Engines of Obsession: Chapter 19

Chapter 19: What Once Was Lost

Anne’s words still hung in the air, horrifying in their calm curiosity. I wonder what sort of construct you would make?

Turner wasn't sure if he heard the woman right, at first. Anne had said it so casually, as if musing to herself, that he almost thought he'd misheard.

The way Nora's face paled again confirmed his thoughts. He'd heard correctly, and the implication terrified Nora. He could see it in that tension in her jaw, the widening eyes. All subtle to someone who hadn't known her for years, but clear as day to him.

He'd remained silent through the two witches conversing in matters beyond his ken, but this crossed a line. Turner rose to his feet and took a step toward Anne without thinking, growling, "If you touch her, I'll... the deal is off."

He knew his words were hollow. He knew he had no chance against her. Turner was in fact rather sure that Anne could murder them all and find the arm herself. It was the only leverage he could think of, though.

"I will not, it was merely a passing thought," Anne replied airily, unconcerned at the implied almost-threat. "I certainly would not wish to fight you over this. Not right now, anyway."

He curled his hand into a fist, every fiber of him aching for a weapon. A strained, deep breath hissed inward between clenched teeth as he forced himself to calm. Cold. A river of ice. He repeated those thoughts to keep himself measured and in control.

The resultant soothing sensation slowed his racing heartbeat, and the roar in his ears he hadn't been aware of ebbed. A tiny intrusive thought wiggled into his mind.

Why doesn't she want to fight?

Anne's composure showed utter confidence, and the blanket and tapestry wrapped around Byron and Milo, respectively, remained firm and adjusting to compensate for any movement. The suit of armor remained still, yet Turner guessed Anne's power was holding it together. He'd heard the support frame creaking and splintering.

His leg and arm throbbed, reminding him that he hadn't even fully recovered from the fight with Reginald. Anne had to know this, he knew she'd noticed his limp.

So she had nothing to worry about, in facing them. Why hold back?

Turner's thoughts were interrupted by the thumping behind him, then the opening of the door. Martin's boots carried him in with steady, rapid thuds, bringing with him a small wrapped bundle.

The leather wrapping around the severed wooden arm was discarded with a firm yank, and Martin held it up for Anne to see.

"Is this what you want?"

The high-pitched voice held a firm, demanding timbre. Turner hadn't ever heard Martin speak like that before. The injury to Milo must have brought out the warrior within.

"Toss it here," Anne replied. "I will release both of the men, once I have it, and be on my way. Our transaction ends there."

Martin hesitated, until Turner gave him a small nod. The younger man tightened his lips and nodded back, before swinging his arm in a light, underhand toss toward Anne. The arm arched through the air in a lazy, barely-turning tumble.

Rather than catch it herself, the animated armor sprung to life once more in Anne's stead. It creaked, groaned, and clattered in the span of a heartbeat or two, catching the arm cleanly and handing it to Anne without further ceremony. Turner noticed she took it with her left arm, the uninjured one.

After a moment's inspection, Anne nodded. "Yes, this is it. A shear where the pin meets the joint... luck or skill, I wonder?" Her blue eyes lifted to Turner, as if knowing he'd been the one to do this. "Your form was clean despite the rushed stance and your injuries. I know little of swordsmanship, but I can tell you have some talent."

Turner blinked. "How did you-?"

Before he could finish the question, the armor crashed to the floor, the wooden frame holding it up crumpling at last. Milo groaned loudly as the tapestry went limp, and the young Lord Byron collapsed awkwardly, grunting out a faint curse as dignity gave way to gravity. All the items Anne had been animating abruptly stopped moving or holding their shapes.

Anne herself ignored the half-formed question and turned to stride toward the exit. "I hold no grudge for what happened. Reginald can be very... aggressive and impulsive, and often gets himself into trouble." She paused at the doorway, looking over her shoulder with one foot out the door.

"I would advise you to stay out of his way and mine from this moment on," she stated coolly. "The Hunters are all but extinct, and I prefer it that way. You are in no way ready to follow in their footsteps."

She resumed walking, carrying the arm with her, without so much as a farewell.

As soon as the door closed, the room burst into a cacophony of questions and noise.

"Mercyless depths!" Byron swore, an uncommonly vulgar statement for a noble. "Who was that? How did she do that?" His eyes were staring at the heap of plate mail armor now crumpled on the floor. A decoration that he himself owned, though Turner doubted the young noble had been the one to purchase it.

"Milo, are you all right?" Martin yelled, rushing to his brother's side.

Milo groaned, "Guess I'm still a little reckless, huh?"

Nora's fear and disquiet evaporated, and her only statement was a glare at Turner. "What did she mean about you breaking her spell?"

"QUIET!!" Turner shouted, raising both hands. He took a deep breath as everyone went silent. "I'll answer everything I can, but we need to all talk calmly. Let's sit down again."

He offered a hand to Byron, who was so rattled he took it and pulled himself up without any of his normal grumbling.

Turner noted that the nobleman did surreptitiously kick the throw blanket aside, as if it might attack him again.

"Get him to lie down," Nora said as Turner took a seat. She and Martin were easing Milo up from the floor, guiding the injured hunter onto a sofa. These small and fancy sofas were too small for the tall, lanky young man, but Nora propped his feet up on one end and let them hang off the armrest.

While Nora and Martin got Milo into position, Turner handled Byron. "That... was Anne Blakely. The woman that we suspect built the automaton that your uh... other uncle, I think, died destroying." He clasped his hands in his lap, taking a long, deep breath. "I know she looks too young for that, but I think after seeing what she did, you can believe me when I say she's over eighty."

Byron nodded. He was quiet, and more than a little pale. Turner suspected he was in shock. Unlike his uncle, this one did not feel to Turner like he'd seen much violence in his life.

"Gah!" Milo grunted from nearby. His shirt was up, showing the blotched red impact site where the mailed fist had hit hard. A dark webwork of broken capillaries and blood vessels showed what would be a nasty bruise soon. He was breathing shallowly, wincing every time Nora probed around the wound, but without complaint.

"Definitely at least one broken rib, maybe two," Nora verified. "You'll have to move carefully. Don't lift anything heavy. I'll fix something for the pain and to keep the swelling down. Looks like they're just cracked, not snapped apart, so if you're careful there shouldn't be any internal bleeding or risk of punctured lung."

Milo groaned again, then muttered, "Sorry. Reckless of me. I saw the opening and thought I could take her down."

Turner looked up from his thoughts. "It was reckless. You had no idea of her abilities, or if she was combat trained. But it was a good eye for spotting an opening. You've gotten more careful, Milo, but old habits are hard to break. I don't really blame you for trying to seize the initiative there. It was risky but it could have ended things right then."

Milo gave Turner a strained smile. "Yeah, every time I think you're being too careful, you prove me wrong. Guess I have a ways to go."

"Stop trying to talk," Martin said, a hand placed on Milo's shoulder.

Nora looked back at Turner, but she didn't have to say anything. He was already sliding the potion he'd gotten from Blakely over the table towards her.

"I ran into her this morning," he confirmed. "Stumbled across her shop. Gave me a splitting headache, but then I walked right in. I guess that was me breaking the enchantment, somehow. She confirmed a few things, and definitely doesn't care who lives or dies. Gave me that, supposedly to get rid of fatigue instantly."

Turner spread his hands. "Sorry. I kept meaning to tell you all, but first we were dealing with the Stonemans, then we had to come here to this meeting. I didn't have a chance to really explain what happened. I'll give you the full story later. I thought we'd cover it after dinner, when we could all try to sort out what I'd learned."

Nora placed two fingers on her temple and took a breath. Turner knew that look. She was frustrated with him. It had been a while since she'd had to perform her calming ritual.

"How did she do that? Can she just control anything?" Byron blurted out, saving Turner from the lecture he knew would come eventually.

This was Nora's specialty, and she shook her head as she lifted the potion. "No, not anything. She's a genius with alchemy and clockwork, but also with her own kind of witchcraft. I can't do anything like what she does, but I'm going to guess she used some kind of witchcraft to track down the arm. But no, she can't control anything."

She set the potion down on the table again. "I saw a little of what she does. It's... complicated. She animates the unclaimed. The abandoned. Which for her, means anything not currently in possession or under the control of another being."

She pointed at the axe, bloodied and forgotten on the floor. "She couldn't stop that because, even though it wasn't Milo's axe, for that moment it was acting under his will. He 'had' it in his possession. It was beyond her control."

"But how?" Byron repeated, helplessly. Nora just sighed.

"It's... ugly," she admitted. "Something is very wrong with her. That woman's soul isn't... fully a part of her. She can reach out with it, and invest items with a shadow of her will. That's the best way I can describe it. I don't know how she can do that, but that's what is happening. It gives temporary life to the abandoned, all as an extension of herself."

Milo started to say something, but Martin put a hand on his shoulder and spoke for him, guessing his question. "So those machines we fought were moving from a piece of her soul?"

A quick shake of her head, and Nora corrected, "No. She can't stretch herself that far, and I'm sure she has to have some awareness of what she animates. I have no idea how far she could stretch, but there has to be a limit."

She bit her lip, then said more quietly, "The things we fought, the machines... they had human souls in them. Or at least fragments. That's why they feel so... wrong. Twisted. Killing them lets the spirit pass on."

Nora glanced at Byron with a small frown of pity. "Your uncle sensed that. In the Academy. That's why he was willing to give his life to destroy the vessel."

Byron's eyes glazed over, his face pale.

"Before you all ask, I don't know what makes Reginald different," Nora added. "Maybe... maybe he has a complete soul and the others are fragments. Or maybe his is a particularly strong one. Maybe that's why she wondered what kind I would make. Maybe only those who have the talent for true Magic can make a complete being. I don't know."

She breathed out. "I only know now why it was so horrifying. And why we need to stop her."