Vic was already halfway to the exit. "I provide information, not heroics. That's an important distinction in my line of work."
As they scrambled away, the center of the stage began to sink, wooden planks separating to reveal a staircase spiraling downward into darkness.
"Well," Delilah said, staring into the abyss. "That's not ominous at all."
"My client mentioned something about a symphony," Vic called from the safety of the theater seats. "Said the Collector needs conductors for each movement."
Sam exchanged a look with Delilah. "I think we just found the concert hall."
The map folded itself into an arrow, pointing insistently down the stairs.
"I'm guessing we're not waiting for backup," Delilah sighed.
"You could wait here with Dracula Jr.," Sam offered.
"And miss whatever's making your eyebrows do that twitchy thing? Not a chance, Wolfe."
Vic cleared his throat. "I'll just wait here then. Someone should guard the exit. Very important job, exit-guarding."
Sam rolled his eyes, then turned back to the staircase. "Stay close," he told Delilah. "And if anything feels wrong?—"
"I'll be sure to mention it right after the talking map and magical staircase," she finished with a grim smile.
Together, they descended into the darkness below.
8
The midnight air wrapped around us like a chill blanket as we stared at the theater's imposing facade. Moonlight cast dramatic shadows across the art deco details, making the building look like something from an old horror film—which felt uncomfortably appropriate.
"Remind me why we're breaking in when we were literally just inside?" I whispered, clutching my jacket tighter.
Sam's silhouette looked even more imposing in the darkness. "Because whatever's down those stairs might require backup, and I want Mac here before we explore further."
"Sensible wolf," Vic drawled from his position beneath a nearby oak. "Though I question your definition of 'backup' if it's just another furry friend."
"Says the vampire hiding behind a tree," I muttered.
Sam approached the ornate front door, testing the handle. "Locked. Can you work your magic?"
I rummaged through my purse, pushing aside tarot cards and emergency crystals. "Technically it's not magic, just a skill I picked up when?—"
"When what? You were going through a rebellious phase?" Sam's eyebrow arched in the moonlight.
"When I locked myself out of my shop seventeen times in one month." I knelt before the lock, inserting my picks. "The locksmith started charging me double."
My fingers worked deftly, feeling the tumblers shift. A familiar tingle started in my fingertips—the same sensation that preceded a vision. "Oh no?—"
The lock didn't just open—it disassembled itself. Tiny metal components rained onto the steps with musical plinks.
"I said disable the lock, not disintegrate the entire mechanism!" Sam hissed.
"I barely touched it! This place is falling apart anyway."
Vic slow-clapped from his safe distance. "Bravo. Very stealthy."
Sam grabbed the door handle, applying what I assumed was the gentlest of werewolf pressure. The handle snapped off in his hand with a crack that echoed through the quiet street.
"And I'm the destructive one?" I whispered.
