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  Burial Perfume Oil

  The Dark Side of Earth: deep, brooding forest scents, including juniper and patchouli. The scent of upturned cemetery loam mingling with floral offerings to the dead.

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  Dee

  John Dee: master of science, alchemy and magic, Hermetic philosopher in the schools of Rosicrucian Christian Mysticism and Platonic-Pythagorean doctrine, and Queen Elizabeth’s astrologer, advisor, cryptologist and spy. With Edward Kelly, he created a field of study and work in Angelic Evocation, and isolated the Angelic language: Enochian. His scent is soft English leather, rosewood and tonka with a hint of incense, parchment and soft woods.

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  The Black Tower Perfume Oil

  Say that the men of the old black tower,
  Though they but feed as the goatherd feeds,
  Their money spent, their wine gone sour,
  Lack nothing that a soldier needs,
  That all are oath-bound men:
  Those banners come not in.

  There in the tomb stand the dead upright,
  But winds come up from the shore:
  They shake when the winds roar,
  Old bones upon the mountain shake.

  Those banners come to bribe or threaten,
  Or whisper that a man’s a fool
  Who, when his own right king’s forgotten,
  Cares what king sets up his rule.
  If he died long ago
  Why do you dread us so?

  There in the tomb drops the faint moonlight,
  But wind comes up from the shore:
  They shake when the winds roar,
  Old bones upon the mountain shake.

  The tower’s old cook that must climb and clamber
  Catching small birds in the dew of the morn
  When we hale men lie stretched in slumber
  Swears that he hears the king’s great horn.
  But he’s a lying hound:
  Stand we on guard oath-bound!

  There in the tomb the dark grows blacker,
  But wind comes up from the shore:
  They shake when the winds roar,
  Old bones upon the mountain shake.

  A sepulchral, desolate scent. Long-dead soldiers, oath-bound; the perfume of their armor, the chill wind that surges through their tower, white bone and blackened steel: white sandalwood, ambergris, wet ozone, galbanum and leather with ebony, teak, burnt grasses, English ivy and a hint of red wine.

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  Incantation Perfume Oil

  Though thy slumber may be deep,
  Yet thy spirit shall not sleep;
  There are shades which will not vanish,
  There are thoughts thou canst not banish;
  By a power to thee unknown,
  Thou canst never be alone;
  Thou art wrapt as with a shroud,
  Thou art gather’d in a cloud;
  And for ever shalt thou dwell
  In the spirit of this spell.

  A profound and entrancing potion. Deep, wispy, and unfathomably dark: vetiver, dark woods, crumbling and burnt black sandalwood and a drop of lemon rind.

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