A equals H.

Ah, right on time, dear friend.

Some lots arrive all at once, blunt, obvious, demanding to be seen.

Others arrive in pieces, whispers in the walls, dust in the corners, sounds that don't belong to the hour.

Lot 84 is one of those.

Two items. High Priestess Emily brought in especially for you, unconnected by origin, yet curiously linked by sound.

Knocks, taps, rhythms too deliberate to be dismissed, too faint to be trusted.

We begin with this, a ribbon, pink satin, with a small silver bell still attached to the end.

Recovered from beneath the earth near a ruined barn, one no longer listed on any local

surveys.

It still carries a cent.

Stone.

Iron.

And when held, some claim to hear giggling.

Others say the bell rings on its own.

Always just out of earshot.

It's been cataloged under one name.

We call this first story, the seller.

Before we begin, I want to point out some of the customers whose names have been etched in brass on this beautiful plaque I had made above the front desk.

These are some of the members of the inner circle of the antiquarium.

We go by the Obsidian Covenant.

Recent initiates include Chloe, Ashkash, Blake Izayf, the Big Bad Wolf of California,

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