A walk in the Nightside

Chapter 15: The Crone's Secret

Larry led Michael deeper into the maze of Dead Town, the crumbling streets narrowing until they felt more like the arteries of some decayed beast. The air grew colder, thicker with the tang of mildew and something unplaceable—an ancient, cloying smell that made Michael's skin crawl. Larry stopped in front of a crooked door set into the side of a sagging brick building.

"This is the place," Larry said, rapping sharply on the wood.

Michael hesitated. "You sure about this?"

Larry gave him a sidelong glance. "You want to take on a master vampire or not? Trust me, we need her."

The door creaked open, revealing a dimly lit interior filled with strange shadows. A raspy voice called out, "Enter, Oblivion. You bring company, I see."

Inside, the room was cluttered with trinkets, jars of questionable contents, and bundles of herbs hanging from the ceiling. A single, low-burning candle illuminated the space, casting flickering light on the figure sitting at the center. The crone was ancient, her skin leathery and thin, stretched taut over her frail bones. Her eyes gleamed with unsettling brightness, and her gnarled hands rested on the arms of a rickety chair.

"Madame Yelza," Larry said smoothly, inclining his head. "Always a pleasure."

The crone's lips curled into a faint smile, revealing teeth that were too sharp. "Your flattery won't get you far, Oblivion. You don't visit unless you need something." Her gaze shifted to Michael, sharp and probing. "And who is this... delightful specimen?"

Michael stiffened as she sniffed the air, her nostrils flaring slightly. "Mmm," she murmured, her smile widening. "You smell... very nice. Something wild, something... not entirely human."

A shiver ran down Michael's spine, and he instinctively stepped closer to Larry. "Thanks, I guess," he said, his voice flat.

Yelza chuckled, a low, raspy sound. "Don't be nervous, dear. I only eat on occasion."

Larry cleared his throat, cutting through the tension. "Yelza, we're not here to chat about dinner. We need information. Specifically, about Marcellus DeLucia."

The crone's smile faded, her eyes narrowing. "Marcellus. A name I haven't heard in some time."

"You've had dealings with him," Larry pressed.

Her expression darkened. "Dealings? That's one way to put it. That bloodsucker took something from me—years of my life, stolen for his games. But why do you care about Marcellus?"

Larry leaned forward, his tone casual but firm. "Because he's tied up in some nasty business, and we need to take him down. You've got history with him, and we need your help. What do you know about his weaknesses?"

Yelza studied Larry for a long moment, her sharp eyes flickering to Michael. "And what do I get in return?"

"Revenge," Larry said simply. "And the satisfaction of knowing you helped make him bleed."

The crone's lips curled again, this time in something closer to a sneer. "Revenge doesn't pay the bills, Oblivion."

Larry smirked. "I'm sure we can arrange something... material."

Yelza let out a long sigh, tapping a gnarled finger against the arm of her chair. "Fine," she said at last. "You want to know his secret? His true weakness?"

Larry nodded, his glowing eyes narrowing.

Yelza leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "There is a dagger. A silver blade, blessed by a powerful religious order and inscribed with ancient runes. It was crafted generations ago by vampire hunters specifically to destroy Marcellus's bloodline. It bears a magical signature tied to him—if it pierces his heart, he'll be destroyed completely, no matter how powerful he's become."

Michael's eyes widened. "Where is it?"

Yelza's smile returned, sly and knowing. "Hidden. Marcellus himself keeps it close, for fear of it falling into the wrong hands. It's buried deep in his private vault, beneath his manor in the Nightside. But getting to it... well, that's a task only a fool would attempt."

"Good thing I'm half a fool," Larry said dryly.

Yelza chuckled again, her laughter soft but chilling. "You'll need more than wit to survive. That dagger is his greatest vulnerability. He's guarded it fiercely for decades, and the defenses around it are... formidable."

Larry leaned back, nodding thoughtfully. "Good to know. And you're certain it's there?"

"As certain as the day he stole from me," Yelza said bitterly. "If you can retrieve it, you might stand a chance. But be warned—Marcellus won't go down without a fight."

Michael frowned. "Why hasn't anyone used it against him before?"

"Because no one has lived long enough to try," Yelza said simply.

As they turned to leave, Yelza's voice stopped them. "Be careful, Michael," she said, her tone almost playful. "You smell far too good to waste."

Michael didn't reply, his unease clear as he followed Larry out of the crone's lair. Once they were back in the decaying streets, he let out a long breath.

"She's charming," Michael muttered.

Larry grinned. "You get used to her."

Michael shot him a look. "Do you really think we can get that dagger?"

Larry's grin widened. "Guess we'll find out."

The next step in their plan was clear—if they were going to infiltrate Marcellus DeLucia's mansion and retrieve the silver dagger, they needed to know what they were walking into. And that meant getting their hands on the blueprints.

"Where do we even start?" Michael asked as he and Larry walked through the winding streets of the Nightside. The gloom overhead seemed thicker than usual, and Michael could feel the swarm inside his coat stirring uneasily.

Larry, as always, looked unbothered. "We start with people who know things," he said simply. "There's a guy who deals in blueprints and layouts—old schematics, city plans, even private properties. If anyone has the plans for Marcellus's mansion, it's him."

Michael raised an eyebrow. "And this guy's just going to hand over blueprints to one of the most dangerous vampires in the Nightside?"

Larry grinned, his skeletal features twisting into something sly. "Not hand over. Sell. And not without a little persuasion."

They arrived at a rundown shop squeezed between two crumbling buildings, the windows covered with grime and half-ripped posters. The faint flicker of a neon sign overhead read Schemes & Dreams. Larry pushed the door open, a small bell jingling as they entered. The interior was a cluttered mess of rolled-up papers, filing cabinets, and old, flickering lamps.

Behind the counter sat a short, wiry man with greasy hair and glasses that magnified his eyes to comical proportions. He looked up from a stack of papers, his expression sour. "Oblivion. Always a pleasure to see you darken my door."

"Frankie," Larry said smoothly, leaning on the counter. "Got something I need."

Frankie squinted at him, his lips curling into a sneer. "You always do. What is it this time?"

"Blueprints," Larry replied. "Marcellus DeLucia's mansion."

Frankie froze, his expression shifting to one of genuine fear. "You're kidding, right? You think I'd keep something like that lying around?"

Larry's grin widened. "I think you'd keep it stashed away, just in case someone like me came knocking."

Frankie scowled. "You're going to get me killed, Oblivion."

"Not if you play nice," Larry said, his tone darkening slightly. "Now, be a good sport and dig them out for me."

While Frankie reluctantly rummaged through his stacks of papers, Michael felt a prickle of unease at the back of his neck. His swarm buzzed faintly, alerting him to a presence outside. He leaned toward Larry, whispering, "We've got company."

Larry didn't look up but nodded slightly. "How many?"

Michael closed his eyes briefly, reaching out with his senses. "Four. Vampires. They're closing in."

Larry sighed dramatically. "Frankie, you might want to speed this up."

"What's the rush?" Frankie muttered, shuffling through a drawer.

Michael tensed as he heard the door creak open behind them. The temperature in the room seemed to drop, and a faint growl echoed in the air.

"Well, well," a smooth voice said. "Larry Oblivion. Always poking your nose where it doesn't belong."

Larry turned slowly, his grin unfazed. "And here I thought I was keeping a low profile. What gave me away?"

The vampire, a tall man with slicked-back hair and glowing red eyes, smirked. "You're not exactly subtle. And Marcellus doesn't appreciate trespassers."

The fight broke out fast and brutal. The vampires lunged, their movements a blur of speed and aggression. Michael barely had time to react, summoning his swarm to intercept one of them as it closed in on him. Tarantula hawks swarmed out of his coat, their stingers driving the vampire back with screams of rage and pain.

Larry, meanwhile, fought with a brutal efficiency that made Michael's stomach churn. He caught one vampire mid-lunge, slamming it into the counter with enough force to crack the wood. His skeletal hands moved with unnatural precision, striking pressure points and twisting limbs with bone-snapping force.

"Careful, kid!" Larry called out as Michael dodged another vampire's claws. "They bite!"

Michael shot back a fire spell, the flames exploding in a brilliant flash that drove the vampire back. "Thanks for the tip!"

Frankie, meanwhile, had ducked behind the counter, muttering curses. "You're going to wreck my shop!"

Larry laughed, snapping a vampire's arm before driving a silver dagger into its chest. "Consider it collateral damage!"

The fight ended as quickly as it began. The remaining vampires retreated, hissing and snarling as they disappeared into the shadows. Michael stood breathing heavily, his swarm retreating back into his coat.

Larry adjusted his coat, looking only mildly disheveled. "Amateurs."

Frankie emerged from his hiding spot, clutching a rolled-up set of papers. "Here!" he snapped, shoving them at Larry. "Take it and go before more of them show up!"

Larry grinned, tucking the blueprints under his arm. "Pleasure doing business with you, Frankie."

As they left the shop, Michael glanced at Larry. "You knew that was going to happen, didn't you?"

"Of course," Larry said casually. "That's why I brought you along. Good practice."

Michael sighed, shaking his head. "Next time, maybe give me a heads-up?"

"Where's the fun in that?" Larry replied, smirking. He handed Michael the blueprints. "Here. Study these. We're going to need every advantage we can get."

Michael unrolled the papers, his eyes scanning the detailed layout of Marcellus's mansion. The vault containing the silver dagger was marked deep underground, surrounded by a labyrinth of corridors and defenses.

"Looks like a fortress," Michael muttered.

Larry grinned. "It always does, kid. Now let's figure out how to crack it."