what the hell is going on here.” The little dog now looked like one of those new hybrids—Peagle, or a Pekauser. In another half hour, I supposed, it would look like a Pekinwolf, and then it wouldn’t have any Peke in it at all.
“All right, now,” Malachy said, cutting into the din. “Now, have you all written down your names on the list?”
We looked at Pia, who hurried back behind the desk like a dog scrambling back to its den. “I think most of them signed in,” she said in a tremulous voice.
“We need all of you to sign your name,” said Malachy, and the clients began to reshuffle themselves into a line in front of Pia.
I leaned in to Malachy, who smelled of antiseptic and medicine, and, underneath, of simian power and potential rage. I touched the moonstone, which I was wearing over a layer of silk underwear that looked like a turtleneck, but under my sweater and lab coat. “What’s going on with her?”
“I have no idea, the ridiculous girl won’t let me take a blood sample.” Malachy half turned his back to me and quickly palmed something, which he popped into his mouth.
I had a flash of her, gazing up at the full moon with abject misery, unable to shift into wolf form. “Can’t you do something for her? So that she can change, the way I do?”
Malachy narrowed his eyes. “That was never the goal,” he said sharply. “We want the cells to achieve a new stability.”
From the front desk, there was a yelp of surprise. The queue stared as Pia stared at Malachy, quivering with emotion. “You mean … you mean you did this to me on purpose?” Her voice rose on the last word, and I could have sworn that her spiky, light brown hair began to bristle. “You made it so I couldn’t change?”
“Pia, this is not the time or the place to discuss such matters.” Malachy’s voice was severe, and ordinarily Pia would have cringed and acquiesced. Today, however, she narrowed her eyes.
“Just tell me this. Can you fix me? Can you give me a shot or something so I can turn back?”
The clients were listening, and I heard murmurs: What did she mean, turn back? He does terrible experiments, you know. I’ve heard he killed his own mother for parts.
For the first time, I realized that dogs weren’t the only ones changing. It wasn’t as apparent, but there seemed to be something a little more brutish, a little less civilized about the way Jerome was shouldering Marlene out of the way. Perhaps it was just my imagination, but it did seem as if Marlene and the other women were looking shiftier and more suspicious than usual. Northsiders tended to take a lot in stride, but mutating lapdogs was pushing this crowd’s limits. Kayla, in particular, was looking at me with narrowed eyes. “What’s this all about? What did he do to her?”
I ignored her. “Pia,” I began, but Pia kept her gaze trained on Malachy.
“Tell me,” she said.
Mal shook his head, so slightly that it was hardly a movement. He almost sounded regretful as he said, “No. I can’t reverse the process.”
With a howl of fury, Pia launched herself over the desk. Standing in front of Malachy, shaking with rage, she said. “I used to think I loved you. I thought I loved you more than my own mother. I thought you did what you did—I thought you were trying to help me. But I was just a test subject, wasn’t I?”
Malachy calmly reached into his jacket pocket. If he was surprised by Pia’s declaration of love, he didn’t show it by so much as a flicker of emotion. “I refuse to discuss anything with you if you’re going to have a tantrum, Pia.”
“Please,” she said, sounding like a wounded child. “Just tell me. Did I mean anything to you? Anything at all?” A single, fat tear slid down her cheek, and she brought her hand up to wipe it away, then stared at the moisture on her fingertips. I had never seen her cry before.
Malachy looked at the clients, then back to Pia. “I’ve already said all I’m prepared to on the subject.” Despite his cool demeanor, he was nervously fingering something in his pocket; his pills, I realized. He was holding the vial the way a child might hold a favorite toy, for comfort.
“Oh, you have, have you?” At first, I thought she was going to hit him, or