Sheryl hesitated, then said, “You should think about joining Majikoil. The wonderful thing is you can do it in your spare time and you can make a full-time living on part-time hours! I founded this company because I was working a fast-food job that barely paid the rent, and now I make three times as much as what my full-time job paid. I sell Majikoil exclusively and demand has grown so dramatically that I decided to bring in other reps.”
I straightened, making sure I looked interested. “Really? How much does it cost to buy in?”
She paused. “It’s worth every cent. It’s worth going in debt to be your own boss. I sold my car to fund my business, and now I own a brand-new car. I’m thinking of sponsoring a cruise for my reps next year as a bonus, they all work so hard.” The more she talked, the more animated she became.
“How would we join? You’d accept us?” Ari asked, with the perfect amount of doubt and insecurity to hook someone looking for suckers.
Sheryl’s eyes narrowed and her energy shifted. I felt like an animal caught in a trap. It was as though she had crafted every moment to get to this point. Even though we were the hunters right now, she felt like a crocodile hiding right below the surface of the water.
“So far, everybody who wanted to sell Majikoil has found a way to join. I’ll bring you on board, since I’m the founder. I think Moonshadow Bay could use a couple more reps and you’d be part of my team. The demand is so high that Majikoil sells itself.” She pulled out a sheaf of papers from her briefcase and slid them in front of me. “Why don’t you look these over while I make out a sales slip for your oils. That will be ninety dollars.”
Thirty dollars for a two-dram bottle? I tried not to make a face, not wanting to scare her off. Instead, I pulled out my credit card and she ran it through PhonePay—a credit card app that worked on any phone’s operating system.
Ari and I glanced over the papers. The onboarding process required us to buy in for a flat $5,000 fee, and then we had to order at least a hundred and fifty bottles of oils at $10 a bottle. We sold them for whatever markup we chose. Sheryl recommended having fifty different oils at three bottles each to start with. She also required that we buy another hundred bottles of oils every month.
“Are you sure you don’t want any more?” she asked, handing me a handwritten receipt.
“I wish I could, but…” I paused, then said, “How soon after starting up the company did you earn back your money?”
Sheryl’s eyes glinted like a fisherman reeling in a fish. “Within two weeks I sold every bottle of oil and had to make more. By the end of the first month I think I made about ten thousand dollars after deducting my costs. That goes a long ways! I reinvested the money in my company and it wasn’t long before I decided to open up to other reps. Now the oils are mass-produced and the company has ballooned in size.”
I stood. “Wow, that’s amazingly fast growth.”
“I have my secrets,” Sheryl said, and I almost detected a smirk behind her smile.
“Excuse me, I have to go to the restroom. I’ll be back in a moment.” I hustled over to the bathroom and slipped inside, shutting the door and pulling out my phone. I sat on the edge of the tub and called Rowan. She answered on the first ring.
“Rowan, if Ari and I buy into Majikoil, will the Court Magika reimburse us? I don’t fancy losing over $6,500 to help out. And I doubt that Ari has that much in savings.”
Rowan hesitated, then said, “I’ll guarantee it. The Court Magika will reimburse you, I promise.”
“Thanks,” I said, disconnecting and slipping my phone back in my pocket. As I rejoined Ari and Sheryl, I said, “That’s better. You know, I’ve thought about it and…I think I’m interested. I can use some extra money. Can you give me a rundown on how it works? How do you find customers?”
“Oh, that’s easy. We’ll list you on the website after you’ve bought $3,000 of oils. At that point, we’ll recommend you to anyone searching for a rep in the area. Also, hit up all your friends—on MyHome, Neighborhood, Magic Circle, all those social media groups. Tweet about it, too, and hold a sales party on Home Page. When I go live on Home Page, I sell out in less than an hour.” Sheryl maintained her cheerful vigor the entire time. She was lit—she was on with a capital O.
“I’m excited,” Ari said.
I knew Ari well enough to know her smile was forced, and her enthusiasm even more so. She glanced through the papers again. “Is there anything that could disqualify us from buying in?”
“If you’re not eighteen, then you can’t agree to the terms, and if you’re in poor health, I don’t usually accept you. You must be witchblood to sell the oils.” Here, Sheryl’s smile slipped a little and I recognized the trick of speaking quickly to rush something through, under the radar.
I picked up the paper again and skimmed through it. There had to be something in the contract to explain her sudden furtiveness. Then, I saw it. A block of fine print, near the bottom. The print was so small that I couldn’t even read it. I wanted to ask Sheryl what it said because an alarm bell was ringing loud and fast, but I didn’t want to alert her.
Sheryl suddenly played right into my needs. “May I visit your restroom?”
I nodded. “Ari, do you mind showing her where it is?”
Ari glanced at me, then smoothly stood and led Sheryl around the corner. The moment they were out of sight, I whipped out my phone and took a couple pictures of the page. Then, I expanded those pictures, reading the final paragraph:
Every representative of Majikoil will present themselves at their upline’s office during onboarding, where they will donate magical energy according to the official rules and regulations. The energy drawn off the team member will never exceed fifteen percent (15%) of that member’s life energy. Fifty percent (50%) of the donation will go to the founder of Majikoil, Sheryl Brown. Fifty percent (50%) will belong to the recruiter in the form of life-energy potions to be used as they like. If a new recruit refuses to donate, then they will be removed from their franchise, and no fees will be refundable.
I stared at the paragraph, then as Ari returned, I motioned for her to join me. She leaned close.
“What is it?”
“Not now. We’ll tell her we’ll contact her later about joining. Don’t sign anything except your credit card receipt to buy the oils.” I set the papers back down and donned a wide smile as Sheryl returned to the table.
“Well, have you had some time to think about joining? I know you’d make wonderful team members. You’ve made me feel so at home!” Her cheer was too bright, her smile too wide, and it occurred to me that the added bounce in her step probably came from the energy she had drained off her other recruits.
“How many representatives does Majikoil have?” I gave her a little shrug. “I imagine you’re incredibly successful.”
“Well, I can always use more team members. But I have over two hundred sales reps so far. I anticipate the company growing by leaps and bounds over the next few years.” She began replacing her oils in her carrying case. “I plan on offering new products soon—incense, spell kits, things like that. So many opportunities.”
“Do you plan to take Majikoil nationwide?” I asked.
Sheryl snapped the latches on her case shut. “Of course, and we’re on the way. I expect Majikoil to grow dramatically when the Otherkin community realizes we can meet all their magical needs.” She handed us her card. “Let me know when you’re ready to come on board. Even if it’s the middle of the night, text me and I’ll get back to you the next day.”
“Well, we wouldn’t want to bother you on Thanksgiving,” Ari said.
Sheryl laughed. “Oh, I work holidays. If someone needs my products, I don’t let my own life get in the way. And wait and see—once you’ve been selling Majikoil for a few months, you’ll be able to give up your day jobs and concentrate full time on the business.”
And with that, we escorted her out. She left, waving and still smiling. The woman’s smile hadn’t faltered once in
the entire time she had been here.
As soon as she was out of sight, I turned to Ari. “Come in. You won’t believe this.”
A sudden gust of wind blew up and sent a flurry of small branches off the barren trees. One skittered across the top of my car and I winced. Hopefully it wouldn’t leave a scratch on my new Ocelot. We hustled inside as fat raindrops began to pound down on the sidewalk.
Once I shut the door, I motioned for Ari to follow me over to the table. “See that print that’s so small it’s hard to read?”
Ari squinted at it. “What does it say?”
“Look at this.” I handed her my phone.
She expanded the picture, read it, and gasped. “She’s siphoning life energy off of her recruits. And you know, that will continue down through the ranks. So the more you recruit, the more years you gain. If she has two hundred reps…oh my gods, how long is her lifespan now?”
“Say her average witchblood recruit is set to live one hundred and fifty years. Fifteen percent of that’s twenty-two years, give or take a year. She must have added close to four thousand years to her life if she’s already recruited two hundred people.” I shook my head. “But once you reach the bottom tier, where there’s nobody left to recruit, those people…they just lose years off their life. Not only is she raking in money, but she’s an energy vampire. And if you don’t give her the energy, you forfeit all the money you bought in with and get kicked out!”
“Look at the application. If—say I—recruited someone, I’d get 15 percent of the onboarding fees. And it threads on through the downline. But at some point, it’s going to go dry and the people at the bottom of the pyramid get nothing. If you come on board down the line, there’s no way you can make enough money to sustain yourself.”
“What about the life energy?” Ari asked.
“I don’t know if that’s against the Court Magika’s rules. But stealing life energy from people using a business scam? That’s shady as hell.”
“Is that even legal?” Ari asked. “I mean, from the human side of the equation. Can you force someone to give you their energy?”
“Of course not,” I said. “But technically, they can claim they aren’t forcing anybody. Nobody has to buy into the company. It’s like with the vampires—according to the treaties, they must obtain the written consent of their blood donors. And we both know there are so many wannabe bloodwhores that they have no lack for blood donors. Nobody has to agree, but a lot of people will because they love the whole fangbang lifestyle.”
Ari rapped her fingers on the table. “Then you aren’t being forced to give Majikoil your life energy, but the allure of riches and the allure of a longer life is likely to pull in a number of people. Especially if someone’s desperate. Suppose someone has a terminal illness? Theoretically they could gain the extra time they hope for.”
I shrugged. “People are gullible. But if we go undercover, we’ll risk signing a contract that agrees to let her siphon off our life energy. I don’t fancy giving up twenty years of my life to uncover this scheme. We need to talk to Rowan and the Court.”
With that, I straightened the pile of papers that Sheryl had given us and picked up one of the overpriced bottles of oil. “I think it would be a good idea to have these analyzed. Let’s see if they do what they promise.”
“Good idea. Meanwhile, I was planning on catching some of the pre–Black Friday sales. There are a number of them going on this week. Want to go with me?”
Since Tarvish was no longer on my plate as a problem, I agreed. After leaving a message for my grandmother, Ari and I headed out for some much-needed retail therapy.
Chapter Twelve
Downtown Moonshadow Bay was hopping. I had brought my grocery list to stock up for Thanksgiving so that I wouldn’t have to fight the crowds next week, but we decided to start with shopping for the solstice.
I had been trying to think of what to give to Killian. We had been dating for nearly a year, so I wanted my gift to be special, but I knew he was hoping to officially propose soon and—as much as I cared about him—I didn’t want to encourage it yet. I wanted to have a solid eighteen months to two years on my own before blending my life with someone else’s again on a permanent basis.
“I don’t know what to get him. Though I did hear him complaining because his TV’s on the blink.”
“You’re going to buy him a new television set?” Ari asked, glancing at me. “Isn’t that a bit of a big-ticket item?”
I thought about it for a moment. “I’ve been hinting for a black opal ring. I’ve always wanted one and I know they aren’t cheap. But yeah, that may be a bit much.” I paused as we passed a pet store.
There, in the window, was a litter of rescue puppies. The pet store sold gerbils and hamsters and the like, but they made it a point to avoid selling dogs and cats except for ones brought in by the local rescue shelters. There, in the front window, were a litter of what looked like gorgeous German shepherd–golden retriever mix puppies.
“Oh, aren’t those cute? Killian had a dog he loved in California. She was a golden retriever. I wonder…”
“No,” Ari said. “You know better than that. Never buy a pet for another person. You don’t know if their chemistry will mesh. You don’t know if they want another pet. There are so many things that could go wrong. Besides, I thought you said he prefers cats.”
I bit my lip. Once again, Ari was right. “Yeah, he does, and you’re right. I wouldn’t want somebody else picking out my pets unless I asked them to. I don’t know why this is so hard.”
“You want your gift to be special,” Ari said. “You want him to look at it and think about you, right?”
I snorted. “Maybe I should buy him underwear. Then he’d be thinking about me in all the right places.” I laughed and Ari joined in. “What are you getting for Meagan?”
“That’s easy. She’s been asking for a stand mixer. She loves to bake—and boy is she good at it. So I thought I’d get her what she wants. Didn’t Killian ask for anything?”
I couldn’t remember him saying anything except… “Well, he did mention that he needs a new drill and bit set. That seems so stereotypical, though. Okay, kitchen supply store first, then I’ll decide whether to get him the drill or to keep thinking.”
“Yeah, Beelmeyers is having a sale on all their kitchenware.”
We passed the bookstore, then a stationery stop. “Oh wait—I want to look for a new planner,” I said. “I need one for the new year and I haven’t decided what kind I want. There are so many of them, and I’m looking for one that has a daily agenda as well as monthly.”
Ari mentioned a website. “I found exactly what I wanted there. Unless you want to look through the shop.”
I loved office supply stores, but stationery stores were another matter. “Nope. I’m good. If you say they have a wide choice, I’d rather be able to take my time and browse through. Oh, there’s Beelmeyers. Let’s go.”
As we entered the kitchen supply shop, my gut shopping instinct kicked in and I looked around, feeling like I was in a candy shop. The store had any and every kitchen gadget you could think of. As Ari began looking over the stand mixers, I snapped my fingers.
“I almost forgot. I don’t have a roasting pan big enough for a turkey. I was going to buy a disposable one, but I’d like one for other uses too.”
Ari pointed out the pots and pans section and then dove into reading the specs on the different mixers. I began sorting through the multitude of pans.
There were soup pots, roasting pans, sauce pans, brazier pans, stock pots, Dutch ovens, griddle and grill pans, woks, and that didn’t even begin to count the general bakeware. When you got into cake and cookie pans and pie plates, there were a gazillion different shapes and sizes. I tried to limit myself to the roasting pans but after I found one that fit a twenty-five pound turkey and also had a lid, I began sorting through the bakeware. By the time Ari had chosen a mixer for Meagan, I was standing in the checkout line with a bag of
cookie cutters, four new cookie sheets, two Pyrex deep-dish pie plates, the roasting pan, and a wok.
Ari stared at the cookware and then at me. “Opening a restaurant?”
I avoided her gaze. “You know better than to leave me alone with gadgets. Apparently that goes for cookware, too. I thought about buying a restaurant-quality blender, but I have a blender, an immersion blender, and a mini-bullet blender. I talked myself out of the Mix-A-Tron 2000.”
We paid for our purchases and then stored the bags in the back of my SUV, covering them with a blanket, then headed out again. As we neared the center of town, the sound of music caught our attention.
“Let’s go see what’s going on.” I led the way, crossing the street over to the town square.
Moonshadow Bay’s town square was directly across the street from the City Central complex. In the center of the four-way intersection was a large square with a fountain. The “square” was actually a circle, used like a roundabout. The fountain had plenty of room for pedestrians to walk around it, and benches to sit on when the weather was nice. During winter, the fountain was turned off and covered, and the holiday tree was set atop the cover.
The tree was up. I suspected they used a fake one because though it looked perfectly natural, it didn’t seem to need water at the bottom, and it looked the same from year to year.
City workers were standing on tall ladders. One was in a basket on one of those trucks that had a movable crane, like the ones tree pruners used to reach the very tops of tall trees. He had put a large pentacle atop the tree, and was checking the numerous lights that were strung around the tree. The lights were on, but they hadn’t done the official tree lighting ceremony yet—the workers were checking to make sure all the lights were working.
Ari and I strolled past the tree, enjoying the activities. The music was coming from a band run by Clyde Baker, the man who had given me Xi and Klaus. He was in a steel drum band, but they had changed out instruments for the holidays. Clyde was playing a harp, while his bandmates were on keyboard, drums, and violin. They were playing carols, though not the annoying Christmas plastic music that seemed to fill every elevator. These were old Celtic songs, and I suddenly found myself humming along and realized they were playing “Greensleeves.”
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