Engines of Obsession: Chapter 16

Chapter 16: The Shop

For a long moment, Turner simply stared at the shop.

His head throbbed, but he now knew that this shop had never been there before. Perhaps knowing that it had some sort of strange effect helped, or perhaps his sheer familiarity and attachment to the street aided him. Or, he reflected, perhaps Nora had put some kind of protection on him.

Whatever the reason, Turner could tell the shop was wrong. When he looked straight on, everything was fine. The brick of the lower half blended in with the others, looking just as aged, and the wooden upper stories, jettied for more space, had a weathered look that was the same shade of pale brown as its neighbors.

Only when Turner tilted his head could he tell something was off. He could still feel the bizarre effect urging him to not pay attention, to keep his focus forward and dismiss the trick his peripheral vision was playing on him. Now that he knew it was there, though, he could see that the perspective shifted and warped, how the shop was squeezed into place between the others. The damp cobblestones in front rippled as if liquid. It shouldn't fit on the street.

Yet it did.

Unbidden, his hand traced along the scar on his cheek. He'd shaved this morning, so the smooth skin showed the paler, rougher line more easily than usual. It throbbed under his touch. A purely psychological reaction, he knew... a shadow of ancient memory.

"Shit," Turner growled. He rarely cursed, but now he couldn't think of what else to say. The store was right here, but he was without his sword or pistol. Would he even be able to find it again if he turned around and went back for the others? Would he be safe in there if he walked in, unarmed?

Would he ever get another chance if he didn't?

Could he afford not to?

A deep breath heaved in Turner's chest... and he walked forward.

Into the shop.

Turner didn't know what to expect when he walked into the shop, but the sheer feeling of normalcy wasn't it.

A small bell on the door jingled as Turner stepped through, but the click of the door closing was surprisingly quiet. Once through, the dull murmur of the city outside was muted heavily, so much so that the faint whirring and ticking of clockwork dominated the shop.

Despite the advertisement of potions, it was the scent of pine that assaulted the nose upon entry. That strong, sharp resin scent tickled the sinuses far more than anything else, but Turner knew Nora, who also dabbled in alchemy. The other scents were faint, but he picked up the trace of something under the powerful pine smell. Something antiseptic and chemical, with an undercurrent of ozone.

A warm voice floated in from somewhere in the back of the shop. "I'll be right there!" It was pleasant enough, though not so much that Turner would call it musical. Definitely not what he expected.

The delay gave him some time to look over the shop, which continued to be disappointingly normal, at least by the definition he'd set himself. It wasn't an average shop -- the whole idea of a puppet shop that sold potions was weird -- but other than that it was just... a storefront.

A large window was in the front, showing off various puppets and toys. Turner noted it was made of glass, which was a little unusual in this part of town, but not out of the question for a merchant that does well. Several stands held shelves of small puppets and toys, most simple carved wood with intricate joints, while the walls held a number of more sophisticated puppets and a few clockwork gadgets of brass and wood up on shelves.

Turner spotted a few shelves in the back holding various bottles and flasks, but they were not labeled. He doubted they were anything fancy, because he could see the counter had a display case built in. The bottles in there were much more expensive-looking. Most 'potions' were little better than local folk remedies, but he had a feeling those were the real thing.

Floorboards creaked as he stepped forward, nearing the counter. It wasn't strange for shops in this area to have a basement, so Turner wasn't surprised that this seemed to have one, too. He just still didn't get how it could move with one, as it seemed to. He'd encountered the unexplainable before -- things that people would call True Magic. It had never been anything on this scale.

"I apologize," the voice said, rounding the corner from the back of the shop. "I was finishing up a special order. May I help you?"

The description the little girl, Gretchen, gave to this woman had been vague. Turner now finally had a face to the name they'd been chasing. She looked younger than he expected, but she still had an air of composure that immediately told him she was the older of the two of them. Late twenties would be a good guess, if he had to make one.

Bright red hair with swept bangs made for an eye-catching display, with two sidelocks framing a pretty face, one with a delicate nose but rounded cheeks. Bright blue eyes were deep set under sharp, thin eyebrows that gave her a very piercing look, along with the clarity of her eyes. She kept the hair up in a ponytail, which fluttered midway down her back, hair showing a light wave.

And yes, Turner noted. She had a pleasant figure -- curvaceous, but not exaggerated. He could see how someone could fall for her.

As he assessed her, Anne's eyes quickly took stock of him. He could feel her gaze flit over him, probably checking him for weapons. It was done with a precision and observation that he wasn't used to feeling from others. He needed to get answers, but be nonthreatening.

"Maybe," Turner replied. "I'm looking for an Anne Blakely? You match her description but I... don't have much to go off of."

One of those thin eyebrows arched, but Anne merely propped her head up on her hand, leaning onto the counter with an airy, bemused demeanor. "That would be me, yes. Not much to go off of? It isn't often I hear that. Tell me, why exactly are you looking for me?"

Turner hesitated. The casual indifference with which the woman spoke was disarming, and yet his instincts all screamed at him that he was in grave danger. Her manner was so pleasant, yet he swore he saw calculated assessment in those eyes.

She doesn't see me as a threat, he realized.

"It's complicated," Turner finally replied, sticking to the truth as much as possible. "I heard your name mentioned in Laston, where you left some uh... supplies that caused a few problems. While I was here I asked around at the university, but the only Blakely that showed up there was... well, you look really good for someone that age."

Silence.

Turner rubbed at his scar with his thumb, now feeling that rare sensation of social awkwardness. He normally didn't care this much, but the feeling of danger that kept plucking at him was giving him a severe case of nerves.

"You aren't a hunter," Anne replied, her tone even and vaguely curious. "Just an amateur detective, hmm? Are you certain you want the answers to your questions?" She tapped a finger on the counter. "Could I interest you in a potion? You have a slight limp, and carry yourself as a fighter. I have several that may be of use."

This, Turner could handle. "I'm sure you do. I saw what you did for that girl in Laston. Powerful stuff. I'm not sure I could afford it, we still haven't sold off what we brought back, and are a little tight on funds."

Anne made a soft 'tut' noise, then reached under the counter. A small stoppered bottle -- glass, he noticed -- with a purplish hue slid across the polished wooden surface. "Free... provided you tell me the truth about why you are so intent on seeking me out. No one goes right to the university to look up my records off of a simple name drop. Something happened, didn't it?"

She tapped the stopper of the bottle. "Two doses. Refreshes your body, even mid-battle. Fatigue, soreness, the burning in your muscles... all gone within a few seconds. Also removes your need for sleep for the next eight hours. Do not take more than once a day. At the end of eight hours, you will likely collapse and need a full night's rest."

Up front about side effects, but still a miraculous offering. Turner was immediately suspicious, so he didn't take the bait. Not right away, in any case. "You're right, but what does it matter?"

Blakely tapped the stopper again, then rolled her finger about, making the bottle tilt on one edge and do a small circle. She righted it before she spoke again. "My boy, you've already given me so much by refusing to answer."

She lifted a finger, gesturing toward Turner while taking a seat on the stool behind the counter. "If you had desired something of mine, like a tool or a spell or a potion, you would have been a little more forthcoming with an excuse or lie, at least. That you did not, tells me that you believe we may be at odds. Yet you came in here unarmed and unprepared, which tells me you are unsure of your opponent."

Turner stared at her, inwardly cursing. He didn't consider himself a genius, but everything he'd heard about this woman suggested she was, and much older and experienced than him as well. He had to provide more, and something that could be verified.

"I encountered a strange contraption in Hodgeworth. It murdered a man. I later tracked the source to Laston, where I ran into uh... your name, and then a... talking puppet. He was very uh... aggressive." Turner explained haltingly, trying not to give too much detail... or the fact that he had companions.

Anne's response was unsurprised, her chin cupped in one palm. "Ah, you ran into Reginald. He really is normally polite, but has quite the temper. I am going to guess he sent the prototype to kill that glassmaker." She sighed, "I will have to do something about him. Good glassworkers are hard to find."

Again, Turner felt off-balance. She hadn't even tried to deny it. And her casual dismissal of Henley's death seemed so thoughtless, very unlike the more friendly facade she'd shown. He'd been starting to doubt she was dangerous, but with that one statement all of his instincts were telling him to get out of there, right now.

"So he didn't do it under your orders?" Turner asked, needing to hear it said.

Anne shrugged, standing up straight so she could meet his eyes. "No. Reginald will do as I say as a favor... most of the time. But do your parents still tell you everything to do? You never do things they might not approve of, now that you are an adult?"

Turner's jaw clenched. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax... but the damage was done. Anne's eyes were on him, and she'd paused her idle fidget with the bottle.

"My parents died sixteen years ago," he replied evenly. "Most of the village did. Some kind of monstrous rampage. I was locked in the cellar. Saved my life, but I heard some very tinny laughter." He met those brilliant blue eyes and asked, "You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

The reply to that was quick and simple. "No, I do not recall anything of the sort." Anne's fingers danced atop the small bottle, hiding it in her palm, then producing it again with a flourish. "That is more what I wanted to hear, though. It does sound like some of my creations may have been involved. Most likely directed by Penny. She is asleep currently, but next time I awaken her I will ask, if you like." She turned her head with a thoughtful expression. "Although if she were there in person, I doubt your life was in danger. Penny knows better than to kill a child."

The complete lack of interest and care that she said it with hit Turner harder than anything else. His jaw hung open for a few moments, before he snapped it shut to try to say something. Anything relevant. "You... let them slaughter entire villages?" Then, as his mind caught up. "... you like children. That's why you helped Gretchen. You won't kill them."

Anne's expression twisted into a frown of annoyance. At first, Turner thought he'd pushed a nerve... but her main response was to set the bottle down and push it to the edge of the counter. She was annoyed he hadn't taken the reward yet, and tired of holding it, he realized.

"Collateral damage does happen," Anne said dismissively. "But children have far more potential. I hate to see potential wasted. Gretchen, hmm?" She thought for a moment, then smiled, "Ah, yes. The girl has talent, and seeing her hobble about was an annoyance. I am curious to see what she does with her new life." She sighed, "Likely nothing. Very few grow up to be much of anything worth talking about."

Turner felt his nails digging into his palm, fist clenched tightly. "Is that all they are to you? An experiment? I'd heard you were a kind and helpful woman, but we're just..."

The redhead waited a second or two for him to finish... then shrugged. "Take you reward, boy. I did not order the death of your parents. It happened, and my creation did it, but I have no grudge against you."

Then she paused. "And yet... many have spent their lives trying to confront me like this. And you, who knows nothing, tracked me down once you encountered my creations as a child." Her finger tapped her chin. "So easily, yet you clearly have no idea what you are doing. How interesting."

Another long stare, and Turner felt the lightness at his side much more than before. No sword, no gun. Nothing to take out his frustration with. If he'd been a more impulsive man, he might have assaulted her then and there, with nothing but his fists.

His sense of danger told him that would be pointless.

He still had so many questions. So many. But if he stayed here any longer... his head pounded, a roaring in his ears telling him he was starting to lose control. With careful, deliberate motion, he plucked up the offered bottle.

She hadn't even asked his name.

"We'll meet again," he said, striding out of the shop.

He felt Blakely's bemused gaze upon his back the entire way.