It's his smell. It's rattling me. Not just a glimpse of it, like at the party, but his entire scent. Spicy, like clove, and carnal. It’s the smell of black magic at midnight. When witches stand around their brew at night with the moon and candles burning the room. Incense wisping in the air. Ancient spells and occult sorcery sting my nose. It’s smoke and timber, and I hate how much I love this smell.
