Mayfair Witches Recap: A Bad Trip

Did you guys ever have that thing when you were in college, and you’d be home for Thanksgiving, and you run into your cousin who you haven’t seen in a while, and she’s like, “Wanna come to a party with me?” And you’re like, “Sure.” And then suddenly you’re playing Flip Cup with a guy named Chad in a semi-finished basement in a town you’ve never heard of, and you can’t get home because your cousin is hooking up with Chad’s roommate, Matt? This episode was kind of like that. Except Rowan can’t call her dad in a panic from the smoking porch because her dad is the one pouring the Jägermeister shots (metaphorically speaking).

I know logically how our ragtag crew of Rowan, Moira, Cortland, and Lark got from New Orleans to Scotland and why they went there, but the sense that they have simply appeared in an alternate storyline without notice and where they do not belong never quite leaves. The problem is that Lark is the only one who seems to realize this. Can I just say, for a moment, that Lark has really started to grow on me? Of all the characters on my screen for these 40-plus minutes, Lark is the only one I feel like would really get me.

The vibes are absolutely rancid from the moment the NOLA Mayfairs (plus Lark) step foot onto Kilbride because Cortland’s evil brother Ian has orchestrated it to be so. Ian is taking no chances that the NOLA Mayfairs might interrupt the marriage he’s arranged between Lasher (Yer a god, Lasher) and Emaleth. Emaleth is Lasher’s one true love, allegedly, and also the only other living Taltos besides Lasher, again, allegedly. To make sure there are no objections to the wedding, Ian masterminds an elaborate scheme to abduct his American relatives involving a mysterious flat tire and disappearing hotel reservation instead of just inviting them over.

The locals in town are celebrating a Michaelmas festival art directed by the girls from Yellowjackets. Theoretically, Michaelmas is a Catholic feast day, but Rowan observes that this event doesn’t seem very Catholic. The Catholic church has never phoned it in when it comes to aesthetics, but they are historically very anti-horned animals.

Speaking of which, you know what does seem very Catholic? The shadowy, cabalistic, Amsterdam-based hierarchy that is the Talamasca. Sip is back for a moment, and I’m happy to report that he displays his first signs of backbone and refuses to keep working with the Talamasca … unless they give him Albrecht’s old job and start telling him the truth. They say they’ll run it up the flagpole and get back to him after the conclave.

But back to Kilbride. We’ve already lost Moira because she heard a voice and wandered into the crowd after a man in a red cloak. Then, as the lady at the front desk explains once again, the hotel doesn’t have their reservation in the system, and since they booked through a third-party app, they’ll have to take it up with Hotels dot com; she just works here. Very conspicuously, there is already a guy with a car waiting to drive them across town to “the other hotel.”

Lark and I can’t believe we even have to ask this, but they aren’t really going to abandon Moira in this strange town in a foreign country in order to submit to this very obvious kidnapping attempt, are they? Unfortunately, yes, that is exactly what they are going to do because Rowan thinks she’s playing 3D chess. And who’s surprised? If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Rowan, it’s that she is always one half-baked rationalization away from leaving her loved ones to their fate, especially when she’s the reason they’re in danger in the first place.

Lark’s very justified sense of unease quadruples when they arrive at “the other hotel,” which turns out to be Ian’s house. Lark points out that this is clearly a trap on several different occasions, but what if Rowan can outwit the Scottish Mayfairs by doing exactly what they want her to do? They’ll never see that coming! At this point, Lark and I are both internally banging our heads against the wall because, reminder, Moira is still missing.

So, Rowan strides into the manor with the unearned confidence of a young tech CEO and exactly no leverage, only to be repeatedly dog-walked at every opportunity. First, she tries asking Ian politely if she could have just one vial of Lasher’s blood, and he says no. A wily foe! She immediately escalates to torture via magic strangulation but is foiled again! The whole dang family is magically linked to little Bonnie, meaning that if Ian can’t breathe, neither can that innocent little girl in the corner. Drat!

Undeterred, Rowan embarrasses herself one last time by attempting to manipulate Hamish, whom she has identified as the black sheep of the family after five minutes of close observation. Rowan thinks she’s doing some real CIA-tier mind games as she promises Hamish money and college and a green card if he’ll just betray his whole family and tell her where Lasher is. Sure, I’ll help you find Lasher, he promises. Just go down into the tunnels in the basement in the middle of the night. Anyone who’s ever been to sleepaway camp could tell Rowan that she’s being fucked with, but she’s so pleased with herself she believes every word.

Cortland doesn’t seem to realize he’s being had either and also seems to fancy himself some kind of elite puppet master. Cortland is really leaning into his wounded inner child at the moment, so all Ian has to say is, “But this whole time, Dad really made me jealous of you!” Therefore, Cortland figures he’s got Ian in his pocket already and is free to enjoy the backyard family barbecue. Luckily, I have found that I cannot muster enough sympathy for Cortland to really care that he’s about to be betrayed, and I don’t think anyone else trusts him enough to be swayed by his opinion. Therefore, Cortland can buddy up with Ian “Human Sacrifice World Champ” Mayfair all he likes. Stay in Scotland with the creepy relatives for all I care.

And the relatives are creepy, even by Mayfair standards. Bone Doll is like astrology-level witchcraft compared to a mask made of human skin. Albrecht Escher’s skin, to be exact. These people are tossing around Albrecht’s actual face like they bought it at Spirit Halloween, and yet Rowan still agrees to sleep in that house. Rowan is not at all concerned that her cousins are going to be wearing her skin like a mask next because Rowan has wildly overestimated her own instincts. Lark does not overestimate Rowan’s instincts, but he is overruled by his own desire to have sex with her, which is where Lark’s and my affinity diverge. Once Rowan has seduced Lark to sleep, she sneaks out of bed to begin her investigation on that not-at-all-suspicious tip. Of course, once she finds her way there, the black sheep guy locks the door behind her.

While all of this is going on, Lasher is being trussed for his wedding to his one true love. I mean, the Scottish Mayfairs insist that she is his one true love, but Lasher has never actually met the woman and remains unconvinced even after he sees her straddling her highland cow in a nearby meadow, where she has been waiting for 500 years. Not handsome enough to tempt me, thinks Lasher, and also, I kill the people I have sex with. This wedding is going to be a disaster.

Additional Questions, Comments, and Concerns

• Daniel Molloy’s book gets a mention, which is probably the extent of the Interview With the Vampire crossover.

• At least we got some answers about the milk thing.

• Moira got word that birds are now getting into the Mayfair house, so I’m beginning to think Jojo and Daphne are toast.