He was also the man who’d somehow caused all of her friends to be sickened with a mysterious plague, however, and she’d find out what he’d done, or die trying.
She shot to her feet as Dominick slammed the man against the desk. The man turned and shoved Dominick so hard that Dominick flew halfway across the room, crashing into a wooden table by the reception area. He shouldn’t have been able to do that; even in human form, shifters were much stronger than non- shifters.
If Dominick couldn’t take this guy, there was no chance that she could, but she never was one to let common sense stand in her way. She pulled her switchblade from her pocket and ran towards him, screaming with fury.
At the same time, Dominick charged forward, launched himself at the man, and in a moment Pixie, Dominick and the man were on the floor, punching and clawing.
Then the man somehow pulled free, and leaped gracefully to his feet.
The sirens were much closer now.
The man reached into his suit pocket and tossed Pixie a cell phone.
“Pixie Montana,” the man said, and when he looked at Pixie his pupils were so big that she couldn’t even see what color his eyes were. He shoved the sunglasses back in place.
“All of this rests with you,” he said. “You have what I need. Keep that phone with you. I’ll be in touch.”
The silver haired man turned and dashed out, and Pixie ran after him. He climbed into the back of the limousine and the limo quickly pulled away.
Ambulances and fire trucks and police cars pulled up a block away, and stopped.
Dominick ran up behind Pixie, breathing hard. “Why the hell did you get in my way?” he demanded, his voice a low, rumbling growl. “I had him.”
“You so did not have him,” Pixie said. She held up an empty hypodermic needle, which had been capped; it was the needle he’d used to jab Hillary. “But I got this, from his pocket. Score one for Pixie.”
Dominick patted his neck and looked around uneasily. “Have you seen my necklace?”
“What? No, I haven’t seen your damned necklace, you jackass. It’s a freaking strip of leather. I’ll make you another one in arts and craft class. Can we focus on the problem here?”
The firefighters down the street were pulling on haz-mat suits. Nobody was approaching the building yet.
Dominick grabbed Pixie’s arm, and dragged her back inside.
“When I called 911, I told them that everyone in the building was unconscious, and they all had high fevers.” Dominick said. “The authorities have no idea what they’re dealing with here. For public safety reasons, they’re going to want to quarantine us. We’ll be locked up in a hospital room, probably for days. We won’t be able to do anything to help our friends in time. You heard that guy, he said that they won’t survive like this for more than a few days.”
“Do you think we’re contagious?” Pixie asked. “I don’t want to risk infecting anyone.”
“I don’t think so,” Dominick said. “Whatever hit these people knocked them out immediately. We went inside and it didn’t affect us.”
“What should we do?” Hillary asked, her voice weak. She stood leaning on the desk, clutching her stomach and looking queasy.
Pixie couldn’t imagine Hillary being any good in the field. “You should just go home. Maybe go to the hospital, get checked out.”
“No, I have to help. These are my friends too,” Hillary insisted. “I can’t just sit back and let everyone die. Unless…unless you don’t want me to help. If you don’t think I’d be useful…” her voice quavered.