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  La Roue de Malheur Hair Gloss

  Red musk, blackened patchouli, opium tar, inky oudh, champaca flower, pomegranate pulp, frankincense, and tobacco.

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  A Complex, Wiggly Sigil Perfume Oil

  Hastur produced a clipboard from the grubby recesses of his mack.

  “Sign. Here,” he said, leaving a terrible pause between the words.

  Crowley fumbled vaguely in an inside pocket and produced a pen. It was sleek and matte black. It looked as though it could exceed the speed limit.

  “‘S’nice pen,” said Ligur. “It can write under water,” Crowley muttered.

  “Whatever will they think of next?” mused Ligur.

  “Whatever it is, they’d better think of it quickly,” said Hastur. “No. Not A. J. Crowley. Your real name.”

  Crowley nodded mournfully, and drew a complex, wiggly sigil on the paper.

  It glowed redly in the gloom, just for a moment, and then faded: blood-red ink, fiery pomegranate, and black oudh.

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  Persephone Perfume Oil

  Daughter of Jove, almighty and divine, come, blessed queen, and to these rites incline:
  Only-begotten, Pluto’s honor’d wife, O venerable Goddess, source of life:
  ‘Tis thine in earth’s profundities to dwell, fast by the wide and dismal gates of hell:
  Jove’s holy offspring, of a beauteous mien, Praxidike, with lovely locks, infernal queen:
  Source of the Eumenides, whose blest frame proceeds from Jove’s ineffable and secret seeds:
  Mother of Eubouleos, Sonorous, divine, and many-form’d, the parent of the vine:
  The dancing Horai attend thee, essence bright, all-ruling virgin, bearing heav’nly light:
  Illustrious, horned, of a bounteous mind, alone desir’d by those of mortal kind.
  O, vernal queen, whom grassy plains delight, sweet to the smell, and pleasing to the sight:
  Whose holy form in budding fruits we view, Earth’s vig’rous offspring of a various hue:
  Espous’d in Autumn: life and death alone to wretched mortals from thy power is known:
  For thine the task according to thy will, life to produce, and all that lives to kill.
  Hear, blessed Goddess, send a rich increase of various fruits from earth, with lovely Peace;
  Send Health with gentle hand, and crown my life with blest abundance, free from noisy strife;
  Last in extreme old age the prey of Death, dismiss we willing to the realms beneath,
  To thy fair palace, and the blissful plains where happy spirits dwell, and Pluto reigns.

  Pomegranate and rose.

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  Don’t Touch Perfume Oil

  “You’ve got to admit it’s a bit of a pantomime, though,” said Crawly. “I mean, pointing out the Tree and saying ‘Don’t Touch’ in big letters. Not very subtle, is it? I mean, why not put it on top of a high mountain or a long way off? Makes you wonder what He’s really planning.”

  And Jehovah God commanded the man, saying, Of every tree of the garden thou mayest freely eat: but of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, thou shalt not eat of it: the green rolling hills of the First Garden, a scattering of apple blossoms and apple pulp, a handful of pomegranate seeds, and a soft, serpentine hiss of poisonous green musk, opoponax, and frankincense.

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