Chapter 43

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Leslie's kitchen was a mess… 

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Leslie's kitchen was a mess… 

Gunpowder sprinkled the floor. A cauldron was tipped over in the corner. The table was full of ingredients that made her house smell like earthy death: bluish-glowing mushrooms, bat bones, hogs blood in jars, horse teeth, muck moss, sand weeds, and rotting meat that had already collected half a dozen flies.

"I can't do it…" She screamed, her hands wet and red with blood that was not her own. She looked down at the Alchemy Tome on the white counter, and swore, "the steps sounded so easy in the book…"

Leslie wasn't quite certain why she was so upset. She'd taken the Rigger Tome without asking, well borrowed Jerocobish's bag that was left on the train, hoping she could create Achellets to help protect Rynan. 

A few rounds will give me an edge against those who want to hunt him, she told herself, while she ran down to the local Alchme shop and stocked up on supplies. 

Though once she returned home she hardly knew what to do with them. She was no cook after all, and it would've helped, nor was she a proper house wife; those who stay home cooking supper and cleaning after everyone, staying up nights watching little ones, while making her husband happy when he needed it. 

"And to think … Jack wanted to start a family and raise kids." She picked up a ladle and threw it across the room, clanking as it hit the wall. "And where is he now ... the coward!"

She sniffed and her eyes burned, a tear wanting to fall. Leslie looked at the table riddled with white and golden rounded vegetables, those that make you tear the moment you cut into them. 

"Jack's as heartless as onion …"

She grabbed a rag next to the sink, wiping her hands until the wet was gone, and blood sat dried between the cracks in her palms. She threw the rag aside then plopped down on the ground. 

She whispered, "Rynan is being hunted … Jack has sided with the Mayor … Ma Jean is dead and Jerocobish maybe too … and I have no idea of the whereabouts of Boone and Jostice—" His name left her breathless.

Suddenly images of the golden lands, prancing horses, and white, peaceful ranch flashed into her mind; the days before the fire and after her father's passing … the only time she had peace ... When life was simple … 

"He loved me then," she whispered, dreaming of the way his fingers slid through her fiery strands, palms caressing her olive skin, and the way he smiled when he smelled the prairie clinging onto her like perfume. I know he loved me then… She lowered her head. "But the ranch fire burned all the love away … and the colosseum has made him cold and bitter."

She felt tears working the inside of her eyes, wanting to melt along her face, and show her weakness. Her home was a safe place to let them fall yet she wouldn't allow it. "There's no more time for tears ... only time for action." 

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