"I expect so," Kit says politely.
You nod in acknowledgment.
"Well, I think you're an incredible playwright. I can't spend as much time in the theater as I'd like, so when Diar asked if I'd walk with you, I jumped at the chance." She touches the sword at her belt. "You know, just in case."
You drop your voice. "Is it really that dangerous?"
She shrugs. "You might be fine on your own. But better safe than sorry, right? Your job is writing and performing. You shouldn't have to worry about defending yourselves into the bargain."
The three of you start off, walking through what should be a perfectly clear night. The stars were bright over the Odeon. Yet before you've gotten two blocks a thick fog has descended. Your footsteps sound muffled, and they echo oddly.
You find yourself watching closely. Is someone following? You don't see anyone. Or are those your own footsteps echoing off something ahead, sounding like someone is coming toward you? You're suddenly quite glad of Kit between you and Diar, her long sword at her side.
You reach Diar's door without incident and see her in. She smiles and hurries inside, bolting the street door behind her.
"So where do you live?" Kit asks.
"On Gate Street near the Leaning Pine," you say. "You know, that little tavern?"
"Oh, yes." Kit smiles. "They have good chicken pies."
"They do."
You're walking along together, but you hear what sounds like a step close behind. You whirl around. There's a shadow low to the ground and moving quickly, like a large dog taking shelter in an alley.
There's a scrape as Kit draws her blade half from the scabbard.
"Just a dog," you say.
"I don't think so," Kit says grimly. "It looked like something else." A chill runs down your back. "I'm pretty certain now that there's a curse," she adds.