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clothes if you have them, and a warm coat, but hurry, and take only what you absolutely can’t bear to leave. I’m sorry you don’t have time to pack more.”
    She nodded again, fumbling with the buttons on her shirtwaist. “I don’t have much that matters.”
    He paused in the doorway. “Well, then, I’m sorry for that too.”
    * * *
    Connor made his way down the stairs without a light. His senses were keener than those of most humans, and he acknowledged the cat, easily the size of a small lion, staring at him haughtily from the back of a sofa. “I suppose she’ll want to take you.” This was rapidly turning into a farce. What was going to happen next?
    He found the kitchen. Something had been left on the stove, although at least the fire was out. The pantry door hung ajar, so it was quick work to light a candle and find the hamper. After blowing a thick layer of dust off the covered wicker basket, he loaded it with her modest supplies. The coffee tin was present and still jingled, so he added that and the one actually full of tea. A pretty painted vase sat on the kitchen window, so Connor wrapped that in a tea towel and stuck it in as well along with the few other knickknacks. He didn’t see a basket for the cat, so he moved back to the parlor to see if anything there would fit in the hamper or his pockets.
    “The mantel clock, please,” Belinda said as she came down the stairs. “My parents gave me that as a wedding gift. And oh, heavens, I almost forgot my grandmother’s cards.” She opened a drawer and withdrew a packet wrapped in cloth, which she shoved in the larger of her two carpetbags. “There. That’s most of it.” Her voice was thick as she looked around at her home for probably the last time.
    “Do you have a basket for the cat?” Connor looked at the beast in question, swallowing the lump in his own throat.
    She sniffed and chuckled. “What? Put Lucifer in a basket? Please. He’ll come along on his own, never worry. He’s smart enough to know they’re after his blood too. After all, he’s the witch’s familiar.” She clicked her tongue and the enormous cat jumped down and padded behind her as she moved toward the kitchen door.
    “Right.” Connor hefted the hamper and nicked one of the carpet bags when she set it down to pull on her heavy boots at the back door. “Are you sure this will all fit in your wagon?” Hopefully, they wouldn’t be taking a tractor or something else with an open driver’s box.
    “Oh, there will be plenty of room.” She made a sound suspiciously like a giggle, then took an umbrella and led the way outside, her cat trotting at her heels.
    The barn, like the house, was beginning to fall into disrepair. The door creaked and sagged as she pushed it open. An old tin lantern hung from a hook inside the wall, and Connor used a spell to light it, illuminating the inside of the barn. Aside from some dusty tools, most of the available space was taken by a single large object—easily eighteen feet long, eight feet high and six feet wide—covered by several tarps sewn together. Whatever it was, it would certainly hold two people and a cat. If it worked. He was pretty sure the old mule snoozing in the corner of the barn was going to have to stay.
    “We need to open the big doors at the far end,” Belinda said. She set down her bag and moved toward them. “Can you uncover the wagon?”
    Connor obediently dragged the heavy tarpaulin away from the wagon. Once he did, he stared at the vehicle beneath for a moment, then leaned back against the wall of the barn, laughing so hard he thought he might burst.
    The widow’s steam-powered conveyance was an enormous, vividly painted horseless circus wagon.

Chapter Three
    “I don’t see why you find it humorous.” Belinda got the wide double doors open and turned, just to find her so-called rescuer laughing his fool head off at the sight of her grandfather’s caravan. “It was the very top of the trees just three years