Did I somehow pinch the skin in my sleep and that prompted part of my hazy dream last night? I shake my head, trying to clear my mind. It's way too early for mysteries and I haven’t even had coffee yet. That reminds me to go start up the one cup machine while I get ready.
Shooting for efficiency, I dress to the bubbling of the coffee brewing, pulling on red fishnets, ripped black skinny jeans, a red lace bra, and top it with a black Grimm logo tank. Might as well advertise the store while I walk around. I grab my belt bag, checking it has my wallet, phone, and business cards.
I sit down on the bed to tie my converse sneakers and notice a jet-black hair on the white duvet. I pick it up and hold it up to the light, like it contains the secrets of the universe. It looks like a McHottie hair, but in all practicality, I’m sure it is just a coincidence. A hair lost by the housekeeper or a less than spotless room.
But after everything that has happened, from the prickling on my neck and catching his scent at the restaurant, to the foggy dreams of last night, and now the more physical evidence of a love bite plus a hair that matches his, I can’t help but wonder if McHottie had somehow snuck in and out of my room like he seemed to have done in my store.
My theory makes no sense. How on earth would he be able to get in and out of a hotel room that had the extra safety lock latched from the inside? Shaking off the mystery, I decide I have to get moving and quit playing Scooby Doo, so I quickly stir in the sad powdered coffee creamer and both packets of sugar before heading down to the lobby.
I’m thankful the morning is still cool since it is just under a mile to the convention center. As I walk, I munch on a protein bar. I know I’m not likely to find a safe gluten-free breakfast here, so this will have to do.
I don’t miss gluten, but I miss the convenience of not having to worry about getting sick from food. The coffee is a sad substitute for my usual concoction, but after a night spent tossing and turning, I welcome the caffeine, regardless.
As I walk, I keep rubbing at the mark on my neck, trying to figure out a logical explanation for everything that has happened. I just can’t suss it out. There is no way McHottenstein would have been able to slip in and out of my room, even if he had followed me to Philly. Right?
Reaching the convention center entrance, I wave my ticket at the scanner and head into the expo. This is always a good one, and I’m excited to check out the entertainment they have added tonight. The addition of a show is new for this year, and I hope it will be marvelous. I had meant to look it up, but just hadn’t had the chance.
I hope there are some burlesque performers in it. I admire their amazing confidence and sex appeal. In my head, I am a sexy burlesque dancer, throwing winks and oozing confidence as I shimmy out of my super cool burlesque outfit down to my pasties, which I can get twirling in opposite directions with just the right shake of my hips.
But that version of Lieshe stays safely stuck in my head while this version hits the first row of vendors. I make my way around the perimeter, knowing they will cluster the best ones in the center but always having an eye out for a new contact or product. I pass loads of clear acrylic blocks with assorted critters frozen in time, wet and dry mounts of all kinds, and varied other commonly found stock items.
I am just about to start my foray into the inner aisles when I notice a jewelry stand in a darker corner. I wander over, curious, as I haven’t seen this vendor before and just love jewelry.
There are some cool pieces—lots of bats, spiders, and various insects. Moving to the far corner of the booth, I find a delightful line of doll heads molded in silver. There are bracelets, earrings, and necklaces in this delightfully creepy style. I know they would sell well at Grimm and hope I can get a fair price on them.
I am so glad I wandered back here to this treasure trove. The owner finishes up with another customer and heads my way. We make some small talk while I find several other pieces I must have, including a line of cicadas I haven’t seen before and a really nice spin on spoon rings with skulls, moths, bees, or ants on them.
I decide a larger selection of jewelry will be an excellent addition to my store, especially with the holidays coming up. We chat about pricing and come to a mutually beneficial arrangement. I can’t wait for Jo to see these. I even order a few tamer pieces to appeal to everyone.
I am just about to hand my card over to seal the deal when, out of the corner of my eye, I catch the light wink off an unusual ring. It seems out of place, like a priceless antique tucked amongst the mostly silver Gothic offerings.
The red is so dark it is almost black, like a drop of blood at midnight. A heavy gold band sets off the pear-shaped cabochon, which appears genuinely vintage versus a reproduction.
I pick it up and slip it on my left ring finger, where I know it will fit perfectly. The metal feels warm to the touch, and the ring fits the base of my finger like it has been there for years.
I stare down into the stone, the surface appearing so smooth I reach out with my other hand and stroke it to reassure myself that it is truly solid rather than the drop of blood it so realistically resembles.
“What about this?”
“Oh,” the salesperson replies, “that’s odd. I don’t remember ever carrying anything like that before. Can I see it?”
I hold my hand up, admiring it on my finger. The deep red stone catches the light, making it appear to glow warmly from deep within. In my heart, I know it is meant to be mine.
“So strange, I don’t recall putting that out. Must be kismet. Are you okay paying the price marked on the tray?”
“Of course. Are you sure?”
She nods. Truth is, I would have paid anything. I feel a little guilty. It must be worth far more than she is charging.
Compared to my customary ornate pieces, this is gold with a simplistic design, but the color of the stone is riveting and vaguely familiar, and I am in love with my new treasure. The gold band has the patina of time, and it just feels so at home on my finger. Kismet, indeed.
I settle my bill and confirm my shipping address, moving away to finish checking out the rest of the expo. I’ll ship what I can home, so I don’t have to pack up too much. Especially the less fragile items.
As I walk, I glance down at my hand to admire my new ring and my vision begins to shimmer.Oh, no, not here,I think.
Luckily, just ahead is an exit door in the cinderblock wall of this outer aisle. Stumbling the last few steps to reach the door, I lurch through it and slide down the wall to sit on the refreshingly cool concrete floor of the dimly lit stairwell.
I put my head down between my knees, but my head spins until I am forced to close my eyes. I focus on drawing ragged breaths in and out of my constricting lungs, casting about for a grounding technique.
