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most wolves weren’t alphas, so if you chose one randomly from a litter, the odds were better than good that you’d wind up with a very submissive animal.
    Not the kind of pet people who breed wolves are looking for, even though nervous animals can be just as dangerous as bold ones. Sometimes more so.
    I knelt down in front of Pia’s cage and gave her my fingers to sniff. Her fur rippled in unvoiced agitation. “Hey, girl,” I said as her muzzle wrinkled in a snarl.
    Lilliana knelt down beside me. “That looks vicious, but it means back off, right?”
    “In dog-speak, she’s telling me she’s nervous rather than aggressive. Easy, girl, easy.” While I contemplated my next move, I heard a deep, mournful bark from the other side of the wall. It sounded like Duncan, waking up in recovery. Pia scrabbled in her cage, trying to back herself into the corner, and I breathed in deeply, catching a strong smell of antiseptic and the deeper, muskier scent of flesh and fear.
    I moved over to Brownie, opening his cage and caressing his big head. “You big lug,” I said, feeling guilty at the trusting look in the Lab’s big, dark eyes. Even if I wasn’t as clumsy as Sam, I was going to have to hurt Brownie. In order to get a bone marrow sample, you have to really screw the drill in to get to the deep tissue. Taking bone marrow is painful, even with a local. But there’s always a risk associated with giving general anesthesia, and Brownie wasn’t a youngster.
    “You know what,” I said to Lilliana. “Let’s move Brownie next door, so he won’t make any sound that upsets Pia.”
    Lilliana and I slipped the rope leash over Brownie’s head and walked him over to the smaller room across the hall. It took all of our strength to lift Brownie onto the table, and I waited for a moment to get my energy back before administering the local and getting the drill in place. Brownie was a big, fleshy boy, and I had to use my body weight as leverage. Once I knew I had the drill in deep enough, I inserted the syringe. “I’m sorry,” I said, as the dog whined deep in his throat.
    “We’re almost done,” said Lilliana, her tone almost hypnotically soothing. “Perfect, Abra.”
    I pulled the sample out and the dog snapped his head around toward me, then licked his mouth quickly as if he’d never really intended to bite.
    “I know, boy, I know you didn’t mean it.” I gave Brownie a last pat before walking around the operating table. I started to lay out glass slides on the instrument tray.
    Lilliana shook her head admiringly. “You were in and out. He didn’t have time to complain.”
    “I wish.”
    Lilliana watched as I placed a drop of blood on each of the slides I’d set out. When we were done, she helped me get Brownie down on the floor. “You know,” she said, “Malachy really does respect you.”
    “Are you joking? He just told me that he hired me because my husband is writing about werewolves. Excuse me,” I corrected myself, “Unwolves.”
    Lilliana touched my hand. “I know what he said, but his face told a different story.”
    “Mal said you’d studied some sort of face reading system?”
    Lilliana nodded. “It’s called FACS—the Facial Action Coding System. It’s basically an index of microexpressions that transcend cultural differences and slip out beneath conscious control. For example, when Malachy was talking about Sam, I saw a flicker of contempt. When he mentioned Ofer’s background in neuroscience, his face remained neutral. But when he talked to you, he smiled—just for a fraction of a second, but it was a real smile.”
    “Hmm,” I said as we reached the door to Ward B. “And what did his face reveal about you, I wonder.”
    Lilliana’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “I intimidate him, actually. Hey, I forgot to tell you about the man who came in earlier with a baby owl.”
    “You’re kidding!” I was just about to tell Lilliana about my encounter with the man and the owl on the