The news show cut back to the live report from the armory. A German oompah band was warming up in one corner of the vast, echoing space; huge posters of Senator Leeds were draped on the brick walls behind them.

Jake picked up the remote and clicked off the TV. He knew that Tomlinson’s Hallowe’en party was restricted to the monied elite, mostly old friends of his father’s. Shaking his head worriedly, he stared at the costume he was going to wear for the party: He was going as Tycho Brahe, the great sixteenth-century astronomer. The costume consisted of a pair of light blue silk knee britches and white stockings, with a long, deep blue coat, elaborately embroidered in silver thread. Louise had made the costume years ago, for an earlier, happier Hallowe’en. Sewn it with her own hands. She’d even gone to an antique store to buy a sword to go with it.

Jake had added the finishing touch: a false nose of silver. Brahe had had his nose sliced off in a youthful duel and wore a silver one ever after.

He laboriously wriggled into the pantaloons, pulled on the stockings, and wormed his feet into the buckled shoes. He strapped the sword around his waist and then slid his arms into the jacket’s silk-lined sleeves. Looking at himself in the mirror he marveled that the outfit still fit, after all these years.

And he burst into tears, remembering Louise and how much she had loved him.

*   *   *

It was starting to snow when Jake went down to the parking lot behind his apartment building. As he revved up the Mustang he turned on the radio and hunted for a weather report.

“… with accumulations of a foot in the city and more in the western suburbs. Strong winds will produce blizzard-like conditions overnight, with clearing expected by sunrise. Low temperatures near zero…”

Jake clicked off the radio and headed for Tomlinson’s place. The party’s going to end early, he thought. Everybody’ll want to get home before the storm gets bad.

By the time he stopped in front of the entrance to Tomlinson’s mansion, Jake had to admit the snowfall looked pretty. Soft flakes drifting down into the lights lining the curving driveway. A thin blanket of white covering the drive, the shrubbery, outlining the bare branches of the trees. The snow hushed the traffic sounds out on the street, making the night seem peaceful and quiet.

The first snow of the year is always pretty, Jake thought. For the first hour or so.

He ducked back into the Mustang to get his sword and clip it to his belt, then let the valet drive the car away. The butler stood patiently at the front door, waiting for him in his usual black uniform. But tonight he had garish Tomlinson buttons pinned to both his lapels.