Mal climbed into the limo as it waited outside Macy’s in New York’s Herald Square. Outside it snowed in a steady drift of perfect, fluffy snowflakes. The kind of snow that packed together well, into snowballs or forts yet was still soft underfoot. Children sledded through hills of it piled into the area safely behind tall wrought-iron fences.
The white-haired yet still unwrinkled man smirked, thinking how that park area the young tikes were sledding in was certainly safe from fae.
He closed the door of the limousine he’d hired personally, not a company car. It was full of decorations, crystalline treasures so delicate-seeming but actually a new questionite alloy, so durable. It also had shopping bags full of clothes, mostly for Knight in the best fabrics and in earthy browns, greens and golds that suited the blond so well.
Now for the final touch, he leaned forward, poured himself a vodka on the rocks and settled into the plush leather seating, warm and toasty. He retrieved his smart-phone from his breast pocket and dialed a number from memory.
“Hello, Danielle. This is Malcolm King,” he smiled and sipped at his drink as she spoke, “Oh, you’re so sweet. We just got back from our honeymoon. How kind of you to remember,” the receptionist gossiped with him for a few moments and then got down to business.
“I’d like to make an appointment with Jean-Michel, if I may,” she said something negative, “I know he’s busy at this time of year but I’d like it to be for my husband, Leonard as a gift. Not for me.”