"Arrived in an egg the same day he did," Kitty reported from the chest of drawers where she was pouring Scotch. "I was carrying it into the Inn when I met it him on the road."

The guitar had been the thing that convinced him, somehow, that she wasn't completely bonkers. It had cemented the day as strange, but Kitty being the one holding it when he met her had made her a friend or at least an ally.

"He's incredibly attached to it. It's sort of sweet."