Frederick Amadeus MacIntyre kept his voice down as he stomped his booted feet for warmth. One could not mutter such sentiments too loudly in a city gone stupid with holiday cheer. “I’ve always liked a white Christmas,” said a pleasant voice from behind him. Frederick glanced over his shoulder at the next patron waiting in line at the hackney stand. “The snow at least makes things seem clean for a few hours,” Frederick admitted. The fellow was tall and bare headed, with snowflakes catching in his dark chestnut hair. His build was lanky, and yet the elements did not seem to be affecting him adversely. “Only to become filthy again in all the coal smoke.” “What say we share?” the fellow suggested. “The cabbies have their hands full keeping up with all the holiday shoppers and one can always use good company.” Frederick took a closer look at the fellow. His clothing was exquisitely well made, and his green eyes held a sparkle. He’d be pleasant company. Pleasant was bearable.
