Pixie The Lion Tamer (Shifters, Inc.) (11 page)

In the dark recesses of the far corner of the parking lot, Pixie saw a
group of hyena shifters gang bangers skulking, watching them.  They wouldn’t come too close as long as Dominick was with them.

She glanced back at him. “Has your brother always been attracted to
stuck up bitches?”

Dominick let out a bitter laugh. “No. Barbara’s not his type at all.  Then again, she wasn’t my type either when I first met her.”

Pixie paused. “Whoa. Hold the phone.  I’m sorry, are you saying that Barbara was your fated mate, and now she’s your brother’s fated mate?
That doesn’t happen
.”

“No kidding,” Anastasia said.
“Something’s hinky there.”

“Yeah, my family apparently has the worst luck of any pride in North America,” Dominick said bitterly.  “Can we get this over with?
I think I’m actually standing directly in a puddle of hepatitis.”

Pixie glanced down at whatever foul liquid was ruining Dominick’s shoes.
“Nah, probably not.  I don’t think that even germs can live long in this neighborhood.”

She led them into
the building.  A pale light in the hallway flickered, illuminating a pile of trash in a corner.  Scattered on the cracked tile floor were tained, broken toys and a grocery cart without wheels.  The sour reek of garbage mingled with the fumes of cooking.

“
Ahh, smells like home,” Pixie said. “Follow me.” She led them up two flights of stairs to the apartment of her former neighbor, Gemma Timmons.  Timmons had been one of her mother’s closest drinking buddies, and the two of them used to troll for marks together.

They knocked several times, but there was no answer.  Pixie could hear the TV blaring inside, so she pulled her lock picks out of her pocket.

“Of course,” Dominick said, shaking his head.

“Sorry,
” Pixie smirked. “It’s in the blood.”

Within a minute they were inside the cramped, dimly lit apartment.  An old rabbit-ea
r TV was on, its flicking light illuminating the snoring figure of Mrs. Timmons, who lay passed out on a stained green couch.   Empty liquor bottles and beer bottles lay scattered around Mrs. Timmons on the floor.  Pixie had come prepared; she’d brought a bottle of scotch.

It took them a couple of minutes for them
to rouse her from her stupor, and a couple of long pulls on the scotch bottle before she felt sufficiently lubricated and inspired to speak to them.

“Pixie,” she said, squinting blearily.  “I thought you were dead. Oh wait, that’s your mother.”

“Yes. That’s who I came to talk to you about.  My mother. You’ve lived here longer than we did, Mrs. Timmons. Is my mother really my mother?”

Mrs. Timmons shrank back against the couch. “I didn’
t do anything wrong,” she scowled defensively.

“I didn’t say you did. All I need is information.”

A sly, speculative look crossed Mrs. Timmons face. “What’s it worth to you?”

Pixie had come prepared for that too.  She pulled five twenties out of her wallet and handed them over.  Mrs. Timmons grabbed them and stuffed them down her cleavage.

“More,” she demanded. 

“After you tell me what I want to know.”

“My memory’s not so good these days,” Mrs. Timmons said, and she started to move her considerable bulk off the sofa.

“Answer her questions, you drunk bitch,” Anastasia snapped, and her eyes went dark.  She glared, and suddenly the money in Mrs. Timmons cleavage started to smoke.

“My money!” Mrs. Timmons grabbed the money, pulled it from her cleavage, and threw it on the floor and stamped out the little flames that licked at the edges.

“That’s not the only thing that’s going to catch on fire if you don’t start talking.” Anastasia’s eyes were even darker.

Pixie held up her hand warningly. “Anastasia. I got this,” she said. 

Dominick stared at Anastasia.  He and Pixie exchanged worried glances.

              “I don’t like her,” Mrs. Timmons whimpered, sinking back onto the couch. “Make her go away.”

             
“We’ll all go away, as soon as you answer my question.”

             
“I’ll know if you’re lying,” Anastasia added.

             
Mrs. Timmons flicked her a sullen glance, then muttered “Your mother…one day, her and me were out looking to find some tricks.  We were standing on a corner over on 37
th
, and some lady parked her car, ran down the alley, put you in a doorway, then ran back out and jumped in a car and drove off.  Then a minute later, another car came screeching down the street, like they were chasing the lady who’d left you in the alley.  Rosie picked you up and brought you home.  We argued about who was going to keep you, but Rosie won out.  She had to promise me half of anything she got for you, though.”

             
Pixie gasped.  She felt as if she’d been struck a physical blow.  Dominick reached out and squeezed her hand, as she swayed where she stood.

             
Questions flooded her mind.  What had happened to her real mother? Her real mother must be dead, or she’d have come back for her.  Who was her father?  Who was her mother running from?  Somehow, she had a feeling that the Rilkes were involved. Maybe she’d been running from them.

             
“Why did she bring me home?”

             
“All kindsa reasons.  She took you to the welfare office, said you were hers, started getting welfare checks for you.  And she told a few different guys they were the dad, and threatened to tell their wives, so they were sending some money for you every month, for years.  I got half, for keeping my mouth shut.”  She looked proud of herself as she said that.

             
“What else?” Anastasia snapped.  She was breathing hard, through her nostrils.  “What was Pixie wearing when you found her? Was there anything with her?”

             
Mrs. Timmons looked down at the floor, sullen.  “She was wrapped in some fancy white blanket.  There was a note in the blanket.”

             
“What did the note say?” Pixie demanded.

             
Mrs. Timmons folded her arms across her huge, sagging chest and shot Pixie a sullen, angry look.  “Look at you, with your fancy friends.  You made it big, didn’t you? That information is worth ten thousand dollars, and I won’t tell you for one penny less. And if your witchy friend doesn’t get out of here, I’ll call the police, that’s what I’ll do.”

             
She grabbed a cell phone from the scarred coffee table in front of her.

             
Suddenly the cell phone flared up, flames shooting out. It turned into a black lump of melted plastic, and Mrs. Timmons dropped it, screaming and shaking her hand.

             
Dominick glanced at the door uneasily, but Pixie could have told him that nobody was going to come to Mrs. Timmons aid.

             
“Anastasia.  Stop,” Pixie said.

             
“Talk!” Anastasia screamed at Mrs. Timmons.

             
“The note said ‘My baby girl, know that I’ll always love you’, but it wasn’t even signed! What difference does it make!” Mrs. Timmons wailed, cringing away from her.

             
“What difference does it make? Pixie had a mother who loved her, a mother who wasn’t a drunk whore, and she never knew it, and you want to know what difference it makes?” Anastasia was stalking towards Mrs. Timmons, her eyes glowing black and her voice grown deep and terrible.  “It makes all the difference in the world! I’d have killed to have a mother who loved me! You want to know the first time I used my magic? How I found out I was magic? I was ten! When my mother stopped selling me to her johns, and tried to sell my little brother instead, I choked my mother and the john to death – like this!”

             
She held out her hand, and bunched it into a fist.  Mrs. Timmons clutched at her throat, and her face turned bright red.  She made horrible gasping, wheezing sounds.

             
“Stop it!” Pixie screamed, launching herself at Anastasia and knocking her back several feet.

             
Anastasia waved her arm and made a hand gesture, and Pixie flew backwards, crashing into the wall.

             
Dominick let out a roar, and lunged at Anastasia, knocking her to the ground.

             
“Don’t kill her!” Pixie yelled. “It’s not her fault.”

             
Mrs. Timmons fell back on the sofa, clutching at her throat and wheezing.  She burst into loud, noisy sobs.

             
“Don’t let her hurt me!” she whimpered. “I didn’t do nothing! It’s not my fault! It was Jennifer’s idea to take you!”

             
Anastasia lay on the floor, gasping.  Dominick shifted back, and Pixie ran over and pulled her up off the floor.

             
The three of them left the apartment quickly, heading down to Dominick’s car.

             
“That’s it,” Pixie said to Anastasia. “You will get professional help.”

             
Anastasia’s breath came out in deep heaves, and she clutched the armrest, leaning back with her eyes shut.

             
They drove in silence back to the warehouse.  Anastasia climbed out, and stumbled back to her car.

             
Pixie felt ill, and dizzy, and very angry.

             
What had happened to her real mother?

             
Dominick turned to Anastasia. “You’re going to stay the hell away from Pixie from now on,” he growled.  “Leave.  Get away from us. I don’t ever want to see you again.”

             
“Wait!” Pixie called, as Anastasia flung herself into her car. “Anastasia, don’t leave! I can find you help! We can fix this!”  Anastasia took off in a screech of tires, without looking back.

             
She turned back to Dominick.  “She’s sick, Dominick.  You shouldn’t have done that.”

             
“She nearly killed you, Pixie.  You’re my fated mate.  I won’t let anyone  hurt you.”

             
“Excuse me, I’m your what?”

             
“You are.  You have to be.  The way I feel about you…”

             
“No, I’m not, Dominick.” Pixie’s heart thudded painfully in her chest. “I’m a messed up pickpocket who was raised in the slums by a prostitute.   You’re shifter royalty from a family of millionaires.   How could someone like me be your fated mate? You’re just reacting to the effects of taking that talisman off.  A few days, a few weeks, and you’ll realize your mistake.”

             
Dominick grabbed her arm and spun her around to face him.  His blue eyes were so earnest, so beautiful.  “It’s not a mistake, and I’m not going to get another talisman. You are my fated mate, and I will wait for as long as it takes for you to realize that.”

             
Pixie wanted it to be true so badly it hurt, but she knew it couldn’t be.  Things like that just ddn’t happen to people like her.   Shouldn’t fated mates be some kind of match? “It’s not possible!  You’re letting your hormones do your thinking.  I’m not going to trap you like this, Dominick.”  Pixie pushed past him and rushed into the warehouse.

“
Psst. Pixie. I need to talk to you.”  There was a light rapping on the door.  Hillary was calling out to her.

             
Pixie sat bolt upright.  She’d refused to speak to Dominick the night before, and had locked herself in another room of the warehouse and fallen asleep on the couch.  A little while later, she’d heard his car pull away. She’d fallen asleep curled up in a ball on the couch, her head resting on the crook of her arm.

Blearily, she pulled out her cell phone to check the time. 
Six a.m.  This afternoon, the Rilke brothers would most likely meet up.  If Tyler couldn’t uncover their meeting place, her friends would die.

She got up
and unlocked the door, swinging it open.  Hillary glanced around nervously. 

“Pixie, come outside with me.  I need to talk to you.”

“Is there any news? Anybody find Stefan or Tomas yet? How are our friends doing at the hospital?”

“No news.  Everyone is still alive, but weakening,” Hillary said.  “Seriously, come with me.”

Pixie’s heart sank.  She swallowed hard
. It’s not over till it’s over
, she reminded herself.   But…it felt as if it were over.

“Is Dominick back yet?”
Pixie asked.  She should go talk to him.  She’d over-reacted the night before.  She’d been upset and angry over the news of her mother, and she’d probably been taking it out on the wrong person.  She couldn’t think about romance or a future until her friends were safe, but she should at least apologize to Dominick.