She paused for a moment, then said, “Apology accepted. We try to include our new members so they won’t feel left out.”
Though I doubted her words, I hadn’t even considered that possibility. “I didn’t realize saying ‘No’ was an option.”
“We’re not like your grandmother’s coven—we do give our members a lot of autonomy.”
I bristled but said nothing.
When I didn’t respond she added, “We’ll see you at the next meeting. Since you won’t be doing the research, you can wait till the usual meeting, which will be on the…let me see here…” she hesitated, then said, “on December 4. I’ll talk to you then.”
Still feeling like I’d been chastised, but also feeling calmer and proud that I hadn’t knuckled under, I hung up.
By the time Ari got to my house with her laptop in hand, Rowan and Tarvish were gone, and Killian was out back, still busy with replacing the gate.
“So Tarvish is going to stick around?” Ari said when I told her everything that had happened.
“Yeah, he is. If we send him back, he’ll die. Or rather…I guess, vanish—‘cease to exist,’ which is how Rowan put it. He’s too nice to do that to, so we gave him the choice and he’s opted to stay and adapt to our world.” I motioned for her to set her laptop on the dining room table. “Oh, and guess who came for a visit? Rameer!” I showed her the pen that was made out of bog oak. “He brought this to me from Iceland.”
“That’s beautiful.” She lifted it, judging the weight. “That has a nice heft to it. It feels nicely balanced for writing. And I wager it’s got some magic to it, by the feel of its energy.”
“Yep. It definitely does, though I’m not sure what kind yet.” I motioned to her laptop. “Let’s get this show on the road. I disappointed my grandmother once today, I don’t want to do that a second time.”
Ari booted up her laptop and brought up a search engine, then typed in “Majikoil.” A whole slew of links came up. “Well then, there’s a lot to wade through.” She glanced toward the kitchen. “Do you mind if I make myself a latte?”
“Oh for fuck’s sake, I’m sorry. I should have offered. What do you want?”
“I can make it, I know how to work your espresso machine. Meanwhile, you can start.” She turned the laptop so it was facing me and I started looking through the links while she headed for the kitchen.
She was right, there was a plethora of links. I found the parent company and opened up the site. It asked for my location and I plugged in our zip code. The site was splashy, that was for sure, and the home page was a picture of a massive line of oils and tinctures, with a big join majikoil link in the center of the picture. The oils and tinctures were laid out against a background of what looked like the edge of a rainforest and, beyond the forest, ocean waves.
I examined the menu. The products button led to an extensive list of oils for different conditions, though I did notice the “We’re not doctors” disclaimer prominently displayed. The lists of oils were all attractively displayed, but there was no shop now or add to cart button for any of them. Instead, on the main menu, next to the products button was one that read find a merchant. I clicked on that and the site immediately showed a long list of names, with their locations—anywhere from one person in Moonshadow Bay to five in Bellingham, several in Terameth Lake, and at least a dozen in Seattle.
I clicked on the join majikoil link and was immediately assaulted with dozens of pictures, among them a number of what looked like events and parties, with women holding up wads of cash and smiling with the headline of take care of your family above them, elderly couples dancing, their canes left at the table, cherubic children running through meadows…every cliché you could think of.
Ari returned with her latte, and leaned over my shoulder. “Oh good gods, I know you need to make your wares appeal to people, but this screams Stepford Wives.”
“Yeah, it does.” Even though we hadn’t been born into that time, there was a point in American society—when the suburbs were starting to boom—where every neighborhood was a clone of the next one, where fake lawns were popular, where the strip malls were all the same…basically, where fitting in meant becoming a carbon copy. And it was apparent that Majikoil thrived on that image, as outdated as it might be.
“Rowan wants us to meet Sheryl Brown in person. Where’s her profile?” Ari asked.
“Under ‘About Majikoil.’ Her profile says she was working a dead-end job until she thought up the idea for magical oils because she was too broke to buy them, and now, they’ve spread in popularity.”
Ari pulled out her phone. “What’s our story?”
“We saw a friend in Terameth Lake using Majikoil oils and she raved about them, so we thought we’d buy some for ourselves. Remember, when she gets here, Rowan said to stress the need for part-time work. I suggest we do this through ordering a few and whining about how we wished we could order more but we’re tapped out for the month.”
Ari placed the call. Sheryl came on the line and I leaned in close to hear what she said.
“Hi, Sheryl, my name is Ari and I’m calling you because I’d love to place an order for Majikoil oils.” She paused.
“Wonderful! I’m free this afternoon if you have the time.” Sheryl sounded breathy and eager, like a twenty-year-old gushing over her sugar daddy.
“This afternoon would be great. My friend wants to order as well, if that’s all right.” Ari paused again.
“That’s fine—the more the merrier. Where should I meet you?”
Ari covered the speaker. “Here?” she mouthed and I nodded. “I’m at her house so can you come over here? Her address is 702 Fern Street…”
“The upper level of Moonshadow Bay? How about noon?”
She sure sounded eager.
“Right,” Ari said, with a glance at me. “On the upper level near Castle Street. Noon would be great.”
She hung up and looked at the time. “Well, Sheryl was extremely eager to jump aboard our request. She’ll be here in half an hour.”
“How about lunch? Sandwiches okay?” I wasn’t hungry yet but I was nervous, and right now, a sandwich would hit the spot.
We fixed our sandwiches and carried them out onto the back porch. It was too chilly to stay outside for long, but I tried to get a little fresh air every day. And even though it was raining and breezy, the clean air cleared my head.
I bit into my ham and Swiss, staring at the Mystic Wood. “Rebecca’s out there. I’ve gotten so I can feel her when she’s near.”
“Has she ever tried anything on you again since you got back?”
“Once or twice, but she can’t do much to me now that I’m an adult. Also, my magic goes beyond her scope. Imps are small potatoes when it comes to demonic creatures. She’s not so bad, as long as I tune out the fact that she tried to kill me when I was young.”
“Have you ever confronted her about it?” Ari asked.
“Not really. I’ll have to do that, I guess. It can’t hurt my development. If you don’t yank the bandages off, wounds fester and the last thing I need to do is waste energy holding a grudge against a minor demon.”