Theo sprang up savagely and came half across the room. At the same instant, Eggs grasped what a rhyme was. “Fed, instead, bed, wed!” he shouted, rolling about with glee. I stared into Theo’s gray-green glare and at his pleated lip showing the fangs beneath it and prayed to heaven. Very slowly and carefully, I rolled a piece of cheese off the sofa toward him. Theo swung away from it and stalked back to the window. “My hint is bedspread, Lady!” Eggs shouted.

Hugh, meanwhile, calmly took his cheese as deftly and gently as any hunting dog and sprang up onto the sofa beside me, where he stood with his head down, chewing with small bites to make the cheese last. “Now you’ve done it, Hugh!” I said, looking nervously at Theo’s raked-up back and at the sharp outline of Annie beyond him.

“Thread, head, watershed, bread!” bawled Eggs. I realized he was drunk. His face was flushed, and his eyes glittered. He had been putting back quantities of “juice” ever since he first showed me the kitchen. “Do I get to marry you now, Lady?” he asked soulfully.

Before I could think what to reply, Hugh moved across like lightning and bit Eggs on his nearest large folded knee. He jumped clear even quicker, as Eggs surged to his feet, and streaked off to join Theo on the veranda. I heard Theo snap at him.

Eggs took an uncertain step that way, then put his hand to his face. “What is this?” he said. “This room is chasing its tail.” It was clear the “juice” had caught up with him.

“I think you’re drunk,” I said.

“Drink,” said Eggs. “I must get a drink from the faucet. I am dying. It is worse than being remade.” And he went blundering and crashing off into the windowless room.

I jumped up and went after him, sure that he would do untold damage bumping into cauldron or candle. But he wove his way through the medley of displays as only a drunk man can, avoiding each one by a miracle, and reached the kitchen when I was only halfway through the room. The hum of the crystal apparatus held me back. It dragged at my very skin. I had still only reached the cauldron when there was an appalling splintering crash from the kitchen, followed by a hoarse male scream.

I do not remember how I got to the kitchen. I only remember standing in the doorway, looking at Eggs kneeling in the remains of the glass table. He was clutching at his left arm with his right hand. Blood was pulsing steadily between his long fingers and making a pool on the glass-littered floor. The face he turned to me was so white that he looked as if he were wearing greasepaint. “What will you do, Lady?” he said.

Do? I thought. I’m a vet. I can’t be expected to deal with humans! “For goodness’ sake, Eggs,” I snapped at him. “Stop this messing about and get me the Master! Now. This instant!”

I think he said, “And I thought you’d never tell me!” But his voice was so far from human by then it was hard to be sure. His body boiled about on the floor, surging and seething and changing color. In next to a second the thing on the floor was a huge gray wolf, with its back arched and its jaws wide in agony, pumping blood from a severed artery in its left foreleg.

At least I knew what to do with that. But before I could move, the door to the outside slid open to let in the great head and shoulders of Annie. I backed away. The look in those light, blazing eyes said: “You are not taking my mate like she did.”

Here the chiming got into my head and proved to be the ringing of the telephone. My bedside clock said 5:55 A.M. I was quite glad to be rid of that dream as I fumbled the telephone up in the dark. “Yes?” I said, hoping I sounded as sleepy as I felt.

The voice was a light, high one, possibly a man’s. “You won’t know me,” it said. “My name is Harrison Ovett, and I’m in charge of an experimental project involving wild animals. We have a bit of an emergency on here. One of the wolves seems to be in quite a bad way. I’m sorry to call you at such an hour, but—”

“It’s my job,” I said, too sleepy to be more than proud of the professional touch. “Where are you? How do I get to your project?”

I think he hesitated slightly. “It’s a bit complicated to explain,” he said. “Suppose I come and pick you up? I’ll be outside in twenty minutes.”

“Right,” I said. And it was not until I put the phone down that I remembered my dream. The name was the same, I swear. I would equally swear to the voice. This is why I have spent the last twenty minutes feverishly dictating this account of my dream. If I get back safely, I’ll erase it. But if I don’t—well, I am not sure what anyone can do if Annie’s torn my throat out, but at least someone will know what became of me. Besides, they say forewarned is forearmed. I have some idea what to expect.

Anne Smith hated having mumps. She had to miss two school outings. Her face came up so long and purple that both her parents laughed at her when they were at home. And she was left alone rather a lot, because her parents could not afford to leave their jobs.

The first day was terrible. Anne’s temperature went up and up, and the higher it got, the more hungry she became. By the time her father got off work early and came home, she was starving.

“But people aren’t supposed to get hungry with a temperature!” Mr. Smith said, grinning at the sight of Anne’s great purple face.

“I don’t care. I want five sausages and two helpings of chips and lots of ketchup,” said Anne. “Quickly, or I’ll die!”

So Mr. Smith raced out to the chip shop. But when he came back, Anne could not open her mouth far enough to get a bite of sausage. She could not chew the chips. And the ketchup stung the inside of her face like nettles.

“I told you so,” said Mr. Smith.

Anne, who was usually a most reasonable person, burst into tears and threw all the food on the floor. “I’m so hungry!” she yelled. “It’s torture!” Of course it hurt to shout, too.

Mr. Smith was reasonable, too, except when he had to clean ketchup off the carpet. He lost his temper and shouted, “Do that again, and I’ll spank you, mumps or not!”

“I hate you,” said Anne. “I hate everything.” And she sat and glowered, which is the only way to be angry with mumps.

“I think she’s got grumps as well as mumps,” Mrs. Smith said when she got in from work.

It did seem to be so. For the next few days, nothing pleased Anne. She tried wandering about the house—very slowly, because moving jiggled her great mauve face—looking for things to do. Nothing seemed interesting. She tried playing with Tibby, the cat, but Tibby was boring. She tried watching videos, but they were either boring or they made her laugh, and laughing hurt. She tried reading, but that was the same, and her fat, swollen chin kept getting in the way. Everything was boring. Mrs. Harvey next door had kindly agreed to come in and give Anne lunch. But it did not seem to occur to Mrs. Harvey that things like crusty pizza and stewed rhubarb are the last things you want to eat with mumps.

Anne told her parents all this when they got home. The result was that her parents stopped saying, “It’s the way you feel with mumps.” Instead, they said, “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Anne, do stop grumbling!” every time Anne opened her mouth.

Anne took herself and her great purple face back to bed, where she lay staring at the shape of her legs under the bedclothes and hating her parents. I’m seriously ill, she thought, and nobody cares!

The next minute she had invented Enna Hittims.

It all happened in a flash, but when she thought about it later, Anne supposed it was because the shape of her legs under the bedspread looked like a landscape with two long hills in it and a green jungly valley in between. The long wrinkle running down from her left foot looked like a gorge where a river might run. Even through her crossness, Anne seemed to be wondering what it would be like to be small enough to explore those hills and that valley.