“The midnight wind curled round the barn and o’er top of the moonlit snow,

And quiet as a cat, the Tomte came, creeping in so soft and slow.

His gifts he left by the door of the house for the family now sleeping sound,

And when they woke in the morn with cries of delight, not a footstep could be found.”

Dry leaves skittered along the path, driven by a cool autumn wind. Rubbing my arms, I wished I’d grabbed a wrap before fleeing to wander the park. The city’s salons and ballrooms were mad with legends of faeries and wars for All Hallow’s Eve…