It bears repeating yet again, dear Reader, that the moon was full that night. It shone rather bloated and pallid, mid-heavens, and cast its sickly light upon all those unfortunate enough to be affected by it.

Yes, most of the curtains were drawn at Mansfield Park. But the moon heeded no satin, no cotton, no brocade barrier to wield its dire effect upon the mind, spirit, and body.

Mrs. Norris was all fired up. She had been made savage by her battle of the undead Egyptians, her sensitive and attuned life force churned up into a fighting frenzy. Which each moment she turned more and more beastly and lupine, until her teeth were heavy and sharp enough to gnaw through mummy bones. And eventually the roar and great howl of a fellow creature such as herself (coming from a mere ten feet away in an alcove) set her own nature into it final course of monthly transformation.

When Mrs. Norris heard the cry of the werewolf, she had no thought for who it was—who it could be. She merely rushed headlong toward it.

And as she ran, she turned.

When Henry Crawford braced himself for a mortal strike from Mr. Rushworth, he was taken quite aback to find another werewolf coming up on his other side. This one was slightly smaller, more grey and scruffy.

“Well, I’ll be d—d,” whispered Henry. “But—I am quite glad to see you! Mrs.—ahem—Norris? What a lovely evening.”

And without another word, Henry backed away, escaping quietly. He was quite safe indeed now. For, the two wolves had seen each other.

At first, they both froze, Mr. Rushworth’s portly brutish wolf stunned into amazement, and Mrs. Norris’s lesser creature startled into a yelp. Mr. Rushworth had forgotten Crawford completely, and now his fur stood on its hackles, because here before him was immediate competition.

The two wolves took only several breaths to size each other up while baring teeth and growling like all Hades. And in the next three breaths they were upon each other—a giant ball of fur and claws and hairy limbs, louder than all the cats of London.

Another moment and they had gone rolling and clawing and roaring out of the alcove, out the door of the ballroom, on and on, through the lobby and corridors, past the parlor with the crocodile, down the staircases past the kitchens, and out of the house and continued out into the wilderness of the moonlight-bathed night outside. . . .