I looked back over at Queenie, who had the kind of broad, large-muzzled face that a lot of people consider frightening, but who struck me as a big, genial barmaid of a girl. “What are you planning on doing with the litter?”
Marlene gave me a cold, hard look. “Since you won’t help, I’ll have to deal with it on my own, won’t I?”
Queenie gave two quick thumps with her blunt stub of a tail, probably eager to be on her way outside, where the air was cool and the newly melted snow had left the ground covered with a smorgasbord of fascinating scents. I imagined the good-natured rottweiler giving birth, then lying back trustingly as her pups were taken from her one by one. Marlene would probably worry more about damaging her nails than any possible suffering as she dropped the pups into a sack and then deposited them in a Dumpster.
I took a deep breath. “Wait a second, Marlene.” She paused in the act of rummaging through her purse, looking up with fake eyelashes and real animosity. But then I didn’t know how to continue.
Back at the Animal Medical Institute, I had a coworker named Lilliana who could gently steer a person toward a different decision. I lack that kind of finesse. I was aware that I was probably giving Marlene what my mother calls my disapproving librarian glare, and I tried to imagine what Lilliana would have said.
“Are you possibly considering … disposing of the puppies yourself? Because I need to tell you that it’s illegal to kill them.” Oh, yes, that was wonderfully diplomatic.
Marlene’s lip curled. “Weren’t you listening to me? She’s going to have a litter of coydogs. They’ll be bigger and stronger than coyotes, and they won’t be scared of people. But they’ll have all their father’s sneaky hunting instincts. You can’t give a coydog up for adoption.” Marlene snapped her purse shut, clearly deciding I had not provided satisfactory service and was therefore not deserving of remuneration. “You want to adopt out an enormous half-breed coyote so he can chew up some unsuspecting kid? Fine. But I’m sure as hell not going to be a party to it.”
The growl that rumbled out of my chest shocked all three of us. I saw Marlene’s eyes widen as she clutched her purse with both hands, trying to back away. Gentle Queenie had gone stiff-legged in front of her owner, her muzzle wrinkling in warning.
I think I would have gotten myself under control then, but Marlene looked me up and down and said, “What are you, crazy? You some kind of rabid Animal Rights nut job?”
I opened my mouth to say something else, but wound up growling again as a wave of heat rose up from my toes to the top of my scalp, anger boiling up in me too thick for words. My skin prickled, all the tiny hairs bristling.
Oh, Jesus, not here. Not now. It was broad daylight and I was wearing jeans and a shirt and a lab coat—and it wasn’t even the right time of month, goddamnit. Except that I’d never had regular menstrual periods back when I was normal, so maybe my fluctuating estrogen levels were activating the lycanthropy virus out of sequence.
Interesting basis for a study, I thought. Then another flash of heat had me gasping for air and pulling off my coat.
“Okay, lady, I can see you need some help,” said Marlene, drawing my attention back to her. “So if you don’t mind, I’ll just be taking Queenie here before you …”
My growl cut her off in midinsult. Like hell you’re taking that poor dog out of my sight, I thought, staring Marlene down. I didn’t realize that I’d moved, backing my human client into a corner, until I heard another voice from behind me.
“Excuse me, Dr. Barrow—I heard something, do you need assistance?” I whirled, and there was Pia, our veterinary assistant in training. Like me, Pia had the lycanthropy virus. Unlike me, she’d started out life as a tame wolf. Malachy Knox, my boss, had been tinkering with the virus and experimented on her, and now she was more human than I was: Unlike me, Pia was unable to shift back into her original form.
Right now, I took in the fact of her surprise, her fear and alarm, without quite processing what it was that was causing her reaction. “Dr. Barrow, are you all right?” Her soft, brown, pixie-cut hair stood