A walk in the Nightside

Chapter 18: Breathing Space

Michael leaned against the bathroom sink, the steam from his shower swirling lazily around him. His reflection stared back from the cracked mirror, the sharp edges of his features illuminated by the dim, flickering bulb overhead. He looked exhausted but alive, and in the Nightside, that was no small feat.

Water dripped from his dark hair onto his shoulders as he reached for a towel, wiping himself down with slow, deliberate movements. The past few days had been a whirlwind of violence and survival—taking down Marcellus had been both a victory and a warning. The master vampire was gone, but the original problem remained: the families of Thomas Bennett and William Pembroke.

Michael sighed heavily, slinging the towel around his neck as he stepped out of the bathroom. The cool air of his apartment was a stark contrast to the steamy warmth, and his muscles ached in a way that no amount of hot water could soothe.

His apartment was a strange mix of functionality and chaos. On one side, there was the semblance of a normal life—a bed tucked into the far corner, a small desk cluttered with notebooks and scattered papers, and a kitchenette that barely managed to keep itself together. On the other side, his swarm had claimed their space. Enclosures filled with insects lined the walls, their hum and buzz a constant background noise. A makeshift line hung across the room, dividing his living quarters from the controlled chaos of his insect haven.

In one corner, several of his tarantula hawks flitted around his coat, their wings shimmering faintly under the dim light. They moved with precision, their tiny legs brushing away dirt and debris from the dark gray fabric. Michael watched them work for a moment, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Good job, guys," he muttered, the sound almost swallowed by the ever-present hum of the swarm.

His coat hung on a rack, its many layers woven with reinforced spidersilk and infused with protective spells. It had saved his life more than once, and now the insects were doing their part to keep it battle-ready.

Michael sank into the chair at his desk, the wood creaking under his weight. He rubbed his temples, his thoughts swirling. Marcellus was dead, his kiss scattered, and Larry had disappeared back into the shadows of the Nightside to deal with his own matters. But Michael knew he couldn't afford to relax.

On the desk in front of him were the remnants of his research into the Bennett and Pembroke families: the IDs he'd taken, a map of the Nightside with their last known locations circled, and a list of questions that still needed answers.

He leaned back, staring at the ceiling as he ran a hand through his damp hair. "A bit of time," he muttered. "That's all I've bought myself."

The faint hum of his swarm echoed his unease. The Nightside never stayed quiet for long, and Michael knew the storm was far from over. But for now, he had a moment to breathe, to regroup, and to prepare for whatever came next.

Michael stepped into Strangefellows, the dim light and familiar buzz of conversation offering a brief respite from the pounding in his skull. He made his way to the bar, every step a reminder that his night of celebrating the takedown of Marcellus had come with a price. Slumping onto a stool, he let out a low groan, rubbing his temples.

"Well, well," Alex said, his voice thick with amusement as he polished a glass. "Look who's decided to rejoin the living—or whatever passes for it in the Nightside. Rough night, kid?"

Michael grimaced, reaching for the glass of water Alex slid toward him. "Rough morning," he muttered. "I thought my werewolf healing factor would take care of this. Guess not."

Alex's grin widened as he leaned on the bar, savoring the moment. "Oh, sure, that would've worked. Except you spent the night downing Larry's Last Laugh."

Michael frowned, pausing mid-sip. "What the hell is that?"

"Larry's favorite little poison," Alex said, his tone dripping with mockery. "Enchanted absinthe, a splash of demon-market moonshine, a pinch of powdered regret, and a twist of irony. It's a recipe for disaster—and you, my friend, were the picture of enthusiasm last night."

Michael groaned, setting the glass down. "You let me drink that?"

"Let you?" Alex chuckled, crossing his arms. "Kid, I couldn't stop you. You were halfway through your second glass before I even knew what was happening."

Michael buried his face in his hands. "That explains a lot."

Alex shrugged, clearly enjoying himself. "Lesson learned. Stick to something safer. Or don't. Honestly, it's more fun watching you suffer."

Michael glared at him. "You couldn't have warned me?"

"Oh, I could've," Alex said with a smirk. "But where's the fun in that?"

Michael was halfway through his water when Alex reached under the bar and slapped a manila envelope onto the counter. The sudden thud made Michael flinch.

"What's this?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Something for you," Alex said, his tone shifting to something more serious. "Larry dropped it off earlier. Said to make sure you got it when you came in."

Michael frowned, pulling the envelope closer. It was heavier than he'd expected, its edges worn as if it had been passed around. Carefully, he opened it, sliding out a collection of notes, photographs, and documents that looked like they belonged in a private investigator's case file.

"Manfred must've helped," Alex added, leaning casually against the bar. "Looks like Larry's been busy digging into those families you've been fretting about."

Michael's chest tightened as he flipped through the papers. There were detailed notes on the Bennett and Pembroke families—their business dealings, their associates, and their long-standing ties to the Nightside's underworld. Though they weren't major players in the grand scheme of Nightside politics, they had enough influence to spell trouble for anyone who crossed them.

Grainy photographs showed shadowy meetings in smoke-filled rooms, faded portraits of ancestors who looked unsettlingly similar to their descendants, and a handful of addresses and locations circled in red ink.

"This is..." Michael trailed off, overwhelmed by the sheer amount of information.

Alex poured himself a drink, watching Michael carefully. "This is trouble, kid. They're not the Nightside's nobility, but they're well-connected enough to make life very inconvenient for you. People like them? They don't have to be the biggest players to cause a world of hurt."

Michael nodded slowly, his unease growing with every page he turned. "Why would Larry leave this here? Why not just give it to me directly?"

Alex shrugged, swirling his drink. "Could be a lot of reasons. Maybe he didn't want to stick around to answer your questions. Or maybe he figured this was safer. Harder to ambush a place like Strangefellows."

Michael chuckled darkly, shaking his head. "That does sound like Larry."

Alex's grin returned, though it carried a sharper edge this time. "You've stirred up a hornet's nest, kid. Better be ready for what comes next."

Michael leaned back, staring at the documents as if they might bite him. "I'll be ready."

Alex raised his glass in a mock toast. "You'd better be. Because in the Nightside, trouble doesn't knock politely—it kicks the door down."

Michael let out a long breath, his gaze drifting back to the notes. The takedown of Marcellus had bought him some time, but not much. The Bennetts and the Pembrokes weren't the biggest sharks in the Nightside, but they were still dangerous. And now, they were his problem.

For a moment, he considered pushing the envelope aside, leaving it for another day. But that wasn't an option. In the Nightside, delaying a problem didn't make it go away—it just made it worse.

Michael spread the documents across his desk later that night, carefully reviewing every scrap of information Larry and Manfred had dug up. The notes painted a complex picture of two families that weren't the top-tier players of the Nightside but were deeply entrenched in its underbelly.

The Bennett Family

The Bennett family's influence stemmed from their long-standing control over several lucrative and discreet enterprises within the Nightside. While they weren't as flashy or powerful as the major players, their presence was felt in many corners.

Primary Businesses:Black Widow Brokerage: A covert financial service that specialized in laundering money for criminal organizations. The Bennetts offered anonymity, and their extensive network made them a go-to for moving large sums without raising suspicion.The Silk Market: A high-end boutique dealing in exotic and magical textiles. Rumor had it they dabbled in "cursed" fabric sales, though this was never proven. Their clientele ranged from the wealthiest citizens of the Nightside to those seeking enchanted materials for rituals. Properties Owned:The Widow's Nest: A grand but crumbling building in a seedy part of the Nightside that housed their brokerage. The property doubled as a fortified safe house.Shadow Looms: A warehouse on the outskirts of Dead Town where enchanted materials were produced. It was heavily guarded, both physically and magically.Venom Row Apartments: A rundown complex that served as a front for some of their more illegal dealings. Tenants were often recruited into their schemes, knowingly or otherwise. Allies and Connections:Minor Magic Users: Several local witches and sorcerers worked for the Bennetts, providing spells and wards to protect their interests.Criminal Syndicates: The Bennetts had strong ties to several smaller gangs, offering them financial services and a safe haven in exchange for loyalty.Politicians and Bureaucrats: They had a few low-level officials on their payroll, ensuring the occasional investigation "disappeared." Family Dynamics:

The Bennetts were described as shrewd and calculating, with a cold, business-first approach to everything. Their patriarch, Jonathan Bennett, was rumored to be ill but still called the shots. His daughter, Victoria Bennett, had taken over much of the day-to-day operations and was considered ruthless and efficient.

The Pembroke Family

The Pembrokes were less involved in financial schemes and more entrenched in the magical and supernatural trades. Their interests often bordered on the occult, with a reputation for dealing in artifacts and forbidden knowledge.

Primary Businesses:Pembroke & Sons Antiquities: A prestigious shop dealing in rare and magical artifacts. It catered to collectors, sorcerers, and those desperate enough to risk owning something potentially cursed.The Cryptic Auction House: A semi-annual event where some of the most dangerous and sought-after items in the Nightside were sold to the highest bidder. The auctions were invitation-only and notoriously cutthroat.Moonlit Wineyards: A seemingly normal vineyard on the outskirts of the Nightside. The wine produced was rumored to have mild enchanting properties and was sold to high-end clientele. Properties Owned:The Vault: A heavily guarded, subterranean storage facility where the Pembrokes kept their most valuable items. Only trusted family members and associates knew its exact location.Pembroke House: An old but impeccably maintained mansion on the edge of a magical leyline. The house itself was rumored to be alive, feeding on the ambient magic of the area.The Ashen Terrace: A sprawling estate used to host private events, including the infamous Cryptic Auctions. The terrace was surrounded by enchanted wards that supposedly kept even the strongest intruders at bay. Allies and Connections:The Occult Community: The Pembrokes had deep ties to several secretive magical orders and individuals, often trading rare artifacts for favors.High Society: The family maintained relationships with the wealthiest and most influential citizens in the Nightside, leveraging these connections to maintain their status.Enforcers: Unlike the Bennetts, the Pembrokes employed a small group of loyal supernatural enforcers, including vampires, golems, and shadowy mercenaries. Family Dynamics:

The Pembrokes were known for their obsession with legacy and secrecy. Their matriarch, Elizabeth Pembroke, was an enigmatic figure who rarely appeared in public. Her sons, William Pembroke(deceased) and Edmund Pembroke, were tasked with expanding the family's influence. Rumors suggested Edmund was less capable than his late brother, and Elizabeth's patience with him was wearing thin.

Why They're Dangerous

Manfred's notes highlighted several reasons these families posed a serious threat:

Retribution: The deaths of Thomas Bennett and William Pembroke had likely stirred up old grudges. Both families had a reputation for responding to perceived slights with swift and brutal retaliation.Resources: Between their combined businesses and properties, the two families had access to vast wealth, magical artifacts, and hired muscle. They could wage a war of attrition or strike surgically, depending on their strategy.Connections: While not the top players in the Nightside, their ties to various groups made them formidable. They could easily leverage their allies to make Michael's life miserable—or end it outright.

Key Points of Interest

Manfred's file included a few addresses circled in red ink, likely places of importance to the families:

The Widow's Nest (Bennett Safehouse): A good place to start if Michael wanted leverage or information on their next moves.The Vault (Pembroke Storage): A risky but potentially rewarding target if he needed something valuable to bargain with.Ashen Terrace (Pembroke Estate): The next Cryptic Auction was scheduled in a month, and attending could put Michael in the same room as the Pembroke matriarch herself.

As Michael finished reviewing the notes, his unease grew. These weren't the most powerful families in the Nightside, but they were deeply rooted, dangerous, and resourceful. He had bought himself time by taking down Marcellus, but the clock was ticking. If the Bennetts and Pembrokes wanted vengeance, they had everything they needed to make it happen.

Michael sat at his desk, the array of notes and documents spread out before him like a puzzle. Manfred had been thorough, uncovering more about the Bennett and Pembroke families than Michael could have hoped for. Their businesses, properties, and connections were all laid bare in meticulous detail. As he sifted through the pages, a part of him couldn't help but be impressed by the late private investigator's skill and tenacity.

"A shame," Michael muttered under his breath, leaning back in his chair. The weight of Manfred's fate lingered heavily in the air. Whatever the investigator had uncovered, it had cost him his life. That fact gnawed at Michael more than he wanted to admit. He owed the man—not just for the information but for taking the risk in the first place.

Now the real question loomed: what to do with what he'd learned?

The Bennetts and Pembrokes weren't Nightside royalty, but they were powerful in their own ways. Money, influence, and magic—they had enough of all three to make his life hell if they wanted to. And given that he'd killed their kin, it was a safe bet that vengeance was high on their list of priorities.

Michael's fingers drummed against the desk as he stared at the notes. "I need a plan," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Something to shake them, make them rethink coming after me. But what?"

The Bennetts were cold, calculating, and business-minded. They valued power and control, and their retaliation would likely be strategic. The Pembrokes, on the other hand, were steeped in the occult. Their vendetta would be personal, fueled by a mix of pride and their obsession with legacy. Together, they presented a two-pronged threat: one clinical, the other emotional.

Michael knew he couldn't fight them head-on. Even with his werewolf-enhanced abilities, his swarm, and his growing arsenal of magical knowledge, he was just one man. A direct confrontation would end with him dead—or worse.

What he needed was leverage. Something to dissuade them from pursuing revenge. Something that would make them pause and reconsider whether he was worth the trouble.

Michael's gaze fell on a photograph of the Ashen Terrace, the Pembroke estate. It was circled in red, a note in Manfred's handwriting reading: Next Cryptic Auction: 1 month. The Cryptic Auctions were legendary—exclusive events where some of the most powerful and dangerous artifacts in the Nightside were sold to the highest bidder. If he could find a way to attend, he might learn more about the Pembrokes' weaknesses—or even acquire something to use against them.

Then there was the Widow's Nest, the Bennetts' safehouse. It was a fortress, both physically and magically protected, but Manfred's notes hinted at internal tensions within the family. Jonathan Bennett's failing health and Victoria Bennett's increasing control presented an opportunity. Exploiting those tensions might give him an edge.

But these weren't plans—they were ideas. Fragmented and dangerous ideas.

Michael sighed, his head falling into his hands. "This is insane," he muttered. "I'm not a detective, or a mastermind, or even a proper sorcerer. What the hell am I supposed to do?"

The door to Michael's apartment opened with a creak, and Alex strolled in, his sharp grin firmly in place. He didn't knock—he never did—but Michael had stopped caring.

"You look like hell," Alex said, leaning against the doorframe. "Still hungover, or is that just your default state now?"

Michael glared at him half-heartedly. "What do you want, Alex?"

"Came to check on my favorite employee," Alex said, pushing off the frame and wandering over to the desk. He glanced at the papers, his grin fading slightly. "You're still obsessing over those families, huh?"

"Obsessing might save my life," Michael replied, leaning back in his chair. "I've got all this information, but I still don't know what to do with it."

Alex picked up one of the photographs, studying it with mild interest. "You can't outmuscle them," he said, tossing the photo back onto the desk. "And you sure as hell can't outmoney them. So what's left?"

Michael frowned. "Leverage. But I don't have any—at least, not yet."

Alex smirked, tapping his temple. "You've got a brain, kid. Use it. The Nightside's full of cracks and shadows. Families like these? They've got skeletons buried so deep they've forgotten half of them. Find one, and you've got your leverage."

Michael rubbed his temples, frustrated. "And how am I supposed to do that? I can't just waltz into their estates and start digging."

Alex shrugged, his grin returning. "Then don't. Let them make the first move. People like the Bennetts and Pembrokes? They're proud, predictable. They'll come at you, and when they do, you'll have your opening."

Michael frowned, considering the idea. "Let them come to me?"

"Why not?" Alex said, spreading his hands. "They'll underestimate you—they always do with newcomers. Use that to your advantage. Be ready, and when they slip up, you'll be there to capitalize on it."

Michael leaned back, his mind racing. It wasn't much of a plan, but it was better than nothing. For now, he'd prepare. Strengthen his defenses, sharpen his skills, and keep his swarm ready. The Bennetts and Pembrokes would come for him eventually. When they did, he'd make sure they regretted it.