Page 77 of Mayhem and Minnie

But now I get it.

“What did you put in it? It’s very…unique.”

She smiles.

“It’s a secret.”

“No, seriously. How did you make it so good?” I ask in between mouthfuls. I can’t seem to stop myself.

“What if I told you”—she places her elbows on the table and rests her chin in her palms as she looks at me—“that I added magic inside?”

I snort. “Magic? Really? That’s what you’re going with?”

“You don’t believe me?”

“There’s no such thing as magic,” I tell her resolutely.

“Are you sure about that, Marlowe?”

“You don’t want to tell me? Fine. Got it.” I roll my eyes at her.

“Why are you so skeptical? Magic is everywhere,” she murmurs.

“I’m not skeptical. I’m a realist. There’s no such thing as magic except in fiction.”

She chuckles.

“Or maybe you’re too blind to see it.”

I place down my spoon. The pot is now empty.

I take a deep breath and look her in the eye.

“If there were magic in this world, why would there be people suffering everywhere? Why would the people who inflict that suffering upon them walk freely with no punishment? If there were magic out there…”

Her eyes widen, her lips slowly parting in surprise.

“If there were any magic in this world, then why is it so fucked up?”

11

Ipace around the house.

Aimlessly.

Like a lunatic.

Minnie is at her post, scrubbing the floors away and ignoring my presence.

She’s been doing this for the past week.

One week.

One fucking week in which she has barely said a word to me.

And now I’ll go mad if I listen to the jarring sound of my own goddamn breathing one more fucking time.

I stop at the top of the stairs.

---