Time was running out. To hesitate now might mean the death of them both. Xanadu frowned. "I don't think it's a cold. These undead aren't mystical. At least not directly. I think it's a pathogen of some sort. That they spread..."
The seer didn't want to finish that thought. As subtly as she could, she took down another jar and set it down next to her. This one was different from the ones that held herbs. It was made of clay and sealed. If things went very wrong it was Xanadu's last resort.
"If you are turning, and that's still an if, I think I know of something that can help. But it's down there, in the basement." Xanadu pointed past the sales floor where the sea of undead had assembled to the door behind the register.
"I have one last flash bomb to give you some time. But the solution itself is a long shot. There are, other books down there to. It's where I keep the more dangerous items. Perhaps you would even find an alternative but if there's no time for research look for a book with a cover made of feathers. Those who open it without the proper ritual are cursed. They take on animal shape. It's not a certainty but perhaps it's an alternative to becoming one of them."
Xanadu started to back away from him, setting the jar she'd pulled in her lap. There was little else she could do for him and if he was going to turn, she'd need space to break the jar open before he reached her.