A walk in the Nightside

Chapter 16: A Foolproof Plan

Back in Michael's cramped apartment, the table was strewn with blueprints, notes, and rough sketches of Marcellus DeLucia's mansion. A dim lamp cast flickering light over the makeshift planning station, and Michael stood at its center, his arms crossed, staring intently at the layout.

Larry leaned back in a chair, cigarette dangling from his lips, his skeletal fingers tapping idly on the table. "You've been staring at those papers for an hour, kid. Either spit out a plan or admit you've got nothing."

Michael shot him a look. "I've got something," he said, grabbing a marker and gesturing at the blueprints. "Alright, hear me out."

He began to pace, pointing to different sections of the mansion. "The place is a fortress, but every fortress has weak points. Marcellus has his defenses focused on the vault—it's where the dagger is, so that's where he thinks anyone would hit first. But if we divide his attention, he won't see us coming."

Larry raised an eyebrow. "Divide his attention how?"

Michael grinned, leaning on the table. "We hit him with a multi-pronged assault. Picture this: I infiltrate from the east wing—there's a service entrance here, disguised as part of the landscaping. At the same time, you cause a distraction at the front, something big and noisy to draw out his guards. Once I'm inside, I disable the first set of alarms, then head down this corridor—" he traced a line with the marker "—to the security room. From there, I loop the camera feeds so we can move undetected."

Larry tilted his head, exhaling a puff of smoke. "And what happens when someone notices the cameras are on a loop?"

"They won't," Michael said confidently. "Because the footage will only loop the empty parts of the mansion. The rest will still look active."

Larry smirked faintly. "Alright, keep going. This is entertaining."

Michael ignored him, moving to the next section of the blueprints. "Once the cameras are looped, I signal you to join me through the west entrance. We rendezvous here—" he circled a spot near the grand staircase "—and make our way to the vault. The guards will still be dealing with your distraction, and with the cameras compromised, we'll have a clear shot."

"And the vault?" Larry asked, his tone dry. "You think Marcellus just left it unlocked for us?"

Michael grinned. "That's where Yelza's info comes in. The vault isn't just protected by a physical lock; it's sealed with magic tied to Marcellus's bloodline. But he's a vampire, and vampires bleed. If we get a sample of his blood, we can bypass the seal."

Larry snorted. "And how exactly do you plan to get his blood, kid? Ask him nicely?"

Michael's grin faltered slightly. "That's... where you come in. You're good at making people bleed."

Larry laughed, the sound sharp and dry. "Flattering. But you do realize this entire plan hinges on us not getting killed before we even get inside, right?"

Michael waved him off. "It's airtight. Once we have the dagger, we confront Marcellus in his inner sanctum. With the weapon in hand, we have leverage. He'll have to negotiate."

Larry stared at him for a long moment, then burst out laughing. "Negotiate? With Marcellus DeLucia? Kid, I've heard some wild plans in my time, but this takes the cake."

Michael frowned. "What's wrong with it? It covers all the angles."

Larry leaned forward, snuffing out his cigarette in a nearby ashtray. "What's wrong with it? Everything. You're assuming his guards are dumb enough to fall for a distraction. You're assuming you can loop the cameras without someone noticing. You're assuming we can even find his blood, let alone use it before we're torn apart."

Michael crossed his arms. "You got a better idea?"

Larry sighed, rubbing his temples. "Look, I appreciate the enthusiasm, but this isn't some heist movie. This is the Nightside. Plans like yours don't work because too many things can go wrong. All it takes is one guard getting suspicious, one magical defense we didn't account for, and we're toast."

"So what do you suggest?" Michael asked, his frustration clear.

Larry smirked, leaning back in his chair. "We keep it simple. Direct. We find out when Marcellus is least protected—when most of his kiss is out feeding or handling his business. We sneak in, grab the dagger, and get the hell out before anyone knows we were there."

Michael frowned. "And what about the vault's magical lock?"

"That's where you come in," Larry said, pointing at him. "You've got magic, don't you? Figure it out."

Michael groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Fine. But your plan is riskier than mine."

Larry shrugged. "Maybe. But it's also faster. In the Nightside, speed beats clever nine times out of ten."

Michael sighed, staring down at the blueprints. "I still think my plan would've worked."

Larry chuckled. "Sure, kid. Save it for the movies."

They both turned their attention back to the blueprints, hashing out the details of Larry's more direct approach. It wasn't flashy, but Michael had to admit—it might just work.

Standing outside Marcellus DeLucia's mansion, Michael couldn't help but feel a pang of unease. The building loomed in the faint moonlight, a sprawling structure straight out of the 1800s, with tall white columns and wide porches that gave it the look of an old plantation estate. The windows glimmered faintly, reflecting the eerie glow of the Nightside sky. It looked untouched by time, a monument to wealth and power, but Michael could feel the malevolence seeping from its very walls.

"You sure about this?" Michael asked, glancing at Larry. The undead detective stood beside him, his skeletal features barely visible under the brim of his hat.

"Not in the slightest," Larry said with a faint grin. "But it's not like we have better options."

Michael had spent the last few hours preparing, gathering his swarm in and around his apartment before they set out. Larry hadn't so much as blinked when he saw the writhing mass of insects crawling into Michael's coat and the carefully sealed jars of specialty bugs he packed. He hadn't even commented when Michael explained the modifications he'd made to the fireflies, enhancing their natural glow with magic to make them small incendiary devices.

"Fireflies that can burst into flames," Larry had said, smirking faintly. "You really are full of surprises, kid."

Michael adjusted his coat now, feeling the faint hum of the swarm tucked into its hidden chambers. "They're not just for show," he said quietly. "They might buy us some time if things go south."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," Larry replied, his glowing eyes scanning the mansion. "Marcellus's kiss is dangerous, but if we're lucky, most of them will be in feeding dens or handling business while he's away. Still, we can't afford to get sloppy."

The mansion was surrounded by a high wrought-iron fence, its sharp spikes gleaming faintly. Michael spotted security cameras discreetly placed along the perimeter, their lenses sweeping slowly. A pair of vampires patrolled the grounds, their glowing red eyes cutting through the darkness as they moved with inhuman grace.

Michael crouched behind a row of overgrown hedges, pulling a jar of his modified fireflies from his bag. "Distraction?" he whispered, holding the jar up for Larry to see.

Larry nodded, his grin widening. "Just enough to get their attention. Don't blow up half the yard."

"Got it," Michael muttered, carefully opening the jar. The fireflies swarmed out, their bioluminescent bodies glowing faintly. With a whispered command, Michael sent them flitting toward the patrolling vampires.

As the fireflies neared, they hovered briefly before bursting into small, fiery explosions. The blasts weren't large enough to cause real damage, but they were bright and loud, drawing the attention of the patrolling vampires instantly.

"What the hell was that?" one of them hissed, rushing toward the commotion.

Larry took the opportunity to move, gesturing for Michael to follow. They slipped through a gap in the fence, their movements silent as they crept toward the mansion.

Inside the grounds, the tension grew thicker. The air seemed to hum with latent energy, the faint smell of blood and decay lingering in the breeze. Michael reached out with his swarm, spreading them through the area to scout for other guards or traps.

"Anything?" Larry asked, his voice low.

"Two more guards near the west wing," Michael replied. "Looks like they're staying put for now."

"Good," Larry said, pulling a small vial from his coat. "Let's keep it that way."

Michael watched as Larry poured the contents of the vial onto the ground near the hedge line. The liquid hissed faintly as it spread, and the faint shimmer of a magical ward rose into the air, masking their presence.

"You really do come prepared," Michael whispered.

Larry smirked. "I didn't survive this long by being careless."

As they reached the side entrance, Michael glanced back toward the patrols, ensuring the guards hadn't noticed their approach. His fireflies continued to flit in the distance, creating faint flashes that kept the vampires distracted.

Larry leaned against the door, producing a set of lockpicks. "You ready for this?" he asked, glancing at Michael.

"As ready as I'll ever be," Michael replied, clutching the hilt of his revolver.

"Good," Larry said, a faint grin spreading across his face. "Let's get that dagger and end this."

With a quiet click, the lock gave way, and the door swung open. They slipped inside, the dark interior of the mansion swallowing them whole.

Inside Marcellus DeLucia's mansion, the air felt different—heavier, as if the house itself were alive and aware of their presence. Shadows clung to the ornate walls, which were lined with faded portraits of long-dead figures, their painted eyes seeming to follow Michael and Larry as they moved through the corridors. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the faint creak of their footsteps on the wooden floorboards.

Michael's swarm buzzed faintly, spreading out through the walls and vents like an extension of his senses. He closed his eyes briefly, letting their movements guide him. "Three rooms ahead," he whispered to Larry. "There's a vampire near the staircase. Another one patrolling the west hall."

Larry nodded, his skeletal grin widening. "Guess we'll have to make it quiet, then."

The first vampire was perched near the staircase, leaning casually against the banister. He was tall and wiry, his pale face gaunt and his eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. Michael crouched behind a corner, his fingers brushing the concealed compartments in his coat. With a silent command, he sent a cluster of tarantula hawks flitting toward the vampire.

The insects struck fast, their stingers piercing the vampire's exposed neck. The creature let out a muffled gasp, his glowing eyes widening in shock. He clawed at his throat, but it was too late—the venom worked quickly, paralyzing him. Michael stepped forward and drew his revolver, the silver-tipped bullet piercing the vampire's heart in one clean shot. The creature disintegrated into ash, scattering across the polished floor.

"Nice," Larry murmured, stepping over the pile of ash. "Quick and clean."

The second vampire, patrolling the west hall, was more alert. He moved with purpose, his glowing eyes scanning the shadows. Michael and Larry crept along the opposite side of the corridor, their movements silent. When the vampire paused near a decorative suit of armor, Larry struck.

The undead detective moved with inhuman speed, grabbing the vampire from behind and snapping his neck with a sickening crack. Before the creature could recover, Michael was there, plunging a silver blade into his chest. The vampire let out a faint hiss before crumbling to ash, his form collapsing in on itself like sand in a storm.

"Two down," Larry muttered, wiping his hands on his coat. "Let's keep moving."

As they navigated deeper into the mansion, Michael's swarm continued to map out the layout. Through the eyes of his insects, he could see the ornate rooms and halls branching off the main corridors—ballrooms with glittering chandeliers, libraries with shelves stacked high with ancient tomes, and dining rooms set with tables that hadn't seen guests in decades.

"This place is a maze," Michael whispered, his voice tight. "But I think I've got something."

Larry leaned closer, his glowing eyes narrowing. "What is it?"

"There's a hidden passage in the study," Michael said, pointing toward a nearby room. "It leads down—probably to the vault."

Larry grinned. "Let's hope you're right, kid."

The study was a grand room, its walls lined with shelves of dusty books and artifacts. A massive oak desk sat in the center, papers and ledgers scattered across its surface. Michael's swarm buzzed around the room, their movements revealing faint cracks and seams in the wooden paneling along the far wall.

"There," Michael said, pointing to the hidden door.

Larry approached, running his skeletal fingers along the edges of the paneling. "Good eye," he said. With a firm push, the hidden door creaked open, revealing a narrow stone staircase spiraling downward.

The air grew colder as they descended, the faint smell of earth and decay wafting up to meet them. The walls were damp, lined with flickering torches that cast long shadows. The staircase opened into a wide, cavernous chamber—the vault.

The room was a marvel of craftsmanship, its walls carved with intricate patterns and runes that seemed to shimmer faintly in the torchlight. A massive metal door stood at the far end, its surface engraved with ancient symbols and wards. Heavy chains crisscrossed the door, held in place by a single, ornate lock that pulsed with magical energy.

"Marcellus doesn't mess around," Larry muttered, approaching the door. He traced a finger along one of the runes, his expression thoughtful. "This lock is blood-tied. He's the only one who can open it."

Michael frowned, his fingers brushing the hidden compartments in his coat. "What about the wards?"

Larry smirked. "That's your department, kid."

Michael sighed, pulling out a small vial of his own blood. He'd prepared for this, using a spell Yelza had taught him to mimic the magical signature of a vampire's blood. It wasn't perfect, but it might be enough to trick the wards.

As he carefully poured the blood onto the lock, the runes flared brightly, then dimmed. The chains rattled, falling away with a heavy clatter. The door creaked open, revealing a smaller chamber within.

And there, resting on a pedestal in the center of the room, was the silver dagger.

Michael and Larry exchanged a glance, a mixture of relief and anticipation passing between them. "We've got it," Michael said softly.

"Step one," Larry replied, his grin widening. "Now, let's get the hell out of here."