Page 164 of Mayhem and Minnie

“You’re not human. So what are you?”

“Marlowe, are you all right? Do you have a fever?” She takes a step forward to touch my forehead, but I push her hand aside.

I narrow my eyes at her.

“You’re a witch, aren’t you?”

“That again?” She frowns.

“I remember,” I tell her, watching her reaction closely.

She doesn’t even blink. “What do you mean?”

“The car accident. We didn’t hit an animal. It was some kind of dried-up mummies that were coming after you.”

She blinks in confusion.

Her expression seems genuine, and for a moment, I fear I might be going off the rails.

But then I recall the list of injuries I sustained that match what happened in my dream. It couldn’t have been my imagination, no matter how fucked up that might be. For one, I have no frame of reference for those creatures, not even with my addiction to Supernatural. Then there’s everything else odd about her that cannot be logically explained—and oh, I’ve tried.

I’m not so obtuse as to believe that science is the only answer. And though I’d classify myself as more of a skeptic, I can no longer deny what’s in front of me.

Something is seriously wrong with Minnie.

And I’ve spent too much time denying it. It’s time to face it head-on and get to the root of this mystery.

“Marlowe, I think you’re confused. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You know perfectly well,” I accuse. “You said it yourself. You’re not human. So you’re a witch, aren’t you?”

“I never said anything like that.” She continues to deny it, and to my dismay, I find myself wavering. Her expression is convincing.

But I’m not going crazy. I know I’m not.

She releases a deep sigh.

“That never happened. You must have hurt your head worse than I thought. We should go back to the hospital to get you checked again,” she mentions, taking her apron off.

“I’m fine, Minnie. Nothing is wrong with me except some soreness in my arms and ribs. My head is fine.”

“But you’re spouting nonsense, Marlowe!”

I raise a brow at her. “Am I?”

She shakes her head at me.

“I can’t put up with you like this. There’s hot food on the stove. Help yourself to it,” she mumbles as she moves to leave.

“I haven’t finished talking,” I grit out, my voice harsher than before.

She stops in her tracks, her back to me.

“But I did.”

Before she can leave, I grab her arm and push her against the wall, trapping her with my body.

“You’re not going anywhere until you tell me what you are.”

---