Page 168 of Mayhem and Minnie

Aha.

I knew there must be something about Minnie’s food that makes me lose my mind. She must have put the potion inside of it, making it so damn delicious that I can’t help but consume enormous quantities of it until I’m absolutely mad for her.

The thread is talking about the different ingredients needed for a love spell, and it appears that once more, Sarah is the expert on the matter.

That settles it.

Opening my email, I type out a small inquiry, asking her if she’d be willing to meet me because I think I’m the victim of magic and I’d appreciate any help in combating it. I mention that money is not an issue.

I click send.

Then I continue to study these modern-day witches and what they claim they can do, looking for any patterns similar to Minnie.

It’s not even five minutes later that I get a reply from Sarah.

Her email is short and to the point.

She writes that magic should always be performed for good and when someone consents to it. If I have not consented to anything and I feel that I’m under attack, she’s willing to help me.

I shoot her back an email, telling her I have not consented to anything and embellish it a little by claiming I fear for my life after an eerie accident that may have had supernatural influences. I also tell her that I suspect my girlfriend is the witch who caused all of this and that I’m having an existential crisis about our relationship—dramatic, I know, but it does the job.

She replies within a few minutes, saying she’d be happy to meet with me. But for her investigation to be fruitful, she requires a personal effect of my girlfriend’s so she can try to see if there are any traces of magic. After a little back and forth, she tells me that anything Minnie has worn for a significant period of time works, or even better, if I can acquire it, a strand of her hair.

I tell her I’ll do my best to get it.

We exchange a few more emails and soon I have a location, date, and time. To my great surprise, she offers to meet me tomorrow, in the city, at noon.

I thank her and confirm the meeting before closing my computer as I contemplate how to get a strand of Minnie’s hair.

Good Lord, look at me now. A few months ago, I would have gone to my grave swearing up and down that witchcraft is not real; that we live in an age of scientific advancements not one of superstitions. Even with my slight addiction to Supernatural—which I’ve barely been able to watch because my thoughts have been too wrapped up in Minnie—I would have never imagined I’d be in my current position.

My mind is clouded with doubt and confusion, to the point where I don’t know what reality is anymore.

Of course I’m not about to blindly believe this Sarah lady, since she might very well be a crook, too. But I’ll reserve my judgments until I meet her tomorrow.

Now onto getting that strand of hair.

Getting up, I go and take a shower. I put on a pair of sweatpants and a shirt and head downstairs.

It’s almost five in the afternoon, which means Minnie should have prepared dinner already.

As I head down the stairs, I’m surprised to see that my pain has greatly subsided. In fact, compared to the soreness in my throat when I first woke up in the hospital, now I barely feel anything.

I probe at my ribs. They’re tender but not nearly as painful. My muscles too are no longer as sore and I can move my arms with ease.

Odd.

I reach the kitchen, and Minnie is not there.

Nor is my dinner.

“Minnie!” I bellow. It doesn’t matter that I’m about to consume again something that’s likely contaminated with witchcraft. At this point, I’m so addicted to her food, it’s pure blasphemy to miss a meal. Even stranger is the fact that she’s not in the kitchen when she’s always there at this time.

Sure, she might still be peeved with me. But that’s almost at the back of my mind.

My intrusive thoughts tell me she might be sick. She might be experiencing side effects from the accident—well, accident is a misnomer seeing that we both got injured fighting off those sentinels.

I pivot, ready to go to her room when a sudden thought stops me.

---