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  Marina Perfume Oil

  When I was born:
  Never was waves nor wind more violent.

  A waving wet haze of blue and green: blackberry wine and soft oudh, cashmere woods, iris pallida, sea salt, and turquoise musk.

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  Lemon-Scented Sticky Bat Perfume Oil

  …last week Maddy woke me up early in the morning.

  “Daddy,” she said, “There’s a bat on the kitchen window.”

  “Grumphle,” I said and went back to sleep.

  Soon, she woke me up again. “I did a drawing of the bat on the kitchen window,” she said, and showed me her drawing. For a five year old she’s a very good artist. It was a schematic of the kitchen windows, showing a bat on one of the windows.

  “Very nice dear,” I said. Then I went back to sleep.

  When I went downstairs…

  We have, instead of dangling fly papers, transparent strips of gluey clear plastic, about six inches long and an inch high, stuck to the windows on the ground floor. When they accumulate enough flies, you peel them off the window and throw them away.

  There was a bat stuck to one. He was facing out into the room. “I think he’s dead,” said my assistant Lorraine.

  I peeled the plastic off the window. The bat hissed at me.

  “Nope,” I said. “He’s fine. Just stuck.”

  The question then became, how does one get a bat (skin and fur) off a fly-strip. Luckily, I bethought me of the Bram Stoker award. After the door had fallen off (see earler in this topic) I had bought some citrus solvent to take the old glue to reglue the door on.

  So I dripped citrus solvent onto the grumpy bat, edging him off the plastic with a twig, until a lemon-scented sticky bat crawled onto a newspaper. Which I put on the top of a high woodpile, and watched the bat crawl into the logs. With any luck he was as right as rain the following night…

  Sticky-sweet iced lemon sugar!

  Out of Stock
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  Midnight on the Midway Perfume Oil

  Lightning splits the sky, illuminating the skeletal skyline of the carnival rides: sugared incense, flickering blue musk, and night-blooming flowers.

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  Sweets to the Sweet Perfume Oil

  One sight did catch her attention however. Scrawled on the paving stones she was walking over—and all but erased by rain and the passage of feet—the same phrase she'd seen in the bedroom of number 14: “Sweets to the sweet.” The words were so benign; why did she seem to sense menace in them? Was it in their excess, perhaps, in the sheer overabundance of sugar upon sugar, honey upon honey?

  Sugar upon sugar, honey upon honey: white cane sugar and honey absolute.

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