I had been thinking about that incident a lot, and while I didn’t like what Rebecca was, I had come to realize that she was doing what any creature would who needed to eat. I wanted to make sure she wasn’t a danger to any other children or pets, but if there was a way I could do that without destroying her, I thought it would be worth the time.
“What else is out there, do you think?” Ari asked. “Who goes into the woods to explore them?”
“Not that many people. Though you and I did when we were young. I’ve been trying to take a short walk out there every morning, but I’ve been miserable about follow-through as the weather’s gotten wetter.” I frowned, feeling like I was falling short. Druantia herself had directed me to take a walk in the Mystic Woods daily, and when your goddess tells you to do something, you do it.
“Why does Druantia want you to do that?”
I thought about it for a moment. “I think to evolve my personal magic.”
“Do we have time for a short walk before Sheryl gets here?” Ari glanced at her watch. “It’s eleven-forty. We have twenty minutes. We can walk for ten minutes, then turn around and hustle back.”
Grateful to her—sometimes I was awful at getting off my ass—I wrapped my sandwich in the napkin for easy carrying and we headed down the back steps and across the lawn. Within less than a minute, we were into the wood.
We had jacketed up to sit outside so we were reasonably protected from the rain, plus the heavy tree canopy in the forest offered good coverage. We strolled along the path, turning to the right when we came to a fork.
The woodland was hushed because of the rain, with an occasional call that echoed through the forest from birds hunkering down out of the weather. The trees rose huge and towering overhead and I felt a quiet calm flow over me as they wove their magic, draining away the tension of the past few days. The Mystic Wood had its own tension, but it was more of a hushed expectancy, the feeling of being watched on all sides by creatures that lurked in the shadows.
I stopped, inhaling all the scents that went into creating the mix of spicy perfumes that lingered through the woodland. The petrichor hung heavy, the rain bringing it out of the soil—a combination of wet trees and geosim and the tang of forest debris that wove itself into an intoxicating fragrance. I stopped, breathing out puffs of air that misted in front of my mouth.
A nurse log had fallen along the side of the path. Covered with moss and mushrooms, it sat beneath three tall firs, all of whom were dripping with heavy layers of the moss that bearded the branches and trunks. The seat was wet but I didn’t care—I wanted to sit here and relax.
Ari joined me and we spent the next few moments letting the sounds and smells of the forest wash over us.
“I need to do this every day,” I said after a while. “I feel so much calmer, like I never want to go back inside.”
“Ah, but you have to,” Ari said. “We’re meeting with Sheryl, and unlike the animals of the woods, we have a job to do. We can only visit within the boundaries of the Mystic Wood. We don’t really belong here.”
I smiled, standing. Ari did the same. “You know, I think that Moonshadow Bay is synonymous with the forest, regardless of the border that denotes the end of the town and the beginning of the woodland. They’re two sides of the same coin.”
“I think you’re right,” she said, as we began to make our way back to the yard. “And frankly, I don’t think I’d want it any other way.” She glanced at her phone. “Okay, let’s go meet Sheryl and let her drag us into something I’m sure we’ll regret.”
As we crossed the lawn back to the house, I glanced over my shoulder at the wood. There, peering out from behind a huckleberry bush, was Rebecca. I raised my hand slightly, waving to her, and to my surprise, she waved back.
Chapter Eleven
Sheryl was right on time. In fact, she rang the bell precisely at noon. I wondered if she had been standing on the porch, waiting for the second hand to reach the top of the hour.
I answered, introducing myself. “Hi, you must be Sheryl? I’m January.” I did my best to plaster on a cheery smile.
She was carrying a large case, like an extra-large briefcase that was three times as thick as a normal one, and she was dressed in a neat jersey dress and jacket, neither of which looked expensive, but they were neat as a pin, with no stains or spots or signs of age. Sheryl had blond hair caught up in a high ponytail, and her makeup was flawless and what they called “natural”—with taupe eyeshadow, brown eyeliner, and a pale pink lip gloss. She was about five-six, and around a size four.
“Come in.” I motioned her in. “We can sit in the dining room. Would you like something to drink?”
“Water would be fine,” she said, her smile intensifying. As she settled into one of the chairs, she said, “I’ve never seen it rain so hard. Have you ever seen such a rainstorm?”
I shrugged. “We get rain like this all the time. You must be from out of town—this is normal during the rainy season here.”
“My goodness, what a thought. Oh well, it’s pretty.” She laughed, then leaned forward, her elbows planted on the table. Ari brought in a glass of water and handed it to her. “So, do you two live together?” She spied Ari’s wedding ring. “Are you married?”
I laughed. “No, this is my house—Ari’s married to a wonderful woman, but I know she couldn’t put up with me, even though we are best friends.”
“What made you seek out Majikoil oils?” Sheryl asked as though I hadn’t even spoken. She smoothly slid into business mode.
I glanced at Ari, who said, “We were at a friend’s home in Terameth Lake last weekend, and she had a few of your oils. We fell in love with them. They smelled so good.”
The website had touted them as smelling “heavenly,” so we could reasonably fudge our way through. We had also noted a few names of the oils touted for electric diffusers so if she asked us which ones, we’d have an answer. Which she promptly did.
“Which did she show you?”
“The Lavender Heaven one, and I think the others she had were Spring Perfection, and Autumn Splendor,” I said.
“Oh, those are some of my best-selling oils. They’re pricey but worth it.”
“I should think so,” I said, smiling broadly to match her own. “How much are they?”
Instead of answering, she opened her case and began lining up a bunch of oils, neatly in a row. “Here, why don’t you smell some of our others as well? What are you looking for in a magical oil? I assume you’re both witchblood?”
Witches could recognize another, so it was useless to lie.
“Yes, we’re witchblood,” I said. “I think I’m looking for oils to help me focus, to make my home radiate that cozy feeling, and also, something to inspire me. I write.” It was the truth, but I didn’t want to tell her any more than that at this point.
“Oh, a writer? How exciting! What do you write?” Sheryl sorted through the bottles, setting five of them to the side.
“This and that. I was co-owner of a magazine in Seattle for quite some time.” I pointed to the oils she had chosen. “Are those ones you would recommend for me?”