Chapter 10 - Flowers of Antimony
“It was too much two days ago. I’m in it now. Gimme. If you’re going to Hell, I’m coming with.”
Need to catch up? Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9
Please note that there are subjects and themes in this book that some readers might prefer to approach with forewarning, or not at all. These include relationship trauma, self-harm, suicide, death/dying, swearing, and sexual content.
The question of practical application came up while Rosalie and Leon, both clad in vinyl aprons and elbow-length rubber gloves, lifted a horse’s uterus from a foam container and moved it to a clear plastic tub on the card table. The plastic container they’d selected was big enough to allow plenty of extra room for the inevitable addition of a medium-sized pumpkin. Under the table, forgotten, was the cardboard shell that their package had arrived in. It sported a label that read: Fragile. Cookies inside. A winking cartoon face was drawn next to that.
Peering into the plastic tub and carefully arranging the womb so they’d have easy access to the only point of entry, Rosalie spoke.
“Turning baser metals to gold is neat, but it’s not going to save alchemy. I bet it will throw the world economy into absolute chaos, though. And making a homunculus, if we’re successful, may be of interest to science. But making babies is not something that modern medicine, and most people, can’t already do. So, Leon, remind me please why exploring this archaic lunacy is going to save alchemy and change the world? Maybe it’s the smell of horse organ, but I’m losing faith.”
With the uterus safely deposited in its new home, they took off their gloves to set up the rest of the experiment. Rosalie turned to the task of preparing the pumpkin, a tricky acquisition in April, while Leon taped a digital thermometer’s probe to the inside of the tub. He did his best to allay her worries while untangling the wire and checking the batteries.
“Assuming this venture works, I doubt these are the only miracles alchemy is capable of producing. It’s just that they’re the only ones we’ve found documented,” Leon explained. With the thermometer in place, he moved on to prepare a time-lapse photography rig several feet from the table.
“After we’ve seen for ourselves that it’s all real, after we’ve found the common threads and patterns, then we get to experiment and see if promises, secrets, other intangible elements can do more. Look, the basic concepts are amazing. Transmutation is a purification of sorts. Apply that concept elsewhere…what if we could figure out a better, safer, cheaper way to eliminate infections? And what about clean water?
“This homunculus project is, at its core, an expansion on the concept of creation. That’s always useful. Maybe a homunculus is better than stem cells, or has some application for more ethical human testing? And, once we start on the philosopher’s stone, then we’re in the realm of preservation. Immortality, maybe. You can’t tell me that doesn’t blow modern medicine out of the water.”
Rosalie quirked an eyebrow at him.
“Had I known I was marrying a mad scientist…” she muttered, bending to the task of cutting a hole into the top of the pumpkin, one inch in diameter. Her excitement to move on to the philosopher’s stone project was fueling her through the more unpleasant parts of this one. They’d been forced to wait a day for the arrival of the horse’s womb, and in that time they’d thoroughly discussed the only other formula that made reference to a fifth element. Once the homunculus project went into the hands-off incubation phase, they agreed they’d attempt the third and final alchemical impossibility on record.
The homunculus? Rosalie had no need for it. But a stone that could stave off death? Such a thing might erase the damage that Leon had done to himself, or bring him back from the edge if he ever got sick or hurt.
Though they both tried to postpone the inevitable by correcting each other’s preparations - Leon smoothed a ragged edge on the pumpkin’s improvised cap, and Rosalie readjusted his camera positioning - eventually they ran out of inconsequential changes to make. Leon and Rosalie had nothing else to do except isolate the final reagent.
With self-evident hesitation, Rosalie handed him a sterilized glass jar. She dared herself to look him in the eye but ultimately couldn’t manage it.
“Rosie, this isn’t a big deal. It’s just…fluid. Like spit. Or blood.”
“Oh no, don’t even try that. You don’t need to have an orgasm to produce either of those things. It’s not the same,” she quipped.
“That’s what’s driving you crazy?”
“Maybe?”
A sympathetic smile twisted his lips. He took the jar from her and idly tapped the edge of its rim against the center of his chest.
“Okay. Help me out here. I’m sure we can find a way to do this that doesn’t leave you mentally scarred. If you were involved in the, uh, collection…would that be better?”
“Absolutely not,” Rosalie howled, covering her face with her hands. Leon had the nerve to chuckle as he pulled her into his arms and a tight hug.
“Satan is creating a special place in Hell for us right now, Leo. I just know it. This is so unnatural. And you know I don’t especially believe in karma or judgment, but nothing I’ve ever done in my life has felt as sinful and evil as this. Are you really not bothered?” Rosalie let her hands drop so she could wind her arms around his waist. All things considered, it felt good to be this close to him. She hadn’t realized how much she’d been missing physical contact and affection until that moment.
“I’m not bothered. I don’t even believe in Satan,” he said, chuckling at his own joke and resting his head against hers. “Meaning only exists where we invent it.”
Of course. It’s always been easy for you to sacrifice the physical for the ideological, Rosalie thought. The recognition came with a familiar ache.
“Alright then. Just…do it. Upstairs. And keep it quiet because God help you if I hear-”
“Of course,” Leon soothed. “And don’t worry,” he added, bending to kiss her. “I’ll be thinking about the curves on that sexy pumpkin the whole time.”
Rosalie almost laughed, but it was an urge immediately overthrown by the feel of his tongue against hers, and his fingertips sliding across her lower back. Reluctantly, she broke what was fast evolving into a long overdue exploration of their mutual desires.
“And that is as much as I’m going to contribute to this phase of the abominable act. Go,” she insisted through clenched teeth. Leon wore an impish grin as he handed his apron to her. With jar in hand, he turned, and took the basement stairs two at a time.
Left alone, Rosalie dropped his apron over a chair, grabbed the pumpkin from the lab table along with the plastic syringe, and sat down on one of the folding chairs facing the prepped experiment. She resisted the urge to check her watch and mark the time. Ultimately, she didn’t really want to know just how slowly - or quickly - it would take. To distract herself she mentally ran through the procedure as they’d discussed it.
Semen in the syringe. Syringe in the pumpkin. Semen in the pumpkin. Pumpkin cap over the pumpkin hole. Sealed for good measure with epoxy. Pumpkin in the horse uterus. Secret given. Plastic top over the whole thing. And then, they would see what happened. Rosalie couldn’t wait for it to be over. She drummed her fingertips on the gourd and wondered how she’d ended up on this particular path.
When Rosalie had picked up alchemy in college - all thanks to the tall, dark, hyper-intelligent and mysterious chemistry TA whom she’d eventually agree to meet for drinks, and one day marry - she never dreamed that the work would ever lean toward this.
Rosalie heard Leon’s footsteps overhead, and then he was coming back down the stairs.
“That was harder than I thought.”
“That’s what she said,” Rosalie interjected, and immediately withered under the disappointed look he shot at her.
“Sorry. Couldn’t help it. I’m trying not to cry over here, and turning it into a joke is sort of helping. Come on, let’s get this over with,” she said, stone-faced. With the pumpkin in her lap and the syringe in one hand, she held out the other for the specimen jar.
“You don’t have to do this part, Rosie, if it’s too much.”
“It was too much two days ago. I’m in it now. Gimme. If you’re going to Hell, I’m coming with.”
Leon handed over the glass jar and chuckled. “You’re so beautiful when you’re determined and pissed. Please don’t drop it. I don’t really want to do that again. Besides, we’d need to wait at least 15 minutes.”
Rosie grimaced then placed the jar at the end of the card table and began the unenviable task of getting the specimen into the syringe.
“No problem there. I’m sure I could hop online and find you some clips of monster zucchinis destroying barely legal cucurbits.”
“Stop. It was a joke. I swear I wasn’t thinking about the pumpkin. I was-”
“No, you stop. Right there. I don’t want to know,” Rosalie grumbled, depressing the plunger on the syringe inside of the pumpkin’s cavity. She handed the empty syringe to Leon and advised him to burn it while she proceeded with the remainder of the operation. Gloves donned once again, the pumpkin was carefully inserted into the uterus. Then it was Leon’s turn to take over.
He situated himself in front of the array and, as previously agreed, Rosalie went to the far end of the basement, sat on the couch, and covered her ears. They weren’t sure if his secret still had to be one even as he gave it up. To be safe, Rosalie hummed to ensure she couldn’t hear him whispering. She saw his lips move. Her heart skipped a beat. Cold clarity washed over her as in that instant she knew, inexplicably, but with undeniable certainty, that Leon’s mother had never liked her. Mrs. Das loathed her, in fact. Rosalie dropped her hands.
“Leon. Are you serious?”
Startled, he turned to her, almost dropping the plastic top he was placing on the box. “What? Did you hear me?”
“No. I just…know. I didn’t hear a thing, but…your mother hates me? And you never told me? Why?”
“Because I didn’t want you to develop a bias against her. I didn’t want you to feel hurt. Like this. And because I knew that given enough time, she’d come around.” With the plastic top in place, Leon went to Rosalie’s side on the couch to try to console her. Rosalie shook her head in an attempt to dislodge the shock of the enlightenment.
“Wow. Okay. Well, you gave up a secret, and…it went straight to the people it concerns. Me, and-” Rosalie choked with abrupt understanding, and Leon’s eyes widened as he caught on. He pulled his phone out and they both stared at its dark screen, not really believing it would ring. Until it did.
“Damn it,” Leon swore. “If I’d only known,” he lamented, rising from the couch and walking toward the stairs to take the incoming call from his mother.
Subscribe to be notified when I release Chapter 11 next week! And if you’re feeling impatient (or wildly supportive) you can get the whole e-book novella right away from Barnes & Noble.
