want an Irish speech pattern. It would be too easy to check where I came from.â
Thoughts of technology always made her eyes cross. Time to change subjects. âSo what do you spend your money on? Big house, big vehicle? Any favorite charities in your time?â
She watched his expression close, his lips tighten, and knew he was going to lie to her.
âI donât do anything with my wealth.â His body language said heâd told her all he intended.
Ally prepared to call him on his lie when a car horn blared much too close. The wagon swerved and leaned precariously, then shuddered as something hit it with an ominous crunch of wood and metal. Losing her balance, Ally slid from the bed and landed on the floor of the wagon with a solid thud.
âKaty!â Frantically Ally crawled toward the front of the wagon. Brian reached her in one stride, lifted her to her feet, then yanked open the door.
Ally scrambled out behind him, then paused toabsorb the enormity of what had almost happened.
The wagon was tilted at an unnatural angle against a stone wall while the horse placidly cropped grass.
Katy jumped up and down in place while she shook her fist at a car disappearing around a curve. âCome back here and fight like a man, you scumbag. Whereâd you get your license, out of a cereal box? You want road rage, come back and Iâll show you some road rage.â Katy in full voice could shatter a whole set of Waterford goblets.
Brianâs muttered curse distracted Ally from Katyâs tirade. She followed his gaze to the top of the wagon. The Old One crouched on the wagonâs roof, every hair on end, her mouth opening and closing on soundless snarls.
The Old Oneâs fear touched Ally, and she wanted to pull the cat into her arms. Even as she reached up, she realized it was her automatic comfort response.
Brian put his hand on her arm. âDonât. Sheâs trying to change forms. This is not a good thing, believe me.â He turned his attention to the cat. âCalm down, Boss. Everythingâs okay. You donât need to do this.â
His voice had become a husky purr. Ally sure enough would want to do whatever that voice asked. But then Ally wasnât an ancient shapeshifter.
âDonât change. Weâre not in danger anymore.â He reached up to touch the Old One, but shebacked away from him, then started to shake.
Ally had seen enough. And what she saw wasnât the interfering owner of the Sex Monarchs, but a cat. Just a cat. She stood on the wagon seat and reached for the Old One. âCome on, girl. Women should stick together. I donât blame you for being scared. Whatever happened scared me too.â
And to the shock of everyone, probably including the Old One herself, the cat crawled to the edge of the roof and allowed Ally to scoop her up. Ally held the cat in her arms until the shaking stopped. Ally didnât have the courage to pet her. It would probably offend the Old Oneâs sense of dignity anyway.
Climbing off the seat, Ally turned to her great-aunt, who was making internationally understood finger signals toward the departed car. âWhat happened, Katy? God, look at the wagon.â This was directed at Brian, whoâd leaped to the ground and was inspecting the damage.
âLots of bent and crunched stuff on this side. Afraid we wonât be going anywhere with the wagon in this condition.â Brian walked to the other side of the road to peer down at a steep drop-off. He stopped well back from the edge.
Ally and Katy climbed off the wagon and joined him. Ally gulped. The rocky cliff dropped straight down to where the sea churned far below. Suddenly, the condition of the wagon paled in comparison to what
their
condition might have been. The Old One took a glance, then with a plaintive meow, crouched lower in Allyâs arms.
Surprised, Ally stared at the cat. âSheâs terrified. And sheâs certainly not
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