.

2 – The Necronomicon

It was well after sundown when Sybil arrived at the old cemetery. The Necronomicon was buried around here somewhere. Sybil walked carefully toward a short stone wall and glanced up at the sky as gray clouds released a torrent of rain. The wind was whipping her face. Sybil had to squint her eyes to see and quivered from the cold raindrops as she hid behind the weather-beaten wall and peeked over its edge.

Four men were pacing around the cemetery. She took a deep breath and bolted over the wall.

Well, what have we here? You gentlemen aren’t afraid of ghosts, are you? Perhaps they were here to pay their respects to a dearly departed loved one. She exhaled. At this hour? In this weather? Not very likely. As she observed the foursome, the men turned and slowly came toward her, growling like rabid dogs. They definitely weren’t here to pay their respects. First of all, they walked weirdly—rather stiff and stumbling. These were zombies! What would Buffy Summers do? she thought while visions of the blonde vampire slayer flashed through her mind. She drew her sword. Sybil’s lips and chin trembled, and not only because of the cold. Her heart was pounding like crazy in her chest when the zombies stumbled toward her with their grasping hands held out in front of them. Their jaws opened as if they were excited by the smell of flesh.

A foul stink reached her nostrils while she literally stood face-to-face with the enemy. Rotting flesh, hollow eye sockets, and some faces were slightly covered with worms. Sybil held her breath and swung her sword over her head. With a solid slash, she pierced one of the zombies in the skull. She pulled out the sword, creating a nasty sound as she did so. The corpse dropped to the ground and fell apart. Only a greasy, mud-like substance remained, making the ground extra slippery under her feet while the other three zombies tried to grab her.

Sybil lost her balance and slipped, smashing her back onto the sticky substance. A zombie fell on top of her. Gagging, she clenched her jaw while the zombie tried to bite her. The remaining zombies also stumbled upon her. She was now laying beneath three hungry, growling, biting zombies. A few teeth came near her face, and she grimaced when a few maggots dropped close to her cheek. Feeling groggy, she sprained her muscles, pushing away the biting zombie. Her fingers crushed into its soft eye sockets. Bones cracked, sounding like snapping wood, while she pushed harder. But finally, she cleared her waistline, glanced sideways, and noticed her sword lying in the mud. The slippery ground now worked to her advantage, and she crawled out from under the soaking wet foul bodies. Her fingers reached the sword at the same time a zombie grabbed her leg. Before he could do any damage, she picked up the sword and pierced its skull. She stood and finished off the two other zombies the same manner.

She gasped for air and wiped her face. God, she yearned for a warm, foamy bath right now with lots and lots of soap. But there was much to do before she could go back to the house.

Sybil sheathed her sword and used the rain to clean the sticky substance and worms from her face. Feeling a little better, despite the cold, she glanced around, using her cell phone as a flashlight, as she wandered across the land of the dead. She was shining the flashlight from left to right on many nearby graves when she heard a low, feral growl from behind her. Her heart stopped for a moment when she stared into the sinister eyes of wolves.

Sybil knew that wolves were faster, more agile, and no comparison to mindless zombies. Without giving it much thought, she rushed between the graves, toward a huge monument of Gothic design. This one looked wide enough to cover her back against the wolves.

Near the monument, she found herself face-to-face with a real skeleton with glittering eye sockets. It produced a shrill noise that reminded her of the awful squeal sound of fingernails against a blackboard. It triggered a long-forgotten childhood memory. She recalled the face of her sadistic teacher from her first day of school. His dark beady eyes behind his glasses had made her shiver with fear. She shuddered involuntarily and took a deep breath as she took into account her surroundings: in front of her was the skeleton; behind her were the wolves. It didn’t look good, either way. She had precious little time to decide what to do because the wolves would be upon her in seconds and, judging by their growls, they didn’t