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  Crossroads Perfume Oil

  The forks of the road: an in-between place, sacred and tangibly magickal in innumerable cultures and faiths. This scent is dark with mystery, taut with power. A chill twilit garden of blooms over dry earth and mosses, heavily laden with incense and offertory herbs.

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  The Floating Market Perfume Oil

  It was loud, and brash, and insane, and it was, in many ways, quite wonderful. People argued, haggled, shouted, sang. They hawked and touted their wares, and loudly declaimed the superiority of their merchandise. Music was playing—a dozen different kinds of music, being played a dozen different ways on a score of different instruments, most of them improvised, improved, improbable. Richard could smell food. All kinds of food—the smells of curries and spices seemed to predominate, with, beneath them, the smells of grilling meats and mushrooms. Stalls had been set up all throughout the shop, next to or even on, counters that, during the day, had sold perfume, or watches, or amber, or silk scarves.

  A cacophony of curious scents: copaiba balsam, petitgrain, citrus rind, sinicuichi accord, betel nut, wasabi root, coconut palm, and wattleseed layered atop innumerable strange herbs, spices, and woods.

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  Lavender Earl Grey Cookies Perfume Oil

  A bitter, tea-stained ache soothed by softly herbaceous sugar cookies.

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  The Cat Perfume Oil

  There was a polite noise from behind her.

  She turned around. Standing on the wall next to her was a large black cat, identical to the large black cat she’d seen in the grounds at home.

  “Good afternoon,” said the cat.

  Its voice sounded like the voice at the back of Coraline’s head, the voice she thought words in, but a man’s voice, not a girl’s.

  “Hello,” said Coraline. “I saw a cat like you in the garden at home. You must be the other cat.”

  The cat shook its head. “No,” it said. “I’m not the other anything. I’m me.” It tipped its head to one side; green eyes glinted. “You people are spread all over the place. Cats, on the other hand, keep ourselves together. If you see what I mean.”

  “I suppose. But if you’re the same cat I saw at home, how can you talk?”

  Cats don’t have shoulders, not like people do. But the cat shrugged, in one smooth movement that started at the tip of its tail and ended in a raised movement of its whiskers. “I can talk.”

  “Cats don’t talk at home.”

  “No?” said the cat.

  “No,” said Coraline.

  The cat leaped smoothly from the wall to the grass near Coraline’s feet. It stared up at her.

  “Well, you’re the expert on these things,” said the cat dryly. “After all, what would I know? I’m only a cat.”

  Sleek, black, dark, and clever: benzoin, honey, cedar, and dark musk.

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