Agnes NutterAdd to cart
The mind of Agnes Nutter was so far adrift in Time that she was considered pretty mad even by the standards of seventeenth-century Lancashire, where mad prophetesses were a growth industry.
Gunpowder, charred wood, smoke, and rusty nails.
Black HatsAdd to cart
“So who were the guys that grabbed me in the parking lot? Mister Wood and Mister Stone? Who were they?” The lights of the car illuminated the winter landscape. Wednesday had announced that they were not to take freeways because he didn’t know whose side the freeways were on, so Shadow was sticking to back roads. He didn’t mind. He wasn’t even sure that Wednesday was crazy.
Wednesday grunted. “Just spooks. Members of the opposition. Black hats.”
“I think,” said Shadow, “that they think they’re the white hats.”
“Of course they do. There’s never been a true war that wasn’t fought between two sets of people who were certain they were in the right. The really dangerous people believe that they are doing whatever they are doing solely and only because it is without question the right thing to do. And that is what makes them dangerous.”
“And you?” asked Shadow. “Why are you doing what you’re doing?”
“Because I want to,” said Wednesday. And then he grinned. “So that’s all right.”
Gunpowder residue, patent leather, pomade, and aftershave.
Det. Patrick GleasonAdd to cart
A classic men’s cologne splashed over a leather trenchcoat and a hint of gunshot residue.
Mary ReadSelect Options
Salt air, ocean mist, aged patchouli, sarsaparilla, watered-down rum, leather-tinged musk, and a spray of gunpowder.
Mommy FortunaOut of Stock
When the first wagon drew even with the place where the unicorn lay asleep, the old woman suddenly pulled her black horse to a stop. All the other wagons stopped too and waited silently as the old woman swung herself to the ground with an ugly grace. Gliding close to the unicorn, she peered down at her for a long time, and then said, “Well. Well, bless my old husk of a heart. And here I thought Iâ€™d seen the last of them.” Her voice left a flavor of honey and gunpowder on the air. “If he knew,” she said and she showed pebbly teeth as she smiled. “But I don’t think I’ll tell him.”
Honey, gunpowder, and pleonectic, twopenny magics.
The Enterprise of the NightOut of Stock
Inspired by the opening pages of Circle of Blood. The scent of vice and darkness: flashing neon, oil-tinged petrichor, fading perfume, smeared lipstick, and the faintest touch of gunpowder residue.