wickedgoddess

A few things have been added to our Etsy site. http://www.etsy.com/shop/alchemylab

Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab’s Lunacy events are your opportunity to meet the lab staff (California only), purchase the latest scents, and get a sneak preview of what’s coming soon. The blends that will be available for purchase include those that went live on the Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab website up to and including the Moon of the Terrible update. Our Lunacy events are held on the night of the full moon at Dark Delicacies in Burbank, and are always free. The west coast will call event will be held on Saturday, January 26th from 4 to 7pm at Dark Delicacies. Dark Delicacies 3512 W. Magnolia Blvd (1 block east of Hollywood Way) Burbank, CA 91505 www.darkdel.com ___ New England Will Call will be held at Healthy Living Market on Sunday, January 27th from 4:00 to 6:00pm, in the Learning Center. Healthy Living Market 222 Dorset Street, South Burlington, VT, 05403 ___________ Seattle Will Call will be held at Bedlam Bedlam on Saturday, January 26th from 6:30 to 9:00pm. BedlamBedlam 613 East Pike Street Seattle WA 98122 http://bedlambedlam.com/ If you have any questions, please email us at willcall@blackphoenixalchemylab.com.

Moon of the Terrible is live at Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab and Trading Post. MOON OF THE TERRIBLE On New Year’s Day each thought a loneliness as winter dusk descends Desolation at the last moment in the gloaming on New Year’s Day: winter snow with lavender, benzoin, lychee, starfruit, carrot seed, white iris, pale resins, and a cluster of melancholy, lachrymose lunar herbs and florals. And our monthly single note offerings are: KING MANDARIN King Mandarin is a refreshing, tart, opulent citrus oil. The scent is uplifting and cheering and creates a strong sense of well-being. It is a relaxing fragrance that promotes sensuality through delight. MADAGASCAN VANILLA RUM A complex single note accord that melds pure bourbon vanilla with the scent of fermented molasses. The scent is dark, thick, sweet, heavy and rich, with a slight spicy smokiness. Also, a reminder that our three Will Call events are this weekend: The west coast will call event will be held on Friday, December 28th from 6 to 9pm at Dark Delicacies. Dark Delicacies 3512 W. Magnolia Blvd (1 block east of Hollywood Way) Burbank, CA 91505 www.darkdel.com ___ New England Will Call will be held at Healthy Living Market on Sunday, December 30th from 3:00 to 6:00pm, in the Learning Center. Healthy Living Market 222 Dorset Street, South Burlington, VT, 05403 ___________ Seattle Will Call will be held at Bedlam Bedlam on Friday, December 28th, from 6:30 to 9:00 pm. BedlamBedlam 613 East Pike Street Seattle WA 98122 http://bedlambedlam.com/ If you have any questions about will call events, please email us at willcall@blackphoenixalchemylab.com.

Bumping

To ensure delivery of Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab and Black Phoenix Trading Post products by Christmas, international orders must be received by 6pm PST on 12/5. Domestic Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab orders must be received by 6pm PST, 12/15, and domestic Black Phoenix Trading Post orders must be received by 6pm PST, 12/10.

Our west coast full moon event is tonight at Dark Delicacies, 6pm til 9pm. We’re hosting our annual food and toy drives concurrently at this shindig! For every $10 in food that you donate, you will receive a 5ml bottle of FOREVER IS MERCY BUILT Tamarind, tonka bean, patchouli, golden amber, and white fig. For every toy valued at $10 or more that you bring, you will receive a 5ml bottle of G’MILUT CHASADIM Honeyed pomegranate, rose, myrrh, osmanthus, and wild plum. We are offering these oils while supplies last, and cannot guarantee that any Will Call location will be able to fulfill all donation exchanges. We’ll do our best! Food donations made at our Los Angeles will call will support the Burbank Temporary Aid Center, and the toys will be donated to the Los Angeles location will be given to Spark of Love, the Los Angeles County Fire Department’s toy collection campaign. The west coast will call event will be held on Wednesday, November 28th from 6 to 9pm at Dark Delicacies. Dark Delicacies 3512 W. Magnolia Blvd (1 block east of Hollywood Way) Burbank, CA 91505 www.darkdel.com ___ New England Will Call will be held at Healthy Living Market on Sunday, December 2nd from 4:00 to 7:00pm, in the Learning Center. Healthy Living Market 222 Dorset Street, South Burlington, VT, 05403 ___________ Seattle Will Call will be held at Bedlam Bedlam on Saturday, December 1st, from 6:30 to 9:00 pm. BedlamBedlam 613 East Pike Street Seattle WA 98122 http://bedlambedlam.com/ If you have any questions about will call events, please email us at willcall@blackphoenixalchemylab.com.

The Whirling Wind Moon is live at Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab and Trading Post. WHIRLING WIND MOON Swiftly walk o’er the western wave, Spirit of Night! Out of the misty eastern cave, Where, all the long and lone daylight, Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear, ‘Which make thee terrible and dear, — Swift be thy flight! Dreams of joy and fear: swirling dark and airy musks, mogra, plumeria, hyacinth, lily of the valley, dry white sandalwood, raw white ginger, gardenia, pale amber, and oakmoss. Whirling Wind Moon art by Tanya Bjork! This month’s single note is GOLGOTHAN MYRRH I send thee myrrh, not that thou mayest be by it perfumed, but it perfumed by thee. Myrrh is a sacred plant whose power has been explored for over four thousand years. It is an ingredient in the Kyphi of the ancient Egyptians and in Ketoret, which was used in the used in the First and Second Temples of Jerusalem. Myrrh was also one of the gifts that the Magi were said to have brought to the infant Christ. This tremendously potent and protective plant resonates with the Crone, and is utilized both to explore the Crone’s spheres of death and wisdom, and as a tool to help lead the proverbial child of destiny through darkness to a place of enlightenment. Myrrh, whose name means Bitter Tears, exists within the auspices of both Saturn and Luna, and represents loss and grief as well as the ability to heal and learn from painful experiences. I hate price increases. There’s no gentle way of announcing them, and I always feel like a heel when we have to make ‘em. Effective immediately, the price of wand caps is going up to $1 per piece. The cost of the caps themselves has risen on our end, and because they’re a high-breakage item, we lose money on them as a whole because they get roughed up in transit despite our best efforts to keep them safe and snug. Wand caps are available on our Imp’s Ears page. Thank you so much for understanding!

The BPTP Yule Update is now live! + BPTP MISKATONIC VALLEY YULETIDE FAIRE ++ BPTP MISKATONIC VALLEY YULETIDE FAIRE ATMOSPHERE SPRAY THE MISKATONIC VALLEY YULETIDE FAIRE Ancient snow-dusted oaks, oozing pine pitch, ceremonial mulled wine, wafts of incense, dry leaves, warm cookies, a spatter of blood, and hot cocoa with wee little marshmallows. CHESTNUTS ROASTING ON AN OPEN PYRE A holiday tradition! The festive scent of chestnuts being roasted on Arkham’s neighborhood sacrificial pyre: chestnuts, sweet incense, smoldering oak and cedar logs, evocation herbs, and a hint of brown sugar. ++ BPTP MISKATONIC VALLEY YULETIDE FAIRE BATH OIL ELDRICH DARK The Miskatonic Valley’s premiere sex shop. Black and red musks with honey, leather, and sugared black rose. +YULE 2012 ++ BPTP YULE ATMOSPHERE SPRAY SNOW BUNNY Not so spooky, right? Here’s to finally being able to hit the slopes again! Soft white powder snow with a touch of youthful girlie perfume. ++ BPTP YULE BATH OILS BLUEBERRY PEPPERMINT Chilly vanilla peppermint twirled with dark, sweet blueberry juice. KRAMPUS Be good, or Krampus will toss you in a river! Sinister red musk, black leather, dusty rags, and wooden switches. FRANKINCENSE, MYRRH, AND ROSE PETAL BEADS A solemn, meditative experience: sweet Indian frankincense, North African myrrh, and dried red rose petals. RASPBERRY THUMBPRINT COOKIE Sugar-dusted butter cookies with a squish of raspberry jam. SHORTBREAD SNOWFLAKES Coconut-sweetened shortbread laced with royal icing. ++ BPTP YULE: CANDLES LICK IT An illuminating double ententre! A sticky, sweet peppermint candy cane with a copious dusting of vanilla. Please do not lick, suck, or nibble the wax. MIDWINTER’S EVE A melancholy, deep scent, poignant and brimming with nostalgia. The perfume of sugared plums over a breeze of winter flowers. OAK, PINE, AND MISTLETOE Oak bark, pine pitch, and blood red mistletoe berries. PEACOCK QUEEN In dramatic contrast to the soft innocence of Snow White and the dew-kissed freshness of her sister, Rose Red, this is a blood red, voluptuous rose, velvet-petaled, at the height of bloom. Haughty and imperious, vain, yet incomparably lovely to the eye, but thick with thorns of jealousy, pride and hatred. SNOW WHITE A chilly, bright perfume: flurries of virgin snow, crisp winter wind and the faintest breath of night-blooming flowers. SPANKED Sado-masochistic holiday cheer: whip leather, cardamom, patchouli and bourbon. ++ BPTP YULE SCENT BLUE SNOWBALLS … because the holidays can be really, really frustrating. Blueberry slush with a hint of lime and blackberry juice. Miskatonic Valley Yuletide Faire artwork by Julie Dillon.

Yules are live at Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab! ++ THE MISKATONIC VALLEY YULETIDE FAIRE Welcome to Innsmouth, the Pearl of New England! Every December, the Esoteric Order of Dagon hosts the Miskatonic Valley Yuletide Faire, a holiday marketplace at the former Masonic Temple at New Church Green in Innsmouth. Mayor Obed Marsh, may the Deep Ones bless his eternal governance, lights the community sacrificial pyre on the first of the month, and the festivities begin! Amidst holiday entertainments, local artisans and craftspeople ply their wares. The Voices of Azathoth, our local children’s choir, and the Servitor Flautists perform on the Grand Stage of Malignity throughout the month! “Dread Hymns Ancient and Modern” and the canonical cult scriptures are always lovingly reprinted and distributed by the kind folks at the Wilbur Whateley Memorial Library so that residents and visitors can sing and chant with the carolers, Esquimaux wizards, Louisiana swamp-priests, and local cultists. At midnight on Midwinter Eve, the liturgical play “the Adoration of the Mi-Go” is performed under the lights of a synathroesmus of iridescent globes by Arkham’s world-famous acting troupe, the Haunters in the Dark, on the Great Stage. Get ready for holiday parties and ritual feasts with the help of our local farmers, bakers, and candymakers! Every year since 1928, Mother Shub has set up her tempting pastry and confections stand, the Yule Goat, and this year is no exception! Mason & Jenkin’s Pantry will be selling their home made preserves, and the Innsmouth Canning Company will be offering a selection of fresh fish, true to their motto: You Are What You Eat! Shopping for holiday gifts is a breeze at the Miskatonic Valley Yuletide Faire! Old Man Ackerman, proprietor of Miskatonic Valley’s renowned toy store and antiquities dealership, Elder Things, brings hand-crafted clockworks and tin machines that spout iridescent, prolately spheroidal bubbles to delight the wee ones. Old Man Ackerman’s educational toys make non-Euclidean calculus fun! Curwen Imports brings a selection of exotic merchandise and antiquities from all over the globe and points beyond, including authentic 12th century illuminated manuscripts crafted by Bartolomeo Corsi. There’s no better time to get a pet magah bird for little Billy or a new set of yellow Carcosan robes for yourself! Bargains galore! (For the pleasure of the adults, the Black Temple Burlesque Troupe performs nightly through January at the Vault of Zin in Innsmouth’s Red Light District.) And that’s just a sampling of what the Faire has to offer! Fun for the whole family! May this Yule season bring madness and the void’s wild vengeance to all! THE ADORATION OF THE MI-GO The time-honored ecclesiastical drama that illustrates the piety of the Fungi and First Coming of the Crawling Chaos to the majestic black stone terraces of Yuggoth! Recapture the magic! Luminous, otherworldly wet and piquant odors mingling with black incense, the pitch-stench of Yuggoth, and fungal lichens. THE BLACK TEMPLE BURLESQUE TROUPE Straight from the pits of black, lightless N’kai: the voluptuous bat-winged vixens of the Black Temple Burlesque Troupe! HELL’S ACRES YULE TREE FARM Providing Yule trees for the Miskatonic Valley community since the Year of the Black Goat! Our saplings are imported directly from the Land of Three Suns, and are cultivated organically while strictly observing the blood rites necessary for optimum growth. We have pyre-ready firewood for sale, plus free candy canes and hot cocoa for the kids! We also offer ceremonial flocking! LIL’ MENES’ FELINE ENTERTAINMENTS A delightful selection of Ultharian cat toys and offerings, guaranteed to propitiate even the orneriest kitty! MOTHER SHUB’S CTHULHUSTOLLEN Candied Kadathian orange peel and R’lyehthanese rum give Mother Shub’s a little extra pizazz! MOTHER SHUB’S GINGERBREAD TEMPLES Mother Shub’s lovingly hand-crafted gingerbread temples are sure to summon a little extra joy for the wee ones! Mother Shub’s secret gingerbread recipe contains ritually-consecrated resins and pulped root from her own hydroponically-grown Saturnian ginger cultivar. Each temple is decorated with sweets from local candymaker Abyssal Addictions! Shop local! MOTHER SHUB’S SPICED LAIT DE CHÈVRE Nothing warms the cockles like a mug of Mother Shub’s egg nog! Goat’s milk egg nog with coffee liqueur and spices imported from the Crimson Desert! MOTHER SHUB’S STYGIAN NOUGAT A torpid black nougat with belladonna honey, somnolent lavender, and thyme. MASON & JENKIN’S PORT JELLY Red and sticky! From a genuine Old Salem recipe! NABBY GARDNER’S HOLIDAY GLOBULES Deck your halls with Nabby Gardner’s Holiday Globules — the colors are out of this world! Luminous and possibly sentient, they make a fine addition to your holiday décor! Common sense warning: the globules are mutagenic. Keep away from livestock, crops, and household pets. Nearby objects may be infused with unnatural light for an indefinite period of time. If opened, the globules will occasionally drain the life out of all organic matter in the vicinity. OLD MAN ACKERMAN’S INSTRUCTIONAL TOYS Educational toys for tots! Learn non-Euclidean calculus, catoptric theory, quantum physics, and the mysteries of Elder magic the fun way! An ancient baetylus floating within an array of bizarre trapezoidal figures, glimmering tubes, rusting spheres, and whirling gogs formed from peculiar metals, glowing tektites, strangely suspended lead mirrors, and eerie driftings of meteoric dust. THE SMILIN’ SERVITORS’ HYPERDIMENSIONAL HOLIDAY HITS As seen on tv! A musical extravaganza of madness, terror, and woe! Twenty-three insane interstellar holiday hits from everyone’s favorite amorphous toad pipers, including “Doom to the World” and “Here We Go to Sacrifice”! A discordant scent, silvery and strange like a lunatic’s tinsel garland: freesia, eucalyptus, and yuzu, with sicilian lemon, massoia, opoponax, night-blooming jasmine, white bergamot, and copaiba oleoresin. PET MAGAH BIRD Every kid wants a pet magah bird! A prism of scent, an explosion of multi-colored feathers: blood orange, black plum, sugar cane, guava, frangipani, coconut, pimento berry, violet, caramel, and pear. SWEET LAVINIA’S DREAD PUDDINGS Lavinia Whateley is famous throughout the Miskatonic Valley for her inimitably delightful and suspiciously spicy dread bread puddings! SWEET LAVINIA’S RISALAMANDE Clots of rice pudding (harvested from the fair trade rice farms of Bokrug Lake!) and organic whipped goat cream topped with a sebaceous glob of black cherry sauce. Regional trivia: In keeping with Miskatonic Valley tradition, at midnight on Yule eve, children devour heaping bowls of cold risalamande, and whoever finds a tiny carved whippoorwill in their glop wins a brand new rough-hewn stone idol of their houseshold’s patron (or matron!) entity! Fun for the whole family! The whippoorwills are usually cut from glass, stone, Venusian plasticine, or meterorite, and are often passed down as whimsical family heirlooms from generation to generation. The Whateleys stopped including these icons precooked in their batches of risalamande after several Dunwich children were accidentally possessed by Minions of Yog-Sothoth in the winter of ’28. Miskatonic Valley art by Julie Dillon. ++ THE TURN OF THE SCREW No, no-there are depths, depths! The more I go over it, the more I see in it, and the more I see in it, the more I fear. I don’t know what I don’t see-what I don’t fear! THE GOVERNESS “The story’s written. It’s in a locked drawer-it has not been out for years. I could write to my man and enclose the key; he could send down the packet as he finds it.” It was to me in particular that he appeared to propound this-appeared almost to appeal for aid not to hesitate. He had broken a thickness of ice, the formation of many a winter; had had his reasons for a long silence. The others resented postponement, but it was just his scruples that charmed me. I adjured him to write by the first post and to agree with us for an early hearing; then I asked him if the experience in question had been his own. To this his answer was prompt. “Oh, thank God, no!” “And is the record yours? You took the thing down?” “Nothing but the impression. I took that HERE”-he tapped his heart. “I’ve never lost it.” “Then your manuscript-?” “Is in old, faded ink, and in the most beautiful hand.” He hung fire again. “A woman’s. She has been dead these twenty years. She sent me the pages in question before she died.” They were all listening now, and of course there was somebody to be arch, or at any rate to draw the inference. But if he put the inference by without a smile it was also without irritation. “She was a most charming person, but she was ten years older than I. She was my sister’s governess,” he quietly said. “She was the most agreeable woman I’ve ever known in her position; she would have been worthy of any whatever. It was long ago, and this episode was long before. I was at Trinity, and I found her at home on my coming down the second summer. I was much there that year-it was a beautiful one; and we had, in her off-hours, some strolls and talks in the garden-talks in which she struck me as awfully clever and nice. Oh yes; don’t grin: I liked her extremely and am glad to this day to think she liked me, too. If she hadn’t she wouldn’t have told me. She had never told anyone. It wasn’t simply that she said so, but that I knew she hadn’t. I was sure; I could see. You’ll easily judge why when you hear.” “Because the thing had been such a scare?” He continued to fix me. “You’ll easily judge,” he repeated: “YOU will.” I fixed him, too. “I see. She was in love.” Brittle white musk, bruised violets, vanilla orchid, and green tea. THE GENTLEMAN … this prospective patron proved a gentleman, a bachelor in the prime of life, such a figure as had never risen, save in a dream or an old novel, before a fluttered, anxious girl out of a Hampshire vicarage. One could easily fix his type; it never, happily, dies out. He was handsome and bold and pleasant, offhand and gay and kind. He struck her, inevitably, as gallant and splendid, but what took her most of all and gave her the courage she afterward showed was that he put the whole thing to her as a kind of favor, an obligation he should gratefully incur. She conceived him as rich, but as fearfully extravagant-saw him all in a glow of high fashion, of good looks, of expensive habits, of charming ways with women. A dapper cologne, distant and refined: white musk, lime rind, and rosemary water with tobacco leaf and lilac. BLY Driving at that hour, on a lovely day, through a country to which the summer sweetness seemed to offer me a friendly welcome, my fortitude mounted afresh and, as we turned into the avenue, encountered a reprieve that was probably but a proof of the point to which it had sunk. I suppose I had expected, or had dreaded, something so melancholy that what greeted me was a good surprise. I remember as a most pleasant impression the broad, clear front, its open windows and fresh curtains and the pair of maids looking out; I remember the lawn and the bright flowers and the crunch of my wheels on the gravel and the clustered treetops over which the rooks circled and cawed in the golden sky. The scene had a greatness that made it a different affair from my own scant home, and there immediately appeared at the door, with a little girl in her hand, a civil person who dropped me as decent a curtsy as if I had been the mistress or a distinguished visitor. I had received in Harley Street a narrower notion of the place, and that, as I recalled it, made me think the proprietor still more of a gentleman, suggested that what I was to enjoy might be something beyond his promise. Rain-lashed stone and fading summer flowers. MRS. GROSE He had put them in possession of Bly, which was healthy and secure, and had placed at the head of their little establishment-but below stairs only-an excellent woman, Mrs. Grose, whom he was sure his visitor would like and who had formerly been maid to his mother. She was now housekeeper and was also acting for the time as superintendent to the little girl, of whom, without children of her own, she was, by good luck, extremely fond. Mixed spice, rosewater, and black tea. MISS JESSELL But the next day, as the hour for my drive approached, I cropped up in another place. “What was the lady who was here before?” “The last governess? She was also young and pretty-almost as young and almost as pretty, miss, even as you.” “Ah, then, I hope her youth and her beauty helped her!” I recollect throwing off. “He seems to like us young and pretty!” “Oh, he DID,” Mrs. Grose assented: “it was the way he liked everyone!” She had no sooner spoken indeed than she caught herself up. “I mean that’s HIS way-the master’s.” I was struck. “But of whom did you speak first?” She looked blank, but she colored. “Why, of HIM.” “Of the master?” “Of who else?” There was so obviously no one else that the next moment I had lost my impression of her having accidentally said more than she meant; and I merely asked what I wanted to know. “Did SHE see anything in the boy-?” “That wasn’t right? She never told me.” I had a scruple, but I overcame it. “Was she careful-particular?” Mrs. Grose appeared to try to be conscientious. “About some things-yes.” “But not about all?” Again she considered. “Well, miss-she’s gone. I won’t tell tales.” Black roses with myrrh, benzoin, and guiac wood. PETER QUINT “Has anything happened?” “Yes. You must know now. Did I look very queer?” “Through this window? Dreadful!” “Well,” I said, “I’ve been frightened.” Mrs. Grose’s eyes expressed plainly that SHE had no wish to be, yet also that she knew too well her place not to be ready to share with me any marked inconvenience. Oh, it was quite settled that she MUST share! “Just what you saw from the dining room a minute ago was the effect of that. What I saw-just before-was much worse.” Her hand tightened. “What was it?” “An extraordinary man. Looking in.” “What extraordinary man?” “I haven’t the least idea.” Mrs. Grose gazed round us in vain. “Then where is he gone?” “I know still less.” “Have you seen him before?” “Yes-once. On the old tower.” She could only look at me harder. “Do you mean he’s a stranger?” “Oh, very much!” “Yet you didn’t tell me?” “No-for reasons. But now that you’ve guessed-” Mrs. Grose’s round eyes encountered this charge. “Ah, I haven’t guessed!” she said very simply. “How can I if YOU don’t imagine?” “I don’t in the very least.” “You’ve seen him nowhere but on the tower?” “And on this spot just now.” Mrs. Grose looked round again. “What was he doing on the tower?” “Only standing there and looking down at me.” She thought a minute. “Was he a gentleman?” I found I had no need to think. “No.” She gazed in deeper wonder. “No.” “Then nobody about the place? Nobody from the village?” “Nobody-nobody. I didn’t tell you, but I made sure.” She breathed a vague relief: this was, oddly, so much to the good. It only went indeed a little way. “But if he isn’t a gentleman-” “What IS he? He’s a horror.” “A horror?” “He’s-God help me if I know WHAT he is!” Leather, balsam, ambergris, and bay laurel. - – - – - They gave me so little trouble-they were of a gentleness so extraordinary. I used to speculate-but even this with a dim disconnectedness-as to how the rough future (for all futures are rough!) would handle them and might bruise them. They had the bloom of health and happiness; and yet, as if I had been in charge of a pair of little grandees, of princes of the blood, for whom everything, to be right, would have to be enclosed and protected, the only form that, in my fancy, the afteryears could take for them was that of a romantic, a really royal extension of the garden and the park. It may be, of course, above all, that what suddenly broke into this gives the previous time a charm of stillness-that hush in which something gathers or crouches. The change was actually like the spring of a beast. LITTLE FLORA Flora, a short way off, stood before us on the grass and smiled as if her performance was now complete. The next thing she did, however, was to stoop straight down and pluck-quite as if it were all she was there for-a big, ugly spray of withered fern. I instantly became sure she had just come out of the copse. She waited for us, not herself taking a step, and I was conscious of the rare solemnity with which we presently approached her. She smiled and smiled, and we met; but it was all done in a silence by this time flagrantly ominous. Mrs. Grose was the first to break the spell: she threw herself on her knees and, drawing the child to her breast, clasped in a long embrace the little tender, yielding body. While this dumb convulsion lasted I could only watch it-which I did the more intently when I saw Flora’s face peep at me over our companion’s shoulder. It was serious now-the flicker had left it; but it strengthened the pang with which I at that moment envied Mrs. Grose the simplicity of HER relation. Still, all this while, nothing more passed between us save that Flora had let her foolish fern again drop to the ground. What she and I had virtually said to each other was that pretexts were useless now. When Mrs. Grose finally got up she kept the child’s hand, so that the two were still before me; and the singular reticence of our communion was even more marked in the frank look she launched me. “I’ll be hanged,” it said, “if I’ll speak!” It was Flora who, gazing all over me in candid wonder, was the first. She was struck with our bareheaded aspect. “Why, where are your things?” “Where yours are, my dear!” I promptly returned. She had already got back her gaiety, and appeared to take this as an answer quite sufficient. “And where’s Miles?” she went on. There was something in the small valor of it that quite finished me: these three words from her were, in a flash like the glitter of a drawn blade, the jostle of the cup that my hand, for weeks and weeks, had held high and full to the brim that now, even before speaking, I felt overflow in a deluge. “I’ll tell you if you’ll tell ME-” I heard myself say, then heard the tremor in which it broke. “Well, what?” Mrs. Grose’s suspense blazed at me, but it was too late now, and I brought the thing out handsomely. “Where, my pet, is Miss Jessel?” Peonies and cream. MILES “What does it mean? The child’s dismissed his school.” She gave me a look that I remarked at the moment; then, visibly, with a quick blankness, seemed to try to take it back. “But aren’t they all-?” “Sent home-yes. But only for the holidays. Miles may never go back at all.” Consciously, under my attention, she reddened. “They won’t take him?” “They absolutely decline.” At this she raised her eyes, which she had turned from me; I saw them fill with good tears. “What has he done?” I hesitated; then I judged best simply to hand her my letter-which, however, had the effect of making her, without taking it, simply put her hands behind her. She shook her head sadly. “Such things are not for me, miss.” My counselor couldn’t read! I winced at my mistake, which I attenuated as I could, and opened my letter again to repeat it to her; then, faltering in the act and folding it up once more, I put it back in my pocket. “Is he really BAD?” The tears were still in her eyes. “Do the gentlemen say so?” “They go into no particulars. They simply express their regret that it should be impossible to keep him. That can have only one meaning.” Mrs. Grose listened with dumb emotion; she forbore to ask me what this meaning might be; so that, presently, to put the thing with some coherence and with the mere aid of her presence to my own mind, I went on: “That he’s an injury to the others.” At this, with one of the quick turns of simple folk, she suddenly flamed up. “Master Miles! HIM an injury?” There was such a flood of good faith in it that, though I had not yet seen the child, my very fears made me jump to the absurdity of the idea. I found myself, to meet my friend the better, offering it, on the spot, sarcastically. “To his poor little innocent mates!” “It’s too dreadful,” cried Mrs. Grose, “to say such cruel things! Why, he’s scarce ten years old.” “Yes, yes; it would be incredible.” She was evidently grateful for such a profession. “See him, miss, first. THEN believe it!” A charming, mischievous, and inexplicably sinister blend of balsam of Peru, honey, skin musk, and black pepper. Turn of the Screw art by Tanya Bjork. ++ YULE REVISITEDS FRAU HOLLE 2012 Frau Holle, or Holda, is the personification of the changes wrought when winter seizes the land: she rides the chill winds in her chariot, shaking out her featherbeds in order to precipitate snowfall. The rolling fog is the smoke from her hearth fire, and thunder claps when she reels her flax. Holda is a goddess of matrons, who governs spinning, domestic chores, witchcraft and witches, and the Wild Hunt. She presides over the transition of souls, both to and from this world. Though she is childless, she watches over children, and the spirits of newborns spring forth from her sacred pool. Her festival falls during midwinter, when the dead roam free. She holds court in Hörselberg, from which the Wild Hunt is issued, and all the beasts in the land heed her call. Snow-covered pines, witches herbs, bestial musk, flax, and ethereal flowers that represent both birth and death. GACELA OF THE DARK DEATH 2012 I want to sleep the sleep of the apples, I want to get far away from the busyness of the cemeteries. I want to sleep the sleep of that child who longed to cut his heart open far out at sea. I don’t want them to tell me again how the corpse keeps all its blood, how the decaying mouth goes on begging for water. I’d rather not hear about the torture sessions the grass arranges for nor about how the moon does all its work before dawn with its snakelike nose. I want to sleep for half a second, a second, a minute, a century, but I want everyone to know that I am still alive, that I have a golden manger inside my lips, that I am the little friend of the west wind, that I am the elephantine shadow of my own tears. When it’s dawn just throw some sort of cloth over me because I know dawn will toss fistfuls of ants at me, and pour a little hard water over my shoes so that the scorpion claws of the dawn will slip off. Because I want to sleep the sleep of the apples, and learn a mournful song that will clean all earth away from me, because I want to live with that shadowy child who longed to cut his heart open far out at sea. Terebinth pine, pitch, and clove. GELT 2012 Sevivon, sov, sov, sov Chanukah, hu chag tov Chanukah, hu chag tov Sevivon, sov, sov, sov! Chag simcha hu la-am Nes gadol haya sham Nes gadol haya sham Chag simcha hu la-am. A bounty of chocolate coins! Dry cocoa and golden amber! KNECHT RUPRECHT 2012 I came here from the forest I tell you, it is a very holy night! All over the tips of the firs I saw bright flashes of golden light; And from above, the gates of heaven I saw with open eyes the Christ-child and as I wander through the dark forest I hear a light voice calling me. “Knecht Ruprecht” it called, “Old man Lift your legs and hurry! Fast! The candles alight the gates of heaven open wide old and young shall rest from the hunt of life and tomorrow I shall fly to earth as it shall be Christmas again!” I said: “O dear master, Christ My trip is almost at an end; It is only this one town / where the children are good”. “Do you have your sack with you?” I said: “The sack, it is here; apples, nuts and almonds solemn children do enjoy”. “Do you also have your cane?” I said: “The cane, it is here. But only for the bad children, to hit their right rear”. The Christ-child spoke: “That is good; So go with god my faithful servant!” I came here from the forest I tell you, it is a very holy night! Speak now how I find it here Are the children good or bad? The snow-covered foliage of the Black Forest and the fruit and woods of apple and almond trees. KRAMPUS 2012 Anything BUT jolly! Draped with chains and bells, wielding both whip and rod, this rag-clad, horned, red-skinned, soot-covered leering creature is both the companion and the antithesis of rosy-cheeked and ebullient Kris Kringle. He is called by many names, and, in a myriad of cultures, he is seen with different robes and faces, but he is nevertheless always a sinister and fearsome instrument of Santa’s wrath: he wields a switch on all irredeemably naughty children before tossing them into his large black sack and whisking them away. Be good, or Krampus will toss you in a river! Sinister red musk, black leather, dusty rags, and wooden switches. LICK IT SOFTLY This year’s minty double ententre! A sticky, sweet peppermint candy cane with a copious dusting of vanilla. MIDNIGHT MASS 2012 I will wash my hands among the innocent; and will compass thy altar, O Lord: That I may hear the voice of thy praise: and tell of all thy wondrous works. I have loved, O Lord, the beauty of thy house; and the place where thy glory dwelleth. Take not away my soul, O God, with the wicked: nor my life with bloody men: In whose hands are iniquities: their right hand is filled with gifts. But as for me, I have walked in my innocence: redeem me, and have mercy on me. My foot hath stood in the direct way: in the churches I will bless thee, O Lord. In Roman Catholic tradition, the Christmas season begins liturgically on Christmas Eve, though it is forbidden to celebrate the Christmas Mass before midnight. The most devout attend Midnight Mass, celebrating both the Eucharist and the drama of the Nativity. This perfume is a traditional Roman Catholic sacramental incense, most often used during a Solemn Mass. Traditionally, five tears of this incense, each encased individually in wax that has been fashioned into the shape of a nail, are inserted into the paschal candle. This is, of course, represents the Five Wounds of Our Risen Savior. Symbolically, the burning of the incense signifies spiritual fervor, the fragrance itself inspires virtue, and the rising smoke carries our prayers to God. Credo in unum Deum, Patrem omnipotentem, factorem caeli et terrae, visibilium omnium et invisibilium. Et in unum Dominum Iesum Christum, Filium Dei unigenitum, et ex Patre natum ante omnia saecula. Deum de Deo, Lumen de Lumine, Deum verum de Deo vero, genitum non factum, consubstantialem Patri; per quem omnia facta sunt. Qui propter nos homines et propter nostram salutem descendit de caelis. Et incarnatus est de Spiritu Sancto ex Maria Virgine, et homo factus est. Crucifixus etiam pro nobis sub Pontio Pilato, passus et sepultus est, et resurrexit tertia die, secundum Scripturas, et ascendit in caelum, sedet ad dexteram Patris. Et iterum venturus est cum gloria, iudicare vivos et mortuos, cuius regni non erit finis. Et in Spiritum Sanctum, Dominum et vivificantem, qui ex Patre procedit. Qui cum Patre et Filio simul adoratur et conglorificatur: qui locutus est per prophetas. Et unam, sanctam, catholicam et apostolicam Ecclesiam. Confiteor unum baptisma in remissionem peccatorum. Et expecto resurrectionem mortuorum, et vitam venturi saeculi. Amen. NES GADOL HAYA SHAM 2012 But not long after the king sent a certain old man of Antioch, to compel the Jews to depart from the laws of their fathers and of God: And to defile the temple that was in Jerusalem, and to call it the temple of Jupiter Olympius: and that in Gazarim of Jupiter Hospitalis, according as they were that inhabited the place. And very bad was this invasion of evils and grievous to all. For the temple was full of the riot and reveling of the Gentiles: and of men lying with lewd women. And women thrust themselves of their accord into the holy places, and brought in things that were not lawful. The altar also was filled with unlawful things, which were forbidden by the laws. And neither were the sabbaths kept, nor the solemn days of the fathers observed, neither did any man plainly profess himself to be a Jew. But they were led by bitter constraint on the king’s birthday to the sacrifices: and when the feast of Bacchus was kept, they wore compelled to go about crowned with ivy in honour of Bacchus. And there went out a decree into the neighboring cities of the Gentiles, by the suggestion of the Ptolemeans, that they also should act in like manner against the Jews, to oblige them to sacrifice: And whosoever would not conform themselves to the ways of the Gentiles, should be put to death: then was misery to be seen. For two women were accused to have circumcised their children: whom, when they had openly led about through the city with the infants hanging at their breasts, they threw down headlong from the walls. And others that had met together in caves that were near, and were keeping the sabbath day privately, being discovered by Philip, were burnt with fire, because they made a conscience to help themselves with their hands, by reason of the religious observance of the day. - The Second Book of the Maccabees, 6:1-11 In order to consolidate his power in Jerusalem and Hellenize the area, the Greek king Antiochus IV Epiphanes outlawed Judaism and ordered the population to worship Zeus and the Hellenic pantheon. As this was anathema to the Jews, they refused, and Antiochus moved to enforce his religious decree by extreme force. Some origin tales say that the dreidel was used at this time as a method by which the Jewish people were able to continue to study the Talmud in secret under the guise of gambling. Now, in addition to being a light gambling game, the dreidel is also a reminder of the strength, devotion, and perseverance of the Jewish people and the mercy of God. One scent in four parts: Nun, the Snake: nuun, nothing. Nah.Å¡, in modern Arabic, means bad luck. Represented by scents of loss and remembrance: opoponax and lemon verbena. Gimel, the Camel: the Ship of the Desert. Represented by scents of abundance, fortitude, and determination: patchouli, heliotrope, pomegranate, and almond. He, the Window: sometimes used to represent the Unutterable Name of God, this is the window in our souls through which God’s light touches us. Represented by scents of clarity and piety: frankincense, myrtle, and hyssop. Shin, the Tooth: also stands for Shaddai, one of the names of God. The hand formed into shin acts as a priestly blessing. Represented by scents of strength, generosity, kindness, and benediction: carnation, myrrh, red poppy, and hibiscus. The essences of Nun, Gimel, He, and Shin are blended to become Nes Gadol Haya Sham. THE PEACOCK QUEEN 2012 In dramatic contrast to the soft innocence of Snow White and the dew-kissed freshness of her sister, Rose Red, this is a blood red, voluptuous rose, velvet-petaled, at the height of bloom. Haughty and imperious, vain, yet incomparably lovely to the eye, but thick with thorns of jealousy, pride and hatred. PINK SNOWBALLS 2012 A lighthearted winter scent: chilly vanilla rose snowballs! Dainty, soft, and certainly unfit for flinging! ROSE RED 2012 The perfected winter rose, dew covered and freshly cut. THE SHIVERING BOY 2012 Cold, cold forever more. A winter storm roaring through empty stone halls, bearing echoes of despair, desolation, and death on its winds. The scent of frozen, dormant vineyards, bitter sleet, and piercing ozone, hurled through labdanum, benzoin, and olibanum. SNOW WHITE 2012 A chilly, bright perfume: flurries of virgin snow, crisp winter wind and the faintest breath of night-blooming flowers. SUGAR COOKIE 2012 Affectionately nicknamed ‘The Devil’s Bake Sale’. TALVIKUU 2012 Lo! now the direful monster, whose skin clings To his strong bones, strides o’er the groaning rocks: He withers all in silence, and his hand Unclothes the earth, and freezes up frail life. Skeletal limbs of birch and fir coated in a thick, impenetrable blanket of snow. This is the death of the year personified. In other news, Autumn Lace is back in stock at Dark Delicacies, and Suck It is available once again.

At New York Comic Con, we presented exclusives inspired by a gentlemen’s guide to the seraglios of New York City that was published in 1870. We had created several products that were unable to go live at the convention due to component and time constraints. We are offering them now as a fundraiser for Hurricane Sandy relief. Proceeds from every single purchase of these limited edition products will go directly to the American Red Cross. Without further ado, we are thrilled to present an addendum to the Gentleman’s Directory. (All grammatical and spelling deviancies within are sic erat scriptum.) ++ THE GENTLEMAN’S DIRECTORY: NEW YORK CITY IN 1870 ADDENDUM Nothing extenuate, Nor set down aught in malice. We don’t intend to tell the reader where the Central Park is, the Croton Aqueduct, the new Court House, Cooper Institute, or Knox the hatter, as any one can point out to him the location of these celebrated places, but we propose to acquaint him with locations and with facts, a knowledge of which he could not procure elsewhere. We claim no credit got telling a person that Cape Horn is on the island of Terra del Fuego, or that London is on the western side of England; but when we impart information that is not generally known, even to old denizens of the city, and give him an insight into the character and doings of people whose deeds are carefully screened from public view; when we discribe their houses, and give their location, we supply the stranger with information of which he stands in need, we supply a void that otherwise must remain unfilled. Not that we imagine the reader ever desire to visit these houses. Certainly not; he is, we do not doubt, a member of the Bible Society, a bright and shining light, like Awful Gardner or John Allen. But we point out the location of these places in order that the reader may know how to avoid them, and that he may not select one of them for his boarding house when he comes to the city. Our book will, therefore, be like a warning voice to the unwary – like a buoy attached to a sunken rock, which warns the inexperienced mariner to sheer off, lest he should be wrecked on a dangerous and unknown coast. ++ BPTP RED CROSS FUNDRAISER MRS. PALMER’S ESTABLISHMENT ATMOSPHERE SPRAY The house No. 112 Spring street is kept by Mrs. Palmer. It is a low establishment, and frequented only by the lagends of the community. Aged patchouli, sweet tobacco, oakmoss, leather, and barrel-aged bourbon vanilla. THE WARS OF VENUS BATH OIL The house at No. 140 is kept by Mrs. James, and is a very quiet parlor house, devoted to the wars of Venus. This phrase “Wars of Venus” was too wonderful; it inspired a scent immediately. Gird yourself for battle: sweet honey, French vanilla, honey myrtle, balsam of tolu, and rose otto. ++ BPAL RED CROSS FUNDRAISER FRANK BURNS As you pass down Houston street, faro banks abound, till we reach an unpretending red brick building No. 25, kept by Frank Burns, known as the “Judge and Jury”. This is a great resort for the sportsmen both of this and the other country. Everything here is conducted in a respectable and orderly manner. Bay rum, polished oak, exquisite pipe and cigar tobaccos, and a splash of bourbon. MISS ADDIE The next house, No. 55, is kept by Miss Addie Blashfield, the dashing brunette, who has eight or ten boarders, both blondes and brunettes. These are a pretty lot of girls, of pleasing and engaging manners. It is regarded as a first class house, very quiet and orderly and is visited by some of our first citizens. Red sandalwood, vanilla orchid, sweet clove, neroli, apple blossom, and a gentle hint of star anise.

Paypal has currently locked our account due to the name of the single note Iranian Galbanum. We are working to resolve this issue as quickly as possible. Once Paypal is working again, please do not use the name Iranian Galbanum. If you wish to order it, just order Galbanum or Single Note Galbanum. We apologize profusely for the inconvenience.

Suck It is temporarily discontinued, due to a component issue. We hope to be able to bring it back before the Weenies go dark.

The Snow Moon update is live at BPAL and BPTP! SNOW MOON 2012 In December, the skeletal, ice-rimmed fingers of winter take hold, and the nights are long, chill and dark. The first flurries of snow touch the land, and the earth itself becomes quiet. A scent of purity and silence, soft with falling snow, as dark as Midwinter: an icy flurry over the winter blooms of narcissus, hellebore, pansy crocus, dahlia, tulip, chrysanthemum, daphne and white rose, with a hint of fir and birch. Snow Moon art by the wonderful Julie Dillon! This month’s single notes are: IRANIAN GALBANUM Iranian Galbanum possesses a complex tart, green, resinous scent that is strangely amorphous and mercurial. There is a balsamic woody tone to it at times, and at others, it appears metallic and aldehydic. Galbanum corresponds to the Fool and the element Air, and embodies the qualities of innocence and surrender. The scent is calming and meditative; the oil can be utilized for self-reflection, initiating new beginnings, and soothing wounded souls. RUM-SOAKED FRENCH TONKA I love the hell out of tonka, but using the absolute in perfumery is not a particularly great idea: tonka beans possess a high concentration of coumarin, an anticoagulant that is toxic to both the liver and kidneys, and might be carcinogenic to boot. Not fun stuff! Our tonka accord is a sweet, warmly sensual fragrance redolent of a vaguely clove-touched deep, dark vanilla balsam that has been lightly sweetened with almond and rum. Snow Moon and the Single Notes are available on our limited edition page. And this month, we are thrilled to announce some additions to our RPG line. ++ CLASSES BARD A ridiculously charismatic blend of bay rum, honey, and white musk mingling with the scent of harp wood and lute strings and the twang of horn brass. DRUID A woolen robe infused with the scent of a vast, primordial forest: ancient trees, fertile soil, wild herbs, spring grasses, and burgundy pitch incense. ++ ADVENTURING GEAR A growing selection of adventuring gear, character-specific items, and dungeoneering accessories to further personalize your character! DWARVEN ALE Brewed with fermented mushrooms, honey, and apple rootstock. THIEVES’ ROSIN Increases the chance of successfully picking pockets by 25%. VIAL OF HOLY WATER The gleaming, indescribably clean scent of purified, ritually consecrated holy water. Also at Trading Post, there are three new RPG Atmosphere Sprays. THE TRACKLESS ERG The merciless sun pounds on a sea of endless, wind-battered sand: desolate, lifeless, silent, and without end. LICH’S LABORATORY Hissing vials of acid, swirls of thick incense, creeping mosses, flecks of grave loam, and noxious potions clutter the blackened stone biers of an abandoned burial vault. WERERAT-INFESTED SEWER Moist, moss-crusted stone, stagnant, silty wastewater, wererat musk, and wet leather. You can try these scents and get a preview of our upcoming Yule line at our Will Call events: The west coast will call event will be held on Saturday, October 27th from 4 to 7pm at Dark Delicacies. Dark Delicacies 3512 W. Magnolia Blvd (1 block east of Hollywood Way) Burbank, CA 91505 www.darkdel.com ___ New England Will Call will be held at Healthy Living Market on Sunday, October 28th from 3:00 to 6:00pm, in the Learning Center. Healthy Living Market 222 Dorset Street, South Burlington, VT, 05403 ___________ Seattle Will Call will be held at Bedlam Bedlam on Saturday, November 3rd from 6:30 to 9:00pm. BedlamBedlam 613 East Pike Street Seattle WA 98122 http://bedlambedlam.com/

Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab’s Lunacy events are your opportunity to meet the lab staff (California only), purchase the latest scents, and get a sneak preview of what’s coming soon. The blends that will be available for purchase include those that went live on the Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab website up to and including the Singing Moon update. Our Lunacy events are held on the night of the full moon at Dark Delicacies in Burbank, and are always free. The west coast will call event will be held on Saturday, October 27th from 4 to 7pm at Dark Delicacies. Dark Delicacies 3512 W. Magnolia Blvd (1 block east of Hollywood Way) Burbank, CA 91505 www.darkdel.com ___ New England Will Call will be held at Healthy Living Market on Sunday, October 28th from 3:00 to 6:00pm, in the Learning Center. Healthy Living Market 222 Dorset Street, South Burlington, VT, 05403 ___________ Seattle Will Call will be held at Bedlam Bedlam on Saturday, November 3rd from 6:30 to 9:00pm. BedlamBedlam 613 East Pike Street Seattle WA 98122 http://bedlambedlam.com/ If you have any questions, please email us at willcall@blackphoenixalchemylab.com.

On Sunday, October 7th, the anniversary of Poe’s death, Dark Delicacies will be celebrating the master’s legacy with an entire day of special events. Gris Grimly will be signing at 1pm, from 2 to 4pm there will be a children’s reading of Poe with arts and crafts, and there will be a mock seance with Shakespeare at Play from 7 to 11pm. Dark Delicacies will be collecting new children’s books to donate to the L.A. school system. And…… The following scents from the 2007 Dark Delicacies exclusive Poe series will be available, in limited quantities, while supplies last: ALONE From childhood’s hour I have not been As others were; I have not seen As others saw; I could not bring My passions from a common spring. From the same source I have not taken My sorrow; I could not awaken My heart to joy at the same tone; And all I loved, I loved alone. Then – in my childhood, in the dawn Of a most stormy life – was drawn From every depth of good and ill The mystery which binds me still: From the torrent, or the fountain, From the red cliff of the mountain, From the sun that round me rolled In its autumn tint of gold, From the lightning in the sky As it passed me flying by, From the thunder and the storm, And the cloud that took the form (When the rest of Heaven was blue) Of a demon in my view. A hectic, frenzied pinpoint in desolation: booming, bleak, and dark with the horror of loneliness and reluctant solitude. Patchouli and cardamom with bright mandarin, labdanum, muguet, red sandalwood, angelica and gardenia. THE HAUNTED PALACE In the greenest of our valleys By good angels tenanted, Once a fair and stately palace - Radiant palace – reared its head. In the monarch Thought’s dominion - It stood there! Never seraph spread a pinion Over fabric half so fair! Banners yellow, glorious, golden, On its roof did float and flow, (This – all this – was in the olden Time long ago,) And every gentle air that dallied, In that sweet day, Along the ramparts plumed and pallid, A winged odor went away. Wanderers in that happy valley, Through two luminous windows, saw Spirits moving musically, To a lute’s well-tuned law, Round about a throne where, sitting (Porphyrogene!) In state his glory well-befitting, The ruler of the realm was seen. And all with pearl and ruby glowing Was the fair palace door, Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing, And sparkling evermore, A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty Was but to sing, In voices of surpassing beauty, The wit and wisdom of their king. But evil things, in robes of sorrow, Assailed the monarch’s high estate. (Ah, let us mourn! – for never morrow Shall dawn upon him desolate!) And round about his home the glory That blushed and bloomed, Is but a dim-remembered story Of the old time entombed. And travellers, now, within that valley, Through the red-litten windows see Vast forms, that move fantastically To a discordant melody, While, like a ghastly rapid river, Through the pale door A hideous throng rush out forever And laugh – but smile no more. The moment before the ruin, frozen. The scent of captured glory, of glowing pearls and rubies, of golden sunlit joy and regal grandeur: red rose, Tunisian amber, blood orange, toasted vanilla, heliotrope, gardenia and red musk. THE HOUSE Shaking off from my spirit what must have been a dream, I scanned more narrowly the real aspect of the building. Its principal feature seemed to be that of an excessive antiquity. The discoloration of ages had been great. Minute fungi overspread the whole exterior, hanging in a fine tangled web-work from the eaves. Yet all this was apart from any extraordinary dilapidation. No portion of the masonry had fallen; and there appeared to be a wild inconsistency between its still perfect adaptation of parts, and the crumbling condition of the individual stones. In this there was much that reminded me of the specious totality of old wood-work which has rotted for long years in some neglected vault, with no disturbance from the breath of the external air. Beyond this indication of extensive decay, however, the fabric gave little token of instability. Perhaps the eye of a scrutinising observer might have discovered a barely perceptible fissure, which, extending from the roof of the building in front, made its way down the wall in a zigzag direction, until it became lost in the sullen waters of the tarn. Rotted ebony wood, faded incense, moldy earth, creeping moss, and blighted roses. LENORE Ah, broken is the golden bowl! the spirit flown forever! Let the bell toll! – a saintly soul floats on the Stygian river; And, Guy de Vere, hast thou no tear? – weep now or nevermore! See! on yon drear and rigid bier low lies thy love, Lenore! Come! let the burial rite be read – the funeral song be sung! - An anthem for the queenliest dead that ever died so young - A dirge for her the doubly dead in that she died so young. “Wretches! ye loved her for her wealth and hated her for her pride, And when she fell in feeble health, ye blessed her – that she died! How shall the ritual, then, be read? – the requiem how be sung By you – by yours, the evil eye, – by yours, the slanderous tongue That did to death the innocence that died, and died so young?” Peccavimus; but rave not thus! and let a Sabbath song Go up to God so solemnly the dead may feel no wrong. The sweet Lenore hath “gone before,” with Hope, that flew beside, Leaving thee wild for the dear child that should have been thy bride. For her, the fair and debonair, that now so lowly lies, The life upon her yellow hair but not within her eyes The life still there, upon her hair – the death upon her eyes. “Avaunt! avaunt! from fiends below, the indignant ghost is riven - From Hell unto a high estate far up within the Heaven - From grief and groan, to a golden throne, beside the King of Heaven! Let no bell toll, then, – lest her soul, amid its hallowed mirth, Should catch the note as it doth float up from the damned Earth! And I! – to-night my heart is light! – no dirge will I upraise, But waft the angel on her flight with a Paean of old days!” A dark and bellicose scent that speaks of loss, lament, bitterness and breast-beating woe: thick black vetiver, sharp white musk and lemon peel, smoke and saffron, patchouli, thyme and black plum. MADELINE He admitted, however, although with hesitation, that much of the peculiar gloom which thus afflicted him could be traced to a more natural and far more palpable origin –to the severe and long-continued illness — indeed to the evidently approaching dissolution-of a tenderly beloved sister –his sole companion for long years — his last and only relative on earth. “Her decease,” he said, with a bitterness which I can never forget, “would leave him (him the hopeless and the frail) the last of the ancient race of the Ushers.” While he spoke, the lady Madeline (for so was she called) passed slowly through a remote portion of the apartment, and, without having noticed my presence, disappeared. I regarded her with an utter astonishment not unmingled with dread — and yet I found it impossible to account for such feelings. A sensation of stupor oppressed me, as my eyes followed her retreating steps. When a door, at length, closed upon her, my glance sought instinctively and eagerly the countenance of the brother –but he had buried his face in his hands, and I could only perceive that a far more than ordinary wanness had overspread the emaciated fingers through which trickled many passionate tears. The mockery of a faint blush upon the bosom and the face, and that suspiciously lingering smile upon the lip which is so terrible in death white rose, calla lily, ti leaf, myrrh, stephanotis, casket wood, upturned earth, and wilted ivy. THE MASQUE He had directed, in great part, the moveable embellishments of the seven chambers, upon occasion of this great fete; and it was his own guiding taste which had given character to the masqueraders. Be sure they were grotesque. There were much glare and glitter and piquancy and phantasm — much of what has been since seen in “Hernani.” There were arabesque figures with unsuited limbs and appointments. There were delirious fancies such as the madman fashions. There was much of the beautiful, much of the wanton, much of the bizarre, something of the terrible, and not a little of that which might have excited disgust. To and fro in the seven chambers there stalked, in fact, a multitude of dreams. And these — the dreams — writhed in and about, taking hue from the rooms, and causing the wild music of the orchestra to seem as the echo of their steps. And, anon, there strikes the ebony clock which stands in the hall of the velvet. And then, for a moment, all is still, and all is silent save the voice of the clock. The dreams are stiff-frozen as they stand. But the echoes of the chime die away — they have endured but an instant — and a light, half-subdued laughter floats after them as they depart. And now again the music swells, and the dreams live, and writhe to and fro more merrily than ever, taking hue from the many-tinted windows through which stream the rays from the tripods. But to the chamber which lies most westwardly of the seven, there are now none of the maskers who venture; for the night is waning away; and there flows a ruddier light through the blood-colored panes; and the blackness of the sable drapery appals; and to him whose foot falls upon the sable carpet, there comes from the near clock of ebony a muffled peal more solemnly emphatic than any which reaches their ears who indulge in the more remote gaieties of the other apartments. But these other apartments were densely crowded, and in them beat feverishly the heart of life. And the revel went whirlingly on, until at length there commenced the sounding of midnight upon the clock. And then the music ceased, as I have told; and the evolutions of the waltzers were quieted; and there was an uneasy cessation of all things as before. But now there were twelve strokes to be sounded by the bell of the clock; and thus it happened, perhaps, that more of thought crept, with more of time, into the meditations of the thoughtful among those who reveled. And thus, too, it happened, perhaps, that before the last echoes of the last chime had utterly sunk into silence, there were many individuals in the crowd who had found leisure to become aware of the presence of a masked figure which had arrested the attention of no single individual before. And the rumor of this new presence having spread itself whisperingly around, there arose at length from the whole company a buzz, or murmur, expressive of disapprobation and surprise — then, finally, of terror, of horror, and of disgust. Bold and fiery, glowing with barbaric luster: this is the scent of the House of Prospero, the scent of hubris, mad revelry, folly and indifferent decadence, a measured passage through its lurid corridors and seven grotesque apartments. Honey and carnation, rich incense and rose accord, myrtle, red sandalwood, amber, jonquil and clove propel you through the revel, finally seating itself in the final, patchouli, tobacco and labdanum drenched darkness of the blood-tinged western chamber. THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM I was sick — sick unto death with that long agony; and when they at length unbound me, and I was permitted to sit, I felt that my senses were leaving me. The sentence — the dread sentence of death — was the last of distinct accentuation which reached my ears. After that, the sound of the inquisitorial voices seemed merged in one dreamy indeterminate hum. It conveyed to my soul the idea of revolution — perhaps from its association in fancy with the burr of a mill wheel. This only for a brief period; for presently I heard no more. Yet, for a while, I saw; but with how terrible an exaggeration! I saw the lips of the black-robed judges. They appeared to me white — whiter than the sheet upon which I trace these words — and thin even to grotesqueness; thin with the intensity of their expression of firmness — of immoveable resolution — of stern contempt of human torture. I saw that the decrees of what to me was Fate, were still issuing from those lips. I saw them writhe with a deadly locution. I saw them fashion the syllables of my name; and I shuddered because no sound succeeded. I saw, too, for a few moments of delirious horror, the soft and nearly imperceptible waving of the sable draperies which enwrapped the walls of the apartment. And then my vision fell upon the seven tall candles upon the table. At first they wore the aspect of charity, and seemed white and slender angels who would save me; but then, all at once, there came a most deadly nausea over my spirit, and I felt every fibre in my frame thrill as if I had touched the wire of a galvanic battery, while the angel forms became meaningless spectres, with heads of flame, and I saw that from them there would be no help. And then there stole into my fancy, like a rich musical note, the thought of what sweet rest there must be in the grave. The thought came gently and stealthily, and it seemed long before it attained full appreciation; but just as my spirit came at length properly to feel and entertain it, the figures of the judges vanished, as if magically, from before me; the tall candles sank into nothingness; their flames went out utterly; the blackness of darkness supervened; all sensations appeared swallowed up in a mad rushing descent as of the soul into Hades. Then silence, and stillness, night were the universe. The depths of despair, a dark Ecclesiastical triumph: the incense of the Inquisition. PREMATURE BURIAL For some minutes after this fancy possessed me, I remained without motion. And why? I could not summon courage to move. I dared not make the effort which was to satisfy me of my fate — and yet there was something at my heart which whispered me it was sure. Despair — such as no other species of wretchedness ever calls into being — despair alone urged me, after long irresolution, to uplift the heavy lids of my eyes. I uplifted them. It was dark — all dark. I knew that the fit was over. I knew that the crisis of my disorder had long passed. I knew that I had now fully recovered the use of my visual faculties — and yet it was dark — all dark — the intense and utter raylessness of the Night that endureth for evermore. I endeavored to shriek-, and my lips and my parched tongue moved convulsively together in the attempt — but no voice issued from the cavernous lungs, which oppressed as if by the weight of some incumbent mountain, gasped and palpitated, with the heart, at every elaborate and struggling inspiration. The movement of the jaws, in this effort to cry aloud, showed me that they were bound up, as is usual with the dead. I felt, too, that I lay upon some hard substance, and by something similar my sides were, also, closely compressed. So far, I had not ventured to stir any of my limbs — but now I violently threw up my arms, which had been lying at length, with the wrists crossed. They struck a solid wooden substance, which extended above my person at an elevation of not more than six inches from my face. I could no longer doubt that I reposed within a coffin at last. And now, amid all my infinite miseries, came sweetly the cherub Hope — for I thought of my precautions. I writhed, and made spasmodic exertions to force open the lid: it would not move. I felt my wrists for the bell-rope: it was not to be found. And now the Comforter fled for ever, and a still sterner Despair reigned triumphant; for I could not help perceiving the absence of the paddings which I had so carefully prepared — and then, too, there came suddenly to my nostrils the strong peculiar odor of moist earth. The conclusion was irresistible. I was not within the vault. I had fallen into a trance while absent from home-while among strangers — when, or how, I could not remember — and it was they who had buried me as a dog — nailed up in some common coffin — and thrust deep, deep, and for ever, into some ordinary and nameless grave. As this awful conviction forced itself, thus, into the innermost chambers of my soul, I once again struggled to cry aloud. And in this second endeavor I succeeded. A long, wild, and continuous shriek, or yell of agony, resounded through the realms of the subterranean Night. Oppressive darkness, expressed through black orchid and patchouli, smothered by wet soil, a coffin’s teakwood, and the funereal gloom of cypress. PROSPERO The “Red Death” had long devastated the country. No pestilence had ever been so fatal, or so hideous. Blood was its Avator and its seal – the redness and the horror of blood. There were sharp pains, and sudden dizziness, and then profuse bleeding at the pores, with dissolution. The scarlet stains upon the body and especially upon the face of the victim, were the pest ban which shut him out from the aid and from the sympathy of his fellow-men. And the whole seizure, progress and termination of the disease, were the incidents of half an hour. But the Prince Prospero was happy and dauntless and sagacious. When his dominions were half depopulated, he summoned to his presence a thousand hale and light-hearted friends from among the knights and dames of his court, and with these retired to the deep seclusion of one of his castellated abbeys. This was an extensive and magnificent structure, the creation of the prince’s own eccentric yet august taste. A strong and lofty wall girdled it in. This wall had gates of iron. The courtiers, having entered, brought furnaces and massy hammers and welded the bolts. They resolved to leave means neither of ingress or egress to the sudden impulses of despair or of frenzy from within. The abbey was amply provisioned. With such precautions the courtiers might bid defiance to contagion. The external world could take care of itself. In the meantime it was folly to grieve, or to think. The prince had provided all the appliances of pleasure. There were buffoons, there were improvisatori, there were ballet-dancers, there were musicians, there was Beauty, there was wine. All these and security were within. Without was the “Red Death.” There was beauty, there was wine: a rich Sangiovese vintage swirled through opulent amber, rich plum, champaca flower, and arrogant white musk. SPIRITS OF THE DEAD Thy soul shall find itself alone ‘Mid dark thoughts of the grey tomb-stone; Not one, of all the crowd, to pry Into thine hour of secrecy. Be silent in that solitude, Which is not loneliness – for then The spirits of the dead, who stood In life before thee, are again In death around thee, and their will Shall overshadow thee; be still. The night, though clear, shall frown, And the stars shall not look down From their high thrones in the Heaven With light like hope to mortals given, But their red orbs, without beam, To thy weariness shall seem As a burning and a fever Which would cling to thee for ever. Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish, Now are visions ne’er to vanish; From thy spirit shall they pass No more, like dew-drop from the grass. The breeze, the breath of God, is still, And the mist upon the hill Shadowy, shadowy, yet unbroken, Is a symbol and a token. How it hangs upon the trees, A mystery of mysteries! A shuddering white scent, of ghostly breath and stony silence: dry tea leaf, linden blossom, papyrus, orris and coffin wood. Dark Delicacies 3512 W. Magnolia Blvd (1 block east of Hollywood Way) Burbank, CA 91505 www.darkdel.com

On CCnow, yes, there cart will only hold so much. On Paypal, no. If you need to use CCNow and you get that message, just place two orders, email CS at answers at blackphoenixalchemylab.com and let them know, and they will refund the second shipping charge.

Beaver Moon and the second half of our massive Halloween celebration is live now at BPAL and BPTP! Beaver Moon BEAVER MOON 2012 Traditionally, Beaver Moon is named thus for a very obvious reason: during this time of year, beavers are hard at work building their dams and preparing for the onset of winter. However, we at BPAL rarely let an opportunity for sleazy campiness pass us by! For your pleasure and amusement, we present this year's incarnation of Beaver Moon: gooey apple cheesecake! Beaver Moon art by the awesome Andrew Fogel! This month's single note accord: HAITIAN VETIVER Vetiver is easily one of my favorite base notes. Dark, earthy, and somber, it makes an excellent perfume fixative, and radiates a scent that is profoundly relaxing and gently grounding. In aromatherapy, it is used to treat stress disorders, anxiety, and soul-weariness. It is a truly multidimensional scent, possessing more than a hundred and fifty aromatic molecules, and its fragrance grows even deeper - richly sweeter - and more intense with time. And a Halloween vision of the past with some spiders, a new gallery exhibition, and a brand new pumpkin patch. ++ HALLOWEEN: MNEMOSYNE HALLOWEEN IN INNSMOUTH When I was little, a summoning went awry at the standing stones in the grove by my house, and the ensuing carnage in the neighborhood effectively ruled out the possibility of trick or treating locally that year. My parents didn't want me to be disappointed, so they drove my brother and m'self to Innsmouth for the night. The people manning the festively decked-out skiffs that were moored in the sand-clogged harbor were incredibly generous with their candy, and my brother and I ended the night as happy as two sugar-high little kids could be. The strange beauty of the crumbling Georgian houses and their widow's walks is forever etched in my memory, along with the distinct scent of fish and kelpy incense. Innsmouth: Halloween, 1983. Fish and ceremonial incense. HALLOWEEN IN THE MISKATONIC UNIVERSITY LIBRARY During my sophomore year in college, I found myself pressed for time while working on a paper about Tsathogguan Rites of Passage in Ancient Cimmeria. It was due on the first Friday of November, and I had barely started. My grades were failing, and I couldn't really afford to blow this. Earlier in the quarter, I'd made the mistake of trying to copy test answers from the person who sat next to me in my Non-Euclidean Geometry class, not realizing he was as big a fuck-up as I was. We both failed, we were both caught, and I was only saved from expulsion by Professor Upham's unfortunate institutionalization. In the hopes of salvaging my GPA, I headed off to the university library instead of going out with friends on Halloween night. I passed Dr. Armitage, the Head Librarian, as I entered the Antediluvian Anthropology wing. The library was desolate, and for a moment I felt a little lonely and out of sorts. The silence was soothing, though, and the scent of the yellowed books and polished oak tables reminded me strongly of my childhood home. I found myself a table, and set to work. Around midnight, someone wandered in. Absorbed in my research, I was profoundly irritated at the disturbance, but when I saw who had entered the reading room, I softened. It was a guy who I'd worked with a few times at my day job–I was doing marketing for a junior line of cultist's robes, and he was the photographer for our catalogue. We got to talking. He'd had a falling out with his girlfriend earlier in the evening, and rather than spend the rest of the night at home, he'd come to the library looking for some inspiration for his photography. His breath smelled like pumpkin lattes, and there was a faint trace of cologne swirling around him. He quoted Byron, I told terrible jokes, and in the end I nearly failed my paper, but I fell in love. To this day, I still wrestle with putting things off 'til the last minute, and I'm still easily distracted by a handsome face. ++ HALLOWEEN: ARACHNAPHOBIA A noiseless, patient spider, I mark'd, where, on a little promontory, it stood, isolated; Mark'd how, to explore the vacant, vast surrounding, It launch’d forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself; Ever unreeling them–ever tirelessly speeding them. And you, O my Soul, where you stand, Surrounded, surrounded, in measureless oceans of space, Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing,–seeking the spheres, to connect them; Till the bridge you will need, be form'd–till the ductile anchor hold; Till the gossamer thread you fling, catch somewhere, O my Soul. Photography by Madelyn Boudreaux, poem by Walt Whitman, scents by Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab. GOLDENROD CRAB SPIDER White mint, coconut, Indonesian champaca flower, lime rind, white ginger, and green tea. ORB WEAVER SPIDER East African black patchouli, lilac, lavender, Italian neroli, King mandarin, Terebinth pine, and star anise. WOLF SPIDER Tonka bean, patchouli, bourbon vanilla, Cuban tobacco, coconut, clary sage, galbanum, white musk, and chamomile. ++ HALLOWEEN: PUMPKIN PATCH PUMPKIN I Pumpkin, hay, champaca, and leather accord. PUMPKIN II Pumpkin, coffee absolute, tonka, teakwood, cedar, cypress, and patchouli. PUMPKIN III Pumpkin, mandarin, black pepper, frankincense, red sandalwood, and carnation. PUMPKIN IV Pumpkin, mimosa, black amber, mahogany, and Madagascan saro. PUMPKIN V Lightly spiced pumpkin pulp swirled with bourbon vanilla, French vanilla, and raw vanilla bean. This month there's also three new additions to our 'Weenies: PUMPKIN VINES A tangle of lush greenery and thick, rooty vines with a hint of pumpkin rind, crumbled leaves, and rich soil. THE TEARS OF LILITH O lovely demon, half-divine! Hemlock and hydromel and gall, Honey and aconite and wine Mingle to make that mouth of thine— Thy mouth I love: but most of all It is thy tears that I desire— Thy tears, like fountain-drops that fall In gardens red, Satanical; Or like the tears of mist and fire, Wept by the moon, that wizards use To secret runes when they require Some silver philter, sweet and dire. - Clark Ashton Smith Hemlock and hydromel and gall, honey and aconite and wine, lavishly poured over a blend of deep red musk, velvet-red rose, and silvery ambergris. WITCH DANCE As in the Sabatt's ancient round With strange and subtle steps you went: And toward the heaven and toward the ground Your steeple shapen hat was bent As in the sabbat's ancient round. Between the windy, swirling fire And all the stillness of Ihe moon. Sweet witch, you danced at my desire, Turning some weird and lovely tune To paces like the swirling fire. Your supple youth and loveliness A glamor left upon the air: Whether to curse, whether to bless, You wove a stronger magic there With your lithe youth and loveliness. Upon the earth your paces wrought A circle such as magicians made… And still some hidden thing you sought With hands desirous, half afraid, Beyond the ring your paces wrought. Your fingers, on the smoke and flame, Moved in mysterious conjuring, You seemed to call a silent Name, And lifted like an outstretched wing Your somber gown against the flame. What darkling and demonian Lord, In fear or triumph, did you call? Ah! was it then that you implored, With secret signs equivocal, The coming of the covens' Lord? Sweet witch, you conjured forth my heart To answer always at your will! Like Merlin, in some place apart, It lies enthralled and captive still: Sweet witch, you conjured thus my heart! - Clark Ashton Smith Bonfire smoke rising through a cloud of ceremonial incense, encircled by swirling autumn leaves and a dribble of blood red musk. Beaver Moon, Haitian Vetiver and all of our current Halloweenie offerings are available on our limited edtion page. And lastly, there's a new exhibit in Pickman's Gallery. Sadly, something has to go to make room for all this madness, so this month's tribute is Nocnista. Effective immediately, Nocnista is no longer available. ***** Black Phoenix Trading Post are getting ready for Halloween as well, and are thrilled to present a wee little collection to help put you in the Trick or Treating mood! ++ BPTP HALLOWEEN ATMOSPHERE SPRAYS APPLE ORCHARD My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree Toward heaven still, And there's a barrel that I didn't fill Beside it, and there may be two or three Apples I didn't pick upon some bough. But I am done with apple-picking now. Essence of winter sleep is on the night, The scent of apples: I am drowsing off. I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight I got from looking through a pane of glass I skimmed this morning from the drinking trough And held against the world of hoary grass. It melted, and I let it fall and break. But I was well Upon my way to sleep before it fell, And I could tell What form my dreaming was about to take. Magnified apples appear and disappear, Stem end and blossom end, And every fleck of russet showing clear. My instep arch not only keeps the ache, It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round. I feel the ladder sway as the boughs bend. And I keep hearing from the cellar bin The rumbling sound Of load on load of apples coming in. For I have had too much Of apple-picking: I am overtired Of the great harvest I myself desired. There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch, Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall. For all That struck the earth, No matter if not bruised or spiked with stubble, Went surely to the cider-apple heap As of no worth. One can see what will trouble This sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is. Were he not gone, The woodchuck could say whether it's like his Long sleep, as I describe its coming on, Or just some human sleep. Baskets of apples, sun warmed, sit beneath tree boughs dappled with autumn light. OAK LEAVES AND KYPHI Oak leaves falling through a haze of kyphi, champaca, and blackened pomegranate rind. SAMHAIN Truly the scent of autumn itself -- damp woods, fir needle, and black patchouli with the gentlest touches of warm pumpkin, clove, nutmeg, allspice, sweet red apple and mullein. THE WITCH'S GARDEN Hidden beneath the arms of an ancient gnarled oak sits an overgrown, weedy patch of monkshood, sacred to Hecate and brought forth from Cerberus' spittle, that is surrounded by shrieking mandragora, black nightshade, wise sage, dire hemlock, creeping ivy, and thorn apple. ++ BPTP HALLOWEEN BATH OILS PUMPKIN PIE Devilishly decadent and a little bit ridiculous! RED VELVET TRUFFLE The scent of pulverized red velvet cake mixed with cream cheese frosting, stuffed with candy bark, rolled into balls, and coated with white chocolate. SPIDER SILK White coconut, orris root, delicate vanilla, white dammar, papyrus blossom, and osmanthus. TORN CANDY BAG Sour gummies, lemon drops, jujubes, and lollipops scattered on a broken patch of cement and dandelion-dotted grass. ++ BPTP HALLOWEENIE PERFUME BLACK PUMPKIN FLOSS Pumpkin candyfloss spiked with black licorice, black currant, and smoked maple. ORANGE PUMPKIN FLOSS Pumpkin candyfloss with neroli, pink grapefruit, blood orange, and petitgrain. RED PUMPKIN FLOSS Pumpkin candyfloss with red licorice, wild cherry, wild plum, and red currant. ++ BPTP HALLOWEENIE CANDLES ALL SOULS A day of remembrance and intercession. Without the prayers and sacrifices of their families and loved ones, the faithful departed may not be cleansed of their venal sins, and thereby cannot attain beatific vision. On November 2nd, prayers are sung and offerings are made to aid lost souls in transcending purgatory. An incense blend that invokes the higher qualities of mercy and compassion, mingled with the soft, sugared currant scent of offertory soul cakes. BLACK CLOVE Smoky Maluku clove and a hint of aged patchouli. DEAD LEAVES AND DESOLATION A barren grove, silent. Dry, crumbling oak leaves dance through the skeletal, grasping arms of ancient trees. PUMPKIN TART Fresh pumpkin puree seasoned with brown sugar, ginger, nutmeg, and clove baked into an anise seed crust. ++ BPTP HALLOWEENIE SOAPS C8H10N4O2 Sweet hazelnut coffee with a triple shot of espresso. PUMPKIN TART Fresh pumpkin puree seasoned with brown sugar, ginger, nutmeg, and clove baked into an anise seed crust. SUBSTRATUM A deep, earthy blend of soothing, grounding, nurturing oils: Himalayan cedar, Sumatran patchouli, spikenard, and black fig. TRICK OR TREAT The sticky sweet scent of candy corn! Additionally, Spanish Red Carnation has been added to the general catalog soaps. SPANISH RED CARNATION SOAP A celebratory scent, spicy and joyful. This is the nation flower of Spain. It symbolizes the suffering of Christ, the passion of lovers, and the laurels of victory. And, just in time for Halloween, there is a new Dia de los Muertos imp case. And last but not least, we are introducing: ++ BPTP HALLOWEEN HARD CANDIES These gourmet hard candies were hand-made exclusively for Black Phoenix by Confounding Confections. Confounding Confections Hard Candies are created and wrapped by hand, using only the finest of natural ingredients. All ingredients used are natural, vegan, gluten-free, and free of common allergens. Gift tins are made in the U.S.A., and are reusable and recyclable. VOL. 1 - TRICKS & TREATS Includes 15 individually wrapped sweeties (2 oz.) packaged in a handsome 4 inch gift tin. In this collection you will find 5 delicious and long-lasting pieces each of the following varieties: GHOULISH Black cherry, and coconut amaretto, gently laced with saffron. BLUE PUMPKIN FLOSS Puffy clouds of pumpkin candyfloss with a trickle of blackberry juice. AUTUMN CIDER Fermented apple juice, brown sugar, spice, lemon zest, butterscotch liquor, and orange slices. Halloween Candies, Candles, Soaps, Bath Oils, Atmosphere Sprays and Perfume Oils can all be found on Black Phoenix Trading Post's limited edition Halloween page. ***** You will be able to preview many of these fine offerings at our Will Call events this weekend in Los Angeles, CA, Seattle, WA, and South Burlington, VT. The west coast will call event will be held on Saturday, September 29th from 4 to 7pm at Dark Delicacies. Dark Delicacies 3512 W. Magnolia Blvd (1 block east of Hollywood Way) Burbank, CA 91505 www.darkdel.com Seattle Will Call will be held at Bedlam Bedlam on Saturday, September 29th, from 6:30 to 9:30pm. BedlamBedlam 613 East Pike Street Seattle WA 98122 http://bedlambedlam.com/ New England Will Call will be held at Healthy Living Market on Sunday, September 30th from 3:00 to 6:00pm, in the Learning Center. Healthy Living Market 222 Dorset Street, South Burlington, VT, 05403

Our shipment of Exhibit Hall Fatigue has not yet arrived back from Dragon*Con, so we will NOT be selling it at Comikaze. We apologize for the inconvenience.

Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab’s Lunacy events are your opportunity to meet the lab staff (California only), purchase the latest scents, and get a sneak preview of what’s coming soon. This month, we are pleased to welcome Bedlam Bedlam in Seattle, WA, into our Will Call family! The blends that will be available for purchase include those that went live on the Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab website up to and including the Raven Moon update. Our Lunacy events are held on the night of the full moon at Dark Delicacies in Burbank, and are always free. The west coast will call event will be held on Saturday, September 29th from 4 to 7pm at Dark Delicacies. Dark Delicacies 3512 W. Magnolia Blvd (1 block east of Hollywood Way) Burbank, CA 91505 www.darkdel.com Seattle Will Call will be held at Bedlam Bedlam on Saturday, September 29th, from 6:30 to 9:30pm. BedlamBedlam 613 East Pike Street Seattle WA 98122 http://bedlambedlam.com/ New England Will Call will be held at Healthy Living Market on Sunday, September 30th from 3:00 to 6:00pm, in the Learning Center. Healthy Living Market 222 Dorset Street, South Burlington, VT, 05403 If you have any questions, please email us at willcall@blackphoenixalchemylab.com. ____________________________________________________________________________ Attendees at Comikaze this weekend will get a chance to purchase some Black Phoenix scents before they are released to the public! HALLOWEEN IN INNSMOUTH Fish and ceremonial incense. HALLOWEEN IN THE MISKATONIC UNIVERSITY LIBRARY Ancient tomes, musty wooden bookshelves, cologne, and spiked pumpkin lattes. And a preview of our upcoming additions to the Phoenix Steamworks line: BEHEMOTH Ozone, lavender, tobacco flower, and camphor. TARASQUE Spiced tea, leather, liquidambar, and labdanum. POLYPHEMUS The Halloween In…. scents will be $23 and the Steamworks scents will be $17.50. No imps of the Steamworks scents will be available at the event. Comikaze Expo September 15 - 16, 2012 Los Angeles Convention Center Booth #1043 http://comikazeexpo.com/ ___________________________________________________________________________ Lastly, we will be taking our display from Dark Delicacies to Comikaze Expo, so Black Phoenix will not be available at Dark Delicacies from Friday, September 7th, through Tuesday, September 18th. Everything will be back to normal and back on sale by Wednesday, September 19th. We apologize for the inconvenience.

BPAL will be vending this weekend at Stan Lee’s Comikaze Expo at the Los Angeles Convention Center. We can be found at booth 1043 and will be bringing some Exhibit Hall Fatigue Oil with us. And if you’re on the east coast, we will see you next month at NYCC! Comikaze Expo September 15 – 16, 2012 Los Angeles Convention Center Booth #1043 http://comikazeexpo.com/ NYCC October 11 – 14, 2012 Javits Center, NYC Booth #567 www.newyorkcomiccon.com

Sin.

The Raven Moon tee is live at BPTP! RAVEN MOON 2012 The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins? Mournful and Never-ending Remembrance: shining, moonlit ebony musk with benzoin, myrrh, smoky vanilla, patchouli, nutmeg, and dried red chili.

RAVEN MOON 2012 The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins? Mournful and Never-ending Remembrance: shining, moonlit ebony musk with benzoin, myrrh, smoky vanilla, patchouli, nutmeg, and dried red chili. BLUE MOON 2012 The spirit of the full moon is capricious, intense and passionate, yet still distant, aloof and cold. Luna herself governs glamours, bewitchments and dream-work, innocent wonder, transient pleasure and delight, the Moment, impulse, mystery and veils. The Blue Moon is one of her rarest manifestations, and this scent is formulated to encapsulate her most complex and profound nature: Mugwort, for psychic sensitivity… Calea Zacatechichi, yarrow, and mastic for divination through dreams… Frankincense and hyssop for complexity, wisdom and noscere… … with a potent lunar-charged, oneirongenic blend of blue musk, exquisite woods, moonflower, evening stock, Madagascan ylang ylang, Florentine iris, Greek cypress, green tea absolute, palmarosa, cucumber, rose milkweed, Clary sage, lavender, lemon balm, and passion fruit. BLAUER MOND Brian’s interpretation of the Blue Moon. A glimmer of hope emerging from a sea of dreams: sea buckthorn berry, terebinth pine, frankincense, hyssop, white sage, Neptune’s night-blooming jasmine, cucumber, lavender, ambergris accord, and violet leaf. This month’s accords showcase botanic accents that every haunted garden should possess: DEVIL’S TRUMPET Showy, invasive, and highly poisonous, the Devil’s Trumpet possesses a strange beauty that is both seductive and quietly menacing. Their fruit is spiked, their seeds are black, their stems are bruise-purple, and their leaves are toothy and uneven. The Devil’s Trumpet’s grand, glorious blossoms open wide at night, releasing an enchanting and delicately intoxicating perfume. EVENING STOCK By day, these tiny blossoms of white, pink, and purple appear withered, fragile, and weedy, but as evening approaches, they reveal their true magnificence: their petals open, and a rich, melodic perfume fills the night air. SPANISH MOSS An omnipresent feature of haunted antebellum mansions: drooping, moribund tendrils hanging solemnly from ancient oak and cypress branches. (No, there is no real datura in our Devil’s Trumpet accord. There is no atropine, hyoscine, hyoscyamine, or strychnine in this perfume. Our Devil’s Trumpet single note is neither poisonous nor hallucinogenic. This perfume is an artistic representation of datura. It is not in our best interests to poison our clients.) Raven Moon, Blue Moon, Blauer Mond, the Single Note accords and the Halloweenies are $23 each, and available on our Limited Edition page. We’re going back to our campy, spooky roots with the Haunted House Collection! Twelve Guignolesque, chilling atmospheric blends are being offered for your pleasure and amusement! ++ HALLOWEEN: THE HAUNTED HOUSE REVISITED THE APPALLING ABATTOIR Echoes of crimes long-ago hidden: a slaughter hastily washed away, leaving flecks of gore to settle deep within the rough-hewn stone floor. THE ATROCIOUS ATTIC A shadowy shrine filled with forgotten toys, broken dolls. The altar: a collapsing trunk distended by a rotted wedding gown. The air of the room is dusty, laced with the scent of a child’s perfume and the remnants of a dried, crumbling bridal bouquet: tea rose, violet, white sandalwood, French lavender, and calla lily. THE BLOODY BANISTER A rotting, cracked mahogany balustrade smeared with bloody handprints frames a cascading Imperial staircase that rises unsteadily into oppressive, suffocating shadows. THE CHILLING CELLAR Wine just turning to vinegar, crumbling mortar, red clay, and the coppery tang of old blood. THE FORBIDDING FOYER Thick shadows hang heavy across fungus-smeared, dilapidated wainscoting, cobwebs hang like fine lace across sagging mouldings, rats scuttle past gaping doorways. The faint scent of brimstone, ghostly breath laced with cognac, neglected mahogany panels, and rot. THE GHASTLY GARDEN Overgrown oleander, marshy water hemlock, the sugared nectar of carnivorous blooms, putrefying wet greenery, oozing sap, crushed rosary peas, withered climbing roses, and nightshade berries. THE HEINOUS HEDGE-MAZE Claustrophobic pathways of neglected boxwood and thorny rosemary intersecting at impossible angles, twisting into itself. THE LURID LIBRARY The incense-tinged scent of forbidden tomes and the musk-laden remnants of infernal servants. THE PERILOUS PARLOR A memory of pleasure passed. A ghostly rendezvous, delight beyond death. Faint echoes of laughter and the distorted music of a harp drift by, along with the scent of soft white pear and sweet vanilla. THE SINISTER SALON Lush carpets, the heavy purple of deep mourning, stretch to touch walls covered in peeling, fading wallpaper and threadbare tapestries. The trompe-l’œil frieze is grotesque: misshapen creatures cavort lewdly, leering and clutching one another in strange embraces. The walls are hung with massive dust-caked portraits of ancestors long-dead, and desiccated calla lilies curl morosely in crystal vases set on ornate end tables. Whiffs of opium, tobacco smoke, sherry, and cologne hint at crumbling decadence and the echoes of buried perversions. THE TWISTED OAK TREE Blackened, rotted oak wood blanketed in moss and choked by a cloak of grasping ivy. THE WRETCHED ROSE WINDOW Phantasmal patterns warp and weave through panes of leaded glass. Pale shafts of frail sunbeams push through, creating a sickly dance of violet, smoke-grey, blood-red, and blackened plum light on the oaken walls. Haunted House artwork by the ridiculously talented Andrew Fogel. ++ HALLOWEENIE 2012 ALL SOULS’ NIGHT, 1917 You heap the logs and try to fill The little room with words and cheer, But silent feet are on the hill, Across the window veiled eyes peer. The hosts of lovers, young in death, Go seeking down the world to-night, Remembering faces, warmth and breath– And they shall seek till it is light. Then let the white-flaked logs burn low, Lest those who drift before the storm See gladness on our hearth and know There is no flame can make them warm. Embers that give no warmth; cold hands stoking a fire that gives no light. Fragonia, carrot seed, and ashen sandalwood. THE APPARITION When by thy scorne, O murdresse, I am dead, And that thou thinkst thee free From all solicitation from mee, Then shall my ghost come to thy bed, And thee, fain’d vestall, in worse armes shall see; Then thy sicke taper will begin to winke, And he,whose thou art then, being tyr’d before, Will, if thou stirre, or pinch to wake him, thinke Thou call’st for more, And in false sleepe will from thee shrinke, And then poore Aspen wretch, neglected thou Bath’d in a cold quicksilver swear wilt lye A veryer ghost than I; What I will say, I will not tell thee now, Lest that preserve thee; and since my love is spent, I’had rather thou shouldst painfully repent, Than by my threatenings rest still innocent. Quicksilver-cold and heartless: white sandalwood, immortelle, zdravetz, and oudh. AUTUMN COOLNESS 2012 Heat lingers As days are still long; Early mornings are cool While autumn is still young. Dew on the lotus Scatters pure perfume; Wind on the bamboos Gives off a gentle tinkling. I am idle and lonely, Lying down all day, Sick and decayed; No one asks for me; Thin dusk before my gates, Cassia blossoms inch deep. The scent of wisteria, Cymbidium, lotus blossom, and cassia buds drifting on a breeze through gently swaying bamboo reeds. BONFIRE NIGHT 2012 Guy Fawkes, Guy; Stick him up on high! Hang him on a lamp post And there let him die! Guy, Guy, Guy! Poke Him in the eye! Put him on the fire, And there let him die! Burn his body from his head: Then you’ll say Guy Fawkes is dead! Hip, Hip, Hooray! Beer, woodsmoke, tar, and treacle. BOO 2012 Eerie billows of spun sugar, fluttering white cotton, and sheets of cream. DIA DE LOS MUERTOS 2012 A joyous celebration of La Catarina, La Flaca, La Muerte… Glorious, Beautiful Death. In Mexico, death is not something to be feared or hated; She is embraced, loved, and adored. La Muerte is fêted, as the celebrant “…chases after it, mocks it, courts it, hugs it, sleeps with it; it is his favorite plaything and his most lasting love.” This is a Mexican paean to La Huesuda: dry, crackling leaves, the incense smoke of altars honoring Death and the Dead, funeral bouquets, the candies, chocolates, foods and tobacco of the ofrenda, amaranth, sweet cactus blossom and desert cereus. FIZZY JACK O’LANTERN 1.5 oz gin ½ oz dry sherry ½ oz lemon juice 1 tsp pumpkin butter 2 dashes of Averna amaro Pour the gin, sherry, lemon juice, pumpkin butter, and liqueur to a cocktail shaker filled with ice. Shake that mofo and strain it into a rocks glass filled with ice and a strong, spicy ginger ale. Stir gently, and garnish with a cinnamon stick or human finger bone. GHOST HOUSE I dwell in a lonely house I know That vanished many a summer ago, And left no trace but the cellar walls, And a cellar in which the daylight falls, And the purple-stemmed wild raspberries grow. O’er ruined fences the grape-vines shield The woods come back to the mowing field; The orchard tree has grown one copse Of new wood and old where the woodpecker chops; The footpath down to the well is healed. I dwell with a strangely aching heart In that vanished abode there far apart On that disused and forgotten road That has no dust-bath now for the toad. Night comes; the black bats tumble and dart; The whippoorwill is coming to shout And hush and cluck and flutter about: I hear him begin far enough away Full many a time to say his say Before he arrives to say it out. It is under the small, dim, summer star. I know not who these mute folk are Who share the unlit place with me— Those stones out under the low-limbed tree Doubtless bear names that the mosses mar. They are tireless folk, but slow and sad, Though two, close-keeping, are lass and lad,– With none among them that ever sings, And yet, in view of how many things, As sweet companions as might be had. Purple-stemmed raspberries, twining grape vines, Spanish moss, and dusty pale woods. MANGO-INFUSED PUMPKIN CHAI LATTE Pumpkin-spiced gunpowder tea with mango peel, red ginger, green cardamom, smoky clove buds, fennel, allspice, saffron, coconut sugar, and foamy milk. MEDITATION IN AUTUMN 2012 Withered vines, gnarled trees, twilight crows, river flowing beneath the little bridge, past someone’s home. The wind blows from the west where the sun sets, it blows across the ancient road, across the bony horse across the despairing man who stands at heaven’s edge. A desolate scent, dusty, bleak, and withered: old wood, burnt brown sandalwood, and twisted vines. MISCHIEF The scent of petty vandalism: toilet paper wads on damp maple trees, squished pumpkins, raw eggs, beer, pumpkin seed hulls, and soapy glass. POMONA 2012 I am the ancient apple-queen. As once I was so am I now — For evermore a hope unseen Betwixt the blossom and the bough. Ah, where’s the river’s hidden gold! And where’s the windy grave of Troy? Yet come I as I came of old, From out the heart of summer’s joy. The Roman festival for Pomona, Goddess of fruit, orchards, and gardens, was celebrated on November 1. On this day, the stores amassed during summer were opened for winter. Azaroles, nuts, and apple blossoms with red apple pulp, mulberry, blackberry, and pomegranate juice. PUNKIE NIGHT 2012 Once upon a time, on a wild October night many years ago, a fair took place at Chiselborough. The men of the village of Hinton St. George made their way to the fair, and spent the night in revelry, drinking and carrying on, far into the darkest hours. Their wives grew concerned, and went looking for their unruly husbands. In order to see their way through the autumn gloom, they hollowed out mangel-wurzels and crafted them into makeshift lanterns. The drunken men, in their sloshy haze, saw the ghostly lights approaching, and believed them to be goolies — the furious spirits of unbaptized children. In terror, they fled in panic from their bemused, bewildered wives. To this day, that night of foolishness is still celebrated! This is a light-hearted scent: apple orchards, bright cranberries, and a touch of warm cider. SAMHAIN 2012 Truly the scent of autumn itself — damp woods, fir needle, and black patchouli with the gentlest touches of warm pumpkin, clove, nutmeg, allspice, sweet red apple and mullein. SUCK IT 2012 A vampiric good time. Sexy and suckable: black cherry brandy. SUGAR SKULL 2012 Vibrant with the joy and sweetness of life in death! A blend of five sugars, lightly dusted with candied fruits. THIRD CHARM The owl is abroad, the bat, and the toad, And so is the cat-a-mountain, The ant and the mole sit both in a hole, And the frog peeps out o’ the fountain; The dogs they do bay, and the timbrels play, The spindle is now a turning; The moon it is red, and the stars are fled, But all the sky is a-burning: The ditch is made, and our nails the spade, With pictures full, of wax and of wool; Their livers I stick, with needles quick; There lacks but the blood, to make up the flood. Quickly, Dame, then bring your part in, Spur, spur upon little Martin, Merrily, merrily, make him fail, A worm in his mouth, and a thorn in his tail, Fire above, and fire below, With a whip in your hand, to make him go. There’s magic afoot: fiery red musk, luminous elemi, East Indian patchouli, champaca flower, cedar incense, ho wood, and hemlock accord sweetened with a peculiar sweet honey. THE VAMPIRE BRIDE “I am come-I am come! once again from the tomb, In return for the ring which you gave; That I am thine, and that thou art mine, This nuptial pledge receive.” He lay like a corse ‘neath the Demon’s force, And she wrapp’d him in a shround; And she fixed her teeth his heart beneath, And she drank of the warm life-blood! And ever and anon murmur’d the lips of stone, “Soft and warm is this couch of thine, Thou’lt to-morrow be laid on a colder bed- Albert! that bed will be mine!” Icy skin touched by a perfume of violet leaf, white tea, olibanum, elemi, myrrh, wormwood, crypt dust, and saffron with a dribble of blood red musk. Also, a birthday scent for a special little butterfly. And over at Black Phoenix Trading Post… Blue Moon has returned!Blue Moon shirt featuring art by Sarah Coleman. Also on the Blue Moon page is the return of Ted’s take on Blue Moon…Luna Azul: LUNA AZUL Ted’s interpretation of the Blue Moon. This is the scent of star-crossed love, folly, and passionate lunacy: white mango, French lavender, orris root, fig leaf, ylang ylang, mugwort, styrax, oakmoss, camphor, and black opium tar. The Raven Moon shirt will be up shortly.

A seductive and flowing exaltation of femininity: Turkish rose, stargazer lily, violet, honeysuckle, amber, star jasmine and vanilla. Preconceived Notions - I am not much of a bottle sniffer; I prefer to try oils on my skin then sniff them in the bottle. However, this is one of those rare blends that I bought based on how it smelled in the bottle. I really waffled on whether I wanted this or not because it sounded lovely, but way too floral. But one sniff and I was sold. Wet honeysuckle and vanilla seem to be the prominent notes here. Dry - all I still get is honeysuckle and vanilla, and a trace of jasmine. This is very nice! The rose, violet and amber never show themselves, and I honestly am not sure what lily smells like. This is a sweet, feminine floral that never becomes overwhelmingly floral. It's almost innocent. I like this one quite a bit, but Snake Charmer has become my vanilla scent du jour, and I haven't decided if I will be keeping this one as well. On the wickedgoddess scale of 1 to 5, with 5 being best, this rates a 3.5.

Umlaut