Wafting through there air where a few strange smells, none smelling exactly like the the mix of smoke and magic emanating from the trapdoor.

The cups on the table, still steaming smelled delightful and strange. One was hot chocolate, another a cup of espresso coffee. The last was some sort of jasmine tea, though it had a unique smell to it.

More odd was the smell that Wyler couldn't place the origin from. As if wafting up from the very floorboards themselves was a musky, stagnant smell: like a stuffy attic. All of these smells culminated in the center of the room.