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    Caramel Apple Cookie Perfume Oil

    Brown sugar cookies with fat chunks of cinnamon-dusted apple and swirls of caramel.

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  • Interlude Perfume Oil

    Lilith has been attending events with us ever since she was in utero. Events like comic conventions have been a huge part of our lives – even before BPAL – that there was a point in my pregnancy where I thought I was going to give birth on the vending hall floor at San Diego Comic Con.

    Lilith is accustomed to Carny Life: it’s all she’s ever known. Sometimes Lilith helps us vend, sometimes she attends panels, sometimes she sits in the booth ignoring us all while playing video games, sometimes she finds a shadowy corner of a theater’s balcony or a vacant couch behind a stage so she can have a moment to herself.

    Leather, dust, a backpack full of cookies, and a hint of lavender.

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    Lakeside Home & Linen Spray

    “There was a reason he hid me in Lakeside, wasn’t there? There was a reason nobody should have been able to find me here.”

    Hinzelmann said nothing. He unhooked a heavy black poker from its place on the wall, and he prodded at the fire with it, sending up a cloud of orange sparks and smoke. “This is my home,” he said, petulantly. “It’s a good town.”

    Perfect wholesomeness: green grass, summer daisies, spring daffodils, and bake sale cookies bought with blood and terror, all frozen beneath a sheet of thick black ice.

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    Mr. Nancy’s House Home & Linen Spray

    Florida went on for longer than Shadow had imagined, and it was late by the time he pulled up outside a small, one-story wooden house, its windows tightly shuttered, on the outskirts of Fort Pierce. Nancy, who had directed him through the last five miles, invited him to stay the night.

    “I can get a room in a motel,” said Shadow. “It’s not a problem.”

    “You could do that, and I’d be hurt. Obviously I wouldn’t say anythin’. But I’d be real hurt, real bad,” said Mr. Nancy. “So you better stay here, and I’ll make you a bed up on the couch.”

    Mr. Nancy unlocked the hurricane shutters, and pulled open the windows. The house smelled musty and damp, and little sweet, as if it were haunted by the ghosts of long-dead cookies.

    The ghosts of long-dead cookies, whirring palmetto bugs, cigarillo smoke, and crawling things that scuttle and click.

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