There was a trolley system in Baton Vyolèt, looking at my phone, Andrea and Jamie had told me that there were dozens of apothecaries around the city that can make any and all types of potions, so it would be convenient for me to step up a prescription and things of that sort with one of the one’s closest to my apartment. Luckily, where we went to brunch was only about twenty or so minutes walking away from my apartment. They also opened up the magical internet on my phone and taught me how to open it up on my computer and things of that sort, the highest rated apothecary around my apartment was maybe two-three miles away from my apartment and was called La Pierre da Sang: the Bloodstone in English.
I walked up to the building with that sign: the building was this nested in red brick townhouse, but only the bottom-floor was brick, a dark wood façade covered in crawling vines and other plants, huge glass awning over the entire shop-front covered in this lattice work of carefully knotted vines with hanging curtains of flowers down the sides, the name of the shop painted bright yellow on a carved sign above the awning, large double front door of matching dark wood and oddly pastel toned stain-glass depicting a lily on the left side and a rose on the right, miss-matched vases and pots framing the door with various plants in them, hanging baskets about the awning with hanging plants. The other three stories of the building was solid glass held in a tight metal gridwork making the majority of the building…a greenhouse. The sheer amount of greenery was visible through the windows and the building, despite being in a style I had never really seen before…was old, I could feel it more than anything, the age of the building, there was no year below the name with Since or anything else about it. The entire shop-front adorned with a large window with ornately scrawled script of bright yellow and purple across it, still no date, but it said La Pierre da Sang. There was also an open sign hanging on the left door.
I hesitantly walked up to the doors, as I breathed deeply before grabbing the handle and pulled one of the doors open, it swung easier than I was expecting making me all, but slam it open, I was already embarrassed by that as I stepped into the shop and slowly closed the door behind me. The embarrassment was only made worse by the fact there was a hook at the top of each door with a long tassel of crystalline bells that soft rang out as the door swung.
My senses being assaulted was scratching the surface of what happened when I stepped into the shop. My footsteps seemed to almost echo: dark, smooth hardwood covered the floor, with obvious signs of scuffs, scratches and markings of age, a deep groove made by the door being opened and closed who knows how many times, various tables were in this shop front area with scuffs around their feet marking where they had been moved about roughly, the walls were red brick, covered in these long dark shelves littered in various bottles, jars, boxes, sachets and every other possible kind of container. There was a wide, but thin wooden counter maybe ten-fifteen or so feet away from the door, the front of it ornately engraved and carved with floral patterns and a heavy grayish cream stone counter, one of those moving flaps on the right leading past with a large antique style cash register on the far left, the lights were those bulbs with sand in them to dim them and were almost too warm toned. Small wall mounted pots and fixtures were about the walls with smaller plants in them. Past the counter was no wall, it just opened into a tectonic greenhouse, a tightly curled metal spiral staircase just past the ceiling line leading up to the other floors, but from the angle I could see from the counter, it went down too. The far end of the greenhouse appeared to be open all the way to the roof with the various rising floors getting smaller and smaller as they went up, I could see…full ass trees at the far end, growing well past the edge of my vision from where I was standing. There were window boxes above the front ridge of the front bay-window which was filled with pots and other plant vessels, other bells, bundles of dried herbs and things hung thickly along the ceiling, a handful of thick rugs were randomly placed about the front shop. A bell hung central over the counter with a rope that said Ring Me, on it.
I could hear…movement: higher up the floors, I could hear hard soled shoes clicking on the floor, the soft sound of water glugging and what could have even been someone quietly talking.
I looked around a little instead of instantly going for the bell, there was a product for…so many things covering the shelves and tables, there was a glass cased wardrobe behind the counter with a slowly turning magic circle on the front with larger, more ornate and strange looking bottles and things within it. There was this rack of vials roughly the size of my pinkie that said “Ode de Charm”, a line of this tall, thin square bottles with a yellowish liquid inside that said “Skin Tonic”, a box of little fabric sachets that said Hex Bags, there was even a section of shelf with little heart shaped bottles that when I saw them, my first thought was love potion, but as I looked at the label they were actually fertility potions, there were potions for magical cleansing, blessing a location, to help you sleep, to keep you awake and…whatever was your issue, they had something for you in this shop.
Andrea and Jamie said the base potion used for lycans was wolfsbane, but as I scoured the shelves and tables, there was no label or anything that said wolfsbane. So, I walked back over to the counter as I could still just barely hear someone talking overhead, not loud enough I could pick anything out, but it seems that they had not heard the bells ring when I opened the door to the shop.
I have had to buy some awkward medication from pharmacies, but for some reason…this seemed to make me more awkward feeling and more embarrassed due to the fact that…I would be seeing the person who runs this shop fairly often and they know what could likely happen to me if I didn’t see them. It was…a weird amount of trust to place on someone I had never met before and with a matter that was so…dire for lack of better phrase. I just stepped up to the counter as I reached up and softly held the rope of the bell and flicked it, letting this clear, resonate tone ring out.
“One moment, I’ll be right down!” A voice called out…low, rich and with the thickest French accent I had ever heard, not Cajun French like my own accent, but proper France French.
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