Pixie the Lion Tamer

by Georgette St. Clair

  “Why didn’t the virus affect Dominick and me?”

  “He probably designed it to be fast acting, so it would target only who he wanted. Obviously, since he needs something from you, he didn’t want it to affect you. Many viruses, whether magical or otherwise, die within minutes of being exposed to the air. So by the time you got there, it was probably no longer contagious.”

  Pixie nodded. Anastasia knew her stuff.

  “So what are your next steps?”

  Anastasia opened up her purse and dropped the syringe in.

  “I know someone who works with black magic curses. It is possible that he will be able to replicate the antidote. We also might be able to track down its origin. You know how scientists use DNA to identify people? Magic has its own unique signature, a kind of vibration that a very sensitive magician can detect. There’s only a handful of witches and wizards in the entire world who dabble in this kind of thing, and if we can trace it back to them, we can find out who the client was. I’ll need a down payment.”

  Tyler, who’d been sitting back and listening to their conversation without a word, spoke up. “I can take care of that. I have access to the company bank accounts.”

  “One hundred thousand. And another hundred and fifty thousand if we can come up with an antidote.”

  Tyler nodded. He didn’t even blink.

  “What bank account shall I transfer it into?”

  She rattled off a string of numbers.

  Within minutes, he’d transferred the money into a bank account in the Cayman Islands.

  “A witch with an offshore bank account. I had no idea,” Pixie said.

  “We keep up with the times just like everybody else. You and Tyler need to give me your contact information,” she said. “If we can trace this to its maker, we’ll have a better idea how to counter-act it. I’ll make this top priority, and I’ll call you as soon as I hear anything.”

  Tyler and Pixie both recited their phone numbers.

  “You know, this money…this would be enough to get you out,” Pixie said. “You’re still supporting your family, right? You moved your little brother out to the suburbs with your aunt? This is enough to buy them financial security.”

  Anastasia gave a small, resigned shrug of her shoulders. “It’s no longer just that. Tapering off from black magic is harder than you’d think. It becomes addictive, like a drug that gives you an incredible high when you’re casting, and then makes you feel sick and loathsome when the high wears off. There’s a point of no return. The man you described to me, his eyes…he’s definitely passed that point, long ago.”

  “You haven’t,” Pixie insisted. She knew what it felt like to live one day at a time, without hope of things ever getting better.

  “So now you’re a professional do-gooder? Just worry about yourself, Pixie, I’m really not worth the effort. And don’t argue with me; you have no idea what I’ve done for money.”

  “I know what I’ve done for money. In the past,” Pixie said. “I know how I let people treat me.”

  Anastasia turned away, ready to leave. “I’ve got work to do.”

  Dominick walked in, his face radiating tension, and Anastasia glanced up at him, then Pixie.

  “Your fated mate?” she asked.

  Pixie barked out a laugh. “Thanks, Anastasia, I needed the comic relief.”

  “No, he is,” Anastasia said, her voice serious. Now Pixie was worried. This dark magic stuff had apparently given Anastasia brain damage.

  “Okay,” she said in a soothing voice. “Sure he is. You call us the minute you find out anything, all right?”

  Anastasia nodded, and left. Pixie watched her go, frustrated. She should have made more of an effort to keep in touch, although who knows if that would have helped.

  One emergency at a time, she reminded herself.

  Tyler glared at Dominick. “Good of you to join us,” he snapped. “Did you have a nice walk?”

  “Hey,” Dominick growled at him. “I’m dealing with something here. Where are we right now? Have we made any progress?”

  Before Tyler could answer, the disposable cell phone rang.

  Pixie pulled the phone out of her pocket, her stomach clenching. If she messed up, said one wrong thing, it meant her friends’ lives. She hated it that everything was resting on her shoulders.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, Pixie.” His voice sent chills crawling up her spine.

  “How do you know my name, and what is it you want with me?” she snapped.

  “All in good time. I will need your services tomorrow. Be available, and keep the phone with you at all times; sleep with it by your bedside. I’ll tell you where to go, and a car will be waiting to pick you up. No police. If you call them, I will know, and I will let every last one of your friends burn up and die.”

  Then there was a click. “Wait!” Pixie yelled. “God damn it…”

  “I have a location,” Tyler said. “I’ve locked on to the phone that he used to call you.” He looked at the computer screen. “Hmm. It looks as if he’s at the Gilded Swan Hotel. Give me a minute…” He tapped on the computer for a while, and then looked up.

  “An anonymous party booked the penthouse suite and the entire top floor of the hotel. There’s literally no name in the hotel register, and it says the room was paid for in cash. Thirty thousand dollars a day.”

  Pixie nodded. “We can disguise ourselves as bellhops, go up to his floor. Tell him the management is sending up a complimentary bottle of champagne. Once we get in, we can play it by ear. My hope is we can grab him, drag him out of there, and force him to talk. If there’s too much security in there, we can at least plant a bug so we can gather some more intel, and have men planted outside the hotel who can follow him if he leaves.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Tyler said.

  “No, you need to stay here and keep doing whatever research you can, and keep running Shifters Inc.,” Dominick said. “Coordinate with all of the firm’s connections and resources. You’re much better at that than either of us would be.”

  “Yeah, you need to be here when Anastasia calls back, too,” Pixie said. “And by the way, for the love of God, don’t tell Hillary where we’re going. Tell her we went out for a drive. I can’t deal with any more of her nagging.”

  Tyler grimaced, but nodded. “All right. I just feel like I’m sitting here on my ass while our friends are-” he glanced at Pixie, then glanced away. “While our friends are getting excellent medical care.”

  Pixie pictured all her friends lying on hospital beds, burning with fever as the virus overwhelmed their systems, their organs straining and failing, and she realized that she was actually, literally, about to cry. She turned away from him and Dominick and blinked furiously, desperate not to shed tears in front of him. Where she’d grown up, showing weakness got you killed.

  To her surprise, Dominick grabbed her hand and squeezed it, and didn’t say a word. He stood there for a moment, his big, strong hand wrapped around hers, and she felt an odd calm flowing into her.

  “I’m fine,” she said finally. She should have let go of his hand, but she found herself enjoying his comforting warmth far too much.

  “You better be,” he growled. “If you cry, I’m going to have to smack you around some, and you might like it too much.”

  Pixie burst out laughing.

  With newfound strength and resolve flowing into her, she squeezed his hand and then let go.

  “Let’s get this party started,” she said.

  Chapter Six

  Pixie paused outside the penthouse room on the 15th floor and turned to look at Dominick, annoyance rippling through her. She had enough to worry about; she didn’t need Dominick freaking out on her right now.

  “Dominick, seriously, what is wrong with you?” she asked.

  He was still breathing hard, clenching and unclenching his fists, and he couldn’t look Pixie in the eye. What was his problem? Pixie knew she annoyed the hell out of him wi
th the way she needled him, and he’d threatened her with dire consequences more than once, but she’d always assumed that she and he were mostly joking around. Apparently not. Apparently he really couldn’t stand her.

  She’d never been forced to work this closely with him before, and obviously he was hating every second of it, which stung more than she’d expected it to.

  What was with him squeezing her hand like that before? With him acting jealous of her when Fraser leered at her? Why was he suddenly sending weird, mixed signals? She liked it better when he was consistently grouchy. At least she knew what to expect.

  “I’m fine.” He didn’t look fine, but Pixie didn’t have anyone else to call on as backup. She’d just have to pray that he didn’t screw things up.

  Earlier, Pixie and Dominick had gone to the dry cleaners that was used by the Gilded Swan, and while Dominick distracted the owner, she’d stolen two bellhop’s uniforms.

  Then Pixie had taken out her lip piercing, scrubbed off her cat eye makeup, and slapped on a wig that they’d picked up from a wig shop, to hide her purple hair. She now had sleek blond hair, subtle makeup in natural tones, and frosty pink lip gloss. Her best friend in the world wouldn’t recognize her.

  The bell hop uniforms came with a hat. Dominick had shaved his scruffy beard off and donned brown contact lenses, and Pixie had used stage makeup to darken his skin and hands. With the hat and the uniform, Ion was unlikely to recognize him, or so she hoped.

  Fraser’s men were parked in a car across the street from the hotel, watching out in case Ion left the hotel. Tyler had shown them the passport picture of him.

  Tucked discretely under both her and Dominick’s uniform were smoke bombs and goggles. If they decided that they could grab Ion and make it out of the hotel, Fraser had a car full of his thugs parked outside. Their next move depended on how well guarded their target was.

  Now they were standing outside Ion Barbu’s room with a room service tray, with a stolen bottle of champagne on it.

  “Calm down and act normal,” she snapped. “If you go in there acting like you’re about to have a stroke, you’ll blow our cover.”

  He nodded, slowed his breathing, and forced a smile on his face. “I’m okay,” he said.

  “Bullshit,” she muttered, but they had no choice but to forge ahead.

  “Room service!” she called out cheerfully, disguising her voice and giving it a southern lilt.

  “We didn’t order any room service!” A voice from inside snarled back.

  “We’ve got a magnum of champagne, compliments of management.”

  There was a pause, and Pixie saw someone looking through the peephole. Then the door swung open, and she and Dominick wheeled the cart in.

  The room was lavishly decorated with 18th century gilded furniture and plush sofas and loveseats, with a floor to ceiling view of the city. Ion Barbu sat at a table across the room, playing cards with two men in dark suits. He was still wearing the dark glasses. He glanced up as they walked in. She and Pixie had their heads down as they wheeled the cart inside.

  Pixie could hear Dominick’s harsh breathing as they walked in the room. Keep it together, keep it together, she thought.

  As they wheeled the cart, she casually slipped a small electronic bug under a small side table. Nobody seemed to notice. Pixie was a master of sleight of hand.

  Dominick caught Pixie’s eye and he gave a slight shake of his head. There were too many people in the room for them to grab Ion. They needed to leave, and discuss their next move. They might have to call the cops after all; waiting for Ion to make his next move was too risky.

  There were a dozen men in the room. Some of them had their jackets off, and their gun holsters were clearly visible. There were semi-automatic weapons lying on the coffee tables, on the couches, and on the table in front of Ion and his card playing body-guards…so a quick snatch and grab of Ion was probably out. Especially if they had silver-coated bullets, which, even though they were illegal, was pretty likely. None of these people looked like the type who’d let the law put a crimp in their style.

  She and Dominick would have to go back to Fraser’s headquarters, sit down with Tyler, and figure out their next move. Maybe they’d have to call the cops in after all. Time was running out.

  One of the men glanced over at Pixie, a long appraising glance that ran up and down her body like filthy hands. Dominick let out a low rumbling growl.

  No, no, no…

  “Is she on the menu?” the man smirked. He reached out and grabbed her ass, causing Pixie to yelp and jump back.

  With a roar, Dominick shifted, exploding out of his uniform. His skin rippled and was covered with golden fur in an instant, and claws shot from massive paws. Within seconds he was an enormous, tawny lion with a flowing mane, his tail thrashing violently as he crouched to leap.

  The guards jumped to their feet, shouting. One of them leveled a gun at Dominick and, as Dominick leaped through the air, he fired, and a tranquilizer dart lodged in Dominick’s thick neck. Dominick crashed to the ground on top of the man who’d grabbed Pixie, knocking him down and pinning him underneath his unconscious body.

  Under the tranquilizer’s effects, Dominick rippled again, his fur sinking back into his skin, his limbs straightening, massive jaw sinking back in until his face was back in human form. He lay naked and unconscious on the floor, and the guard shoved his body off, and leaped to his feet, kicking him.

  “Get the hell off him!” Pixie hurled herself at the guard and they went down on the floor. She kneed him in the groin so hard he doubled over, wheezing, tears streaming from his eyes. Then she slammed the palm of her hand upward into his nose, shattering it with a crunch, and sending a spray of blood across the room.

  Within seconds, she was yanked off him by two of the bodyguards, and hauled to her feet, kicking and cursing.

  Ion stood facing her, a look of amusement on his face.

  “Pixie. So good of you to drop in,” he said.

  * * *

  Tyler, Fraser and Hillary were gathered around the laptop, which played back the sounds emanating from the bug planted in Ion Barbu’s room.

  They’d hidden their plans from her for most of the evening, to her indignation. By the time she realized what they were up to, it was too late to convince them that what they were planning was far too dangerous.

  Now they heard shouts, screams, curses in the background. She’d heard Dominick’s angry roar, and Pixie’s screech of rage.

  “We’ve been made.” It was a man’s voice. “They know we’re here.”

  “Indeed.” Another man, this one with an Eastern European accent. That must be Ion Barbu. “We need to move to the countryside.”

  “Where are you taking us?” Pixie’s voice, loud and angry.

  “You’ll find out when we get there.” Well, shoot. If only he’d rattled off an address. That would have been much too easy, though?

  “Should we take him, or leave him? You only need her, right? We could just kill him and dump his body.”

  Hillary and Tyler exchanged panicked glances.

  “We’ll bring him. He could actually be useful tomorrow night,” Tyler said.

  “I should…I don’t know. I should go to the hotel. See if there’s anything I can do.”

  “Don’t be an ass,” Fraser growled. “My men will follow them.” He smirked at her. “You should stay here and entertain me.”

  Hillary sniffed. Oh, the things she did for her job. This type of thing certainly hadn’t been in the Human Resources Manager job description. Someone owed her a huge, huge bonus.

  “First of all, I’d rather bathe in the sewer. And secondly, what if your men lose them?”

  “They won’t. And you don’t know what you’re missing.”

  She curled her lip. “I’m guessing a trip to the STD clinic.”

  Before he could answer, his cell phone rang, and he answered quickly.

  “Anastasia? What have you found out?” He paused and li
stened to her talk. Hillary strained to hear, but she couldn’t make out the words. “All right, that’s great news. Good to hear. Keep me posted.”

  He hung up the phone.

  “She called a contact of hers in Romania. She says that they’ve already identified the man who provided Ion Barbu with that spell; there aren’t many people who can do work that specialized, and there’s only one in all of Eastern Europe. Her contact in Romania turned it over to Interpol. Authorities in Europe have an APB out for him, and if they pick him up, they can force him to give up Ion’s real identity.”

  “If he even knows it,” Tyler sighed. “Okay, here’s my guess. Pixie is a talented thief. I suspect there’s a good chance that Ion wants her to steal something for him, and he’ll make Dominick help her. I don’t think they’ll be harmed before tomorrow night. So we can just-”

  Fraser’s phone rang again, and he answered it, and then scowled.

  “Fucking morons,” he snarled.

  “What?” Hillary said, wincing at his entirely inappropriate language.

  “My men lost them.”

  Chapter Seven

  The mansion they’d been taken to was faux-Mediterranean , with red barrel tile roof and a cream colored stucco exterior. Dominick had a sheet from the hotel wrapped around his naked body, since when he’d shifted he’d destroyed his bell-hop uniform. They didn’t get much time to check out their surroundings, however. Pixie and Dominick were led through a courtyard decorated with gigantic potted palms and hustled inside quickly, at gunpoint.

  Dominick could smell the silver coating on the bodyguard’s bullets, which meant there was no point in resisting; they’d kill him within seconds, and then where would that leave his friends? He’d just have to bide his time until an opportunity presented itself – and then, he promised himself, he’d rip Ion’s intestines out.

  He couldn’t believe how badly he’d screwed things up back at the hotel. Pixie was furious at him, as well she should be; it was obvious from the dirty looks she kept shooting him.