Winter

"You're cutting it close today," she observed (the first tentacles of dawn reaching from the horizon). "Hunters?" He laughed. "No, of course not. I was helping a couple of motorists in trouble - an anxious mother with children in the car and failing heat, an elder who had missed their exit and became lost in the blizzard. Assess, mesmerize, move the car to wherever it supposed to be, and sound the horn. Winter." She smiled at him (the others were fast asleep). "You're BatDOT," she said. "Dracula of Transportation is there in your hour of need." He laughed, wrapping himself in woolens and furs, disappearing down into his box. "Your hour of need ... or his!" he called out, and she grinned before drifting off. He was kind sometimes, and that was a horrible type of charming.