A walk in the Nightside

Chapter 12: Dead Town

Michael moved cautiously through the dim streets of Dead Town, the oppressive air pressing down on him like a physical weight. Every step was measured, his eyes darting between shadows that seemed to shift and crawl of their own accord. He needed help—a guide who knew the ins and outs of this place—and there was only one name that came to mind: Larry Oblivion, the Dead Detective.

From the books, Michael knew Larry wasn't just any private eye. He was one of the Oblivion brothers, a family steeped in chaos and tragedy. Larry had died years ago, and now he walked the Nightside as a zombie, a fate he despised but accepted as penance. Few knew the full extent of Larry's past or his sins, but Michael did—thanks to the books. Larry had released Queen Mab from hell, a mistake that cost him his life and earned him this eternal, restless existence.

The question was whether Larry would help him.

The smell of rot and mildew was overwhelming, but it was the eerie silence punctuated by faint whispers that unsettled him most. Every step felt heavier, and his swarm buzzed faintly in his coat, mirroring his unease.

He finally stopped in front of a battered door with a faded neon sign above it: Oblivion Investigations. The letters flickered faintly, barely visible through layers of grime. Michael hesitated, raising his fist to knock when movement in the shadows to his left caught his attention.

The figure stepped forward—a vampire, tall and pale, its crimson eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. Its grin revealed sharp fangs, and its posture was predatory, like a wolf sizing up its prey.

"Fresh meat," it hissed, its voice low and guttural.

Michael's senses sharpened immediately, his swarm buzzing louder in response. He stepped back cautiously, his hand drifting toward the concealed pocket in his coat where his shield bracelet rested.

"I'm not here to fight," Michael said evenly, keeping his tone calm.

The vampire's grin widened, its head tilting slightly. "Good. Then you won't mind if I take a little taste."

Michael tensed. "Not happening."

The vampire moved fast, lunging at him with inhuman speed. Michael barely had time to flick his wrist, activating the shield bracelet. A shimmering barrier of energy sprang to life between them, and the vampire collided with it, hissing as it recoiled from the magical energy.

"You've got some tricks," it sneered, circling him now. "But you smell too good to let go."

"Last warning," Michael said, his voice tightening. "Walk away."

The vampire laughed, its voice echoing eerily in the narrow alley. "And miss out on fresh blood? Not a chance."

Michael's patience snapped. Muttering under his breath, he summoned a fire spell, the words flowing smoothly from his lips. A ball of flame ignited in his hand, growing brighter and hotter as he poured energy into it.

"Let's see how much you like your blood on fire," he growled, hurling the flame at the vampire.

The fireball struck its chest, exploding on impact and sending the vampire staggering back with a howl of pain. Its clothing smoldered, and its pale skin blistered where the fire had touched it. The creature lunged again, but Michael was ready, throwing another fireball with practiced precision.

The vampire screamed, its movements frantic as it swiped at the flames licking up its arms. "You'll pay for this, mortal!" it snarled, retreating into the shadows.

"Not likely," Michael muttered, lowering his hands as the last flickers of fire faded. He adjusted his coat and took a steadying breath, shaking off the adrenaline. "I really hate vampires."

The door creaked open, and Michael turned to see Larry Oblivion standing in the doorway. The Dead Detective was tall and skeletal, his decayed skin stretched taut over his bones. He wore a rumpled trench coat, and his glowing eyes gave him an unsettling, otherworldly presence.

"What do you want?" Larry asked, his tone clipped but not unfriendly.

Michael straightened, brushing himself off. "I'm looking for someone—Manfred. He's another PI. He went missing in Dead Town, and I think you might be able to help me find him."

Larry leaned against the doorframe, his dead eyes narrowing as he studied Michael. "Manfred's missing? That's not good. What's he to you?"

"I hired him to look into something," Michael said simply. "Now he's gone quiet, and the last lead I have points here."

Larry crossed his arms, his skeletal fingers tapping against his sleeve. "And you think you can just walk into Dead Town and demand answers? Ballsy."

Michael shrugged. "Not much of a choice. Manfred's missing, and I need him found. You're the best guide around here, and I'm willing to pay."

Larry let out a dry, humorless laugh. "I don't work for free, kid. And I don't work cheap."

"I figured as much," Michael replied, pulling out a wad of cash and holding it up. "Will this cover your rate?"

Larry glanced at the money, his lips curling into a faint smirk. "It'll do. But let's get one thing straight—I don't babysit. If you get yourself killed, that's on you."

"Fair enough," Michael said. "Just point me in the right direction and help me stay alive while I'm there."

Larry stepped back, opening the door wider. "Alright, come in. But if I smell any more fireballs, we're going to have a problem."

Michael smirked faintly, stepping into the shabby office. The air inside was no better than outside, but at least he was one step closer to finding Manfred—and getting some answers.

Larry gestured toward a battered chair in the corner of his dimly lit office. "Sit," he said, his voice dry as the air in Dead Town. He moved behind his cluttered desk, collapsing into his own chair with a creak that echoed in the quiet room. "And start talking. Who are you, and why the hell are you poking around my turf?"

Michael sat down carefully, glancing at the piles of papers, artifacts, and odd trinkets littering Larry's desk. "My name's Michael," he said, leaning forward. "I'm... new to the Nightside, and I hired Manfred to do some digging for me."

Larry raised a decayed eyebrow. "New? You don't look new. Smell like trouble, though."

"Comes with the territory," Michael replied. "Manfred was working a case for me. He was supposed to find out about two guys who came after me—Thomas Bennett and William Pembroke. He said he'd keep a low profile, but it's been over a week, and I haven't heard from him."

Larry leaned back in his chair, his glowing eyes narrowing. "And you think he's here? In Dead Town?"

Michael nodded. "I scryed for him. The crystal pointed me here. I'm guessing that's not a good sign."

Larry let out a humorless laugh. "You guess right. If Manfred's here, he's either dead, undead, or worse. Dead Town isn't exactly friendly to the living, kid."

"I noticed," Michael said dryly. "But I need to find him. He's got information I can't afford to lose."

Larry studied him for a long moment, tapping a skeletal finger on the desk. "Let me get this straight. You're new to the Nightside, you've already pissed off someone enough that they sent hitmen after you, and now you're dragging me into your mess?"

"I'm paying you," Michael pointed out, his tone steady. "And you're the only one who knows this place well enough to help me."

Larry leaned forward, his decayed face inches from Michael's. "Money's nice, kid, but it doesn't make you less of a liability. Dead Town eats people like you for breakfast."

Michael didn't flinch. "I didn't come here expecting a warm welcome. I just want to find Manfred and get out. You're the best chance I've got."

Larry let out a low sigh, leaning back again. "You've got guts. I'll give you that. Stupidity, too, but mostly guts."

Michael smirked faintly. "It's been said before."

Larry's gaze sharpened. "Alright, I'll bite. What's so important about these two guys you're looking into? Thomas Bennett and William Pembroke, you said? Those aren't small-time names in the Nightside."

Michael's expression darkened. "They came after me. Tried to kill me. I defended myself, and now I've got a target on my back. I need to know who sent them and how far their families' reach goes."

Larry tilted his head, his curiosity piqued. "And you don't know why they targeted you in the first place?"

"No," Michael admitted. "I just know they came after me with magic and bad intentions. That's all I need to fight back."

Larry chuckled, the sound hollow and unsettling. "The Nightside doesn't work like that, kid. You don't get attacked out of nowhere. There's always a reason—usually one that bites you in the ass later."

"Then help me figure it out," Michael said, his tone firm. "If Manfred found something, I need to know what it is."

The Dead Detective rubbed his chin, his skeletal fingers making a faint rasping sound against his decayed skin. "Alright. I'll help you, but only because I'm curious. And because I don't like the idea of another PI biting the dust in my territory."

Michael nodded, relieved. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," Larry said sharply. "Dead Town's dangerous, even for me. If Manfred's here, he's either in hiding or in deep trouble. And if we're lucky—"

"When does anyone in the Nightside get lucky?" Michael interrupted.

Larry's grin was faint, but it held a glimmer of amusement. "Fair point. Let's just hope he's not too dead."

Michael stood, his swarm humming faintly in his coat. "Where do we start?"

Larry grabbed a battered notebook from his desk, flipping through its pages. "First, we check the places where the living tend to hide. If he's smart, he'll have holed up somewhere secure. If not..." He trailed off, shrugging.

Michael's jaw tightened. "Then we deal with whatever we find."

Larry chuckled again, standing and grabbing his hat. "You're optimistic. I'll give you that. Alright, kid, let's see if we can find your PI before Dead Town swallows us both."

The two of them stepped out into the decaying streets, the air thick with the stench of rot and death. Michael couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning of something much worse.

Larry and Michael stepped out into the oppressive gloom of Dead Town, the decaying streets stretching out before them like a labyrinth of shadows and decay. The stench of rot and mildew was stronger now, and Michael's sharpened senses made it almost unbearable.

"So," Larry said, adjusting his rumpled trench coat and glancing at Michael. "You got a plan, or are we just poking into every corner of Dead Town hoping we don't die?"

Michael smirked faintly. "I was hoping you'd have a plan. This is your turf, isn't it?"

Larry rolled his dead eyes. "It's not a cozy little neighborhood, kid. Dead Town doesn't take kindly to visitors—living or dead. But if your guy's smart, he'll have gone somewhere quiet, secure, and out of the way. And if he's not smart, well... we'll probably find pieces of him instead."

Michael's stomach churned at the thought, but he pushed it aside. "Let's hope for the first option."

The first stop was an old crypt-turned-bar called The Hollowed Hangout, a dive where the undead and desperate could drink—or pretend to. The clientele was as rough as the place itself, skeletal bartenders serving drinks that steamed and bubbled unnaturally.

Michael and Larry entered, their presence drawing a few lingering gazes from the patrons. Larry walked up to the bar, rapping his skeletal knuckles on the counter. "Hey, Bones. We're looking for someone—a living someone. PI by the name of Manfred. Seen him?"

The bartender, a skeletal figure with a cracked jaw, tilted his head. "Living don't last long here, Larry. If he came through, he didn't stick around."

"Appreciate the honesty," Larry said, sliding a coin across the counter. "If he does show up, keep your eye sockets open and let me know."

The bartender nodded, and Michael followed Larry back out. "Not exactly helpful," Michael muttered.

"It's a start," Larry replied. "Next stop."

The second stop was a decrepit boarding house run by a ghost named Agatha. The building seemed to sag under its own weight, its windows clouded and broken in places. Inside, Agatha floated behind a rickety desk, her translucent form flickering faintly.

"Larry," she said, her voice like a soft breeze. "Back so soon?"

"Agatha," Larry replied with a nod. "We're looking for someone. Living PI, goes by Manfred. He might've come through here in the past week."

Agatha frowned, her form dimming slightly. "Living don't come here often. I haven't seen him, but if he's in Dead Town, he's either hiding or... worse."

"Thanks, Agatha," Larry said, turning to leave. "If he shows up, let me know."

Michael sighed as they stepped back onto the street. "We're striking out."

"Welcome to detective work," Larry said, his tone dry. "It's mostly striking out until you hit something."

The third stop was a crumbling chapel-turned-refuge called Sanctuary. It was a neutral ground in Dead Town, protected by wards strong enough to keep even the most persistent undead out. If Manfred had been looking for safety, it would've been a logical choice.

Inside, the air was heavy with the hum of magic. A lone figure, a spectral priest, stood at the altar, his translucent hands clasped in prayer. Larry approached him cautiously.

"Father," he began. "We're looking for someone. A living PI named Manfred. You see him?"

The priest opened his eyes, their glow faint but steady. "A living man was here," he said, his voice echoing faintly. "But he left days ago. He spoke of danger, of being pursued. I offered him sanctuary, but he said he couldn't stay."

"Did he say where he was going?" Michael asked, stepping forward.

The priest shook his head. "Only that he needed answers."

Michael clenched his fists, frustration bubbling under the surface. "Thanks," he said, turning away.

As they walked back into the decaying streets, Larry sighed. "Looks like your guy's either on the run or worse. If he's not in any of the usual places, he's either deep in hiding or someone found him first."

Michael glanced around, his swarm buzzing faintly in response to his unease. "He was looking for answers. That means he found something. Someone didn't like what he was digging into."

Larry nodded. "Probably. Dead Town doesn't kill for fun. Usually, there's a reason."

Michael's jaw tightened. "Then we keep looking."

Larry smirked faintly. "You've got determination, kid. Let's hope that's enough."

They continued deeper into Dead Town, the oppressive atmosphere growing heavier with every step. Michael knew they were running out of places to look—and he couldn't shake the feeling that time was running out for Manfred.