Inside it was pitch-black, but even so Charles could tell that it was far deeper than the two-foot-by-three-foot roof would have indicated. Someone had burrowed into the side of the hill. All of this he sensed from the way the chamber echoed, not from anything he could see. Even a wolf needed some light to see by.
The air smelled fresh, so there was either another entrance or some sort of ventilation. Charles couldn't smell anything dangerous, but, under the circumstances, he wasn't willing to trust his nose alone to warn him of danger.
The fae lord solved the light problem by throwing a ball of glowing magic through the doorway and into the darkness within. It stopped before it hit the dirt floor, hovering about three feet off the ground six or eight feet ahead of them, lighting a space that looked as if it had begun life as the basement of a large building - maybe part of an old military building. A large number of the islands in Boston Harbor had had military installations at one time or another over the last four hundred years.
"Who's there?" whispered a slurred voice as they stood just past the entryway. It was such a soft voice, coming from an empty room - all of them froze in place.
"Help me, please." Her voice was so quiet a human would never have heard her. The effect on Beauclaire was electric.
"Lizzie!" he thundered, poised to run, head cocked trying to figure out where her voice came from. The room didn't have any doors, was barren of everything except a scattering of debris. It obviously did not hold Lizzie Beauclaire.
"Papa?" Her voice didn't get stronger; it sounded querulous and hopeless.
Isaac had been cautiously exploring the dark edges of the room, and he made a soft grunt to attract their attention. Behind a pile of rotted timbers, pipes, and broken granite blocks, what Charles had thought was just a dark shadow or more debris turned out to be a narrow cement stairway with holes and rusted metal fittings where there would once have been a handrail. One side, the side with the rusty fittings, ran along the wall of the room; the other was open.
Beauclaire, his light leading the way, scrambled down the stairs and left the rest to follow. Not the smartest idea in the world, thought Charles - but he understood. If it had been someone who belonged to him below, he'd have lost no time in getting to her, either.
The fae's ball of light revealed a room nearly half as big as the one above with a doorway on the far wall. The door was long gone and one of the uprights of the doorframe had tipped over and lay on the floor. Beauclaire stopped momentarily at the foot of the stairs: Lizzie had quit making noise. When he started forward again, his initial rush had slowed, and he moved cautiously, aiming for the open doorway because the subbasement was obviously empty.
Only it wasn't.
Charles paused, still six or eight steps from the bottom of the stairs. There was a scattering of fine gold sparks, like a constellation in miniature. "Pay attention," the witch had said.
He might not have, might not have noticed them if they hadn't moved. But once he did, they did a pretty good job of telling Charles a little something about the fae they were stalking.
The horned lord, if that was what it was, was big. The ceiling of the subbasement was nine, maybe ten feet high, and the little sparks started right at the top and took up a fair chunk of the corner of the room it stood in. He didn't get any details, but he knew it was there.
Charles wished he'd thought to ask Beauclaire what the horned lord looked like in its original shape. Even knowing whether it stood on two legs or four would have been useful. As it was, he was hoping for two - a four-legged creature that was big enough to brush the ceiling would be nearly elephant-sized.
Anna had stopped when he did, her stillness alert and watchful. Charles turned his head and nipped her shoulder lightly. When she looked at him he directed her toward Beauclaire, who was already halfway across the room.
The fae should have backup - and Anna didn't have a whole lot of experience in combat. Fighting something that she couldn't see wasn't the best way for her to gain more.
She gave him a puzzled look and then trotted off after the fae, while Charles continued more slowly down the last few stairs behind her. Isaac, aware that something was going on, stopped at the bottom and waited for Anna, then Charles, to go past him.
Charles bided his time, watching the hidden fae, trying to use the sparks to infer what it was doing. When Anna and Beauclaire passed it, it moved. Charles gathered himself, but the hidden creature stopped before it got close to Anna - the top part of it moving with a dizzy swirl of sparks.
He imagined that it had finally noticed the pair of werewolves, he and Isaac, focused on where it stood, though it should be invisible and had turned its head to watch them.
After a moment, the top part of the creature bent down and shook itself at him like an irritated moose - it was definitely paying attention to Isaac and him. Rather than jump from above and find himself impaled, Charles crept cautiously down the stairs until he stood just in front of Isaac, letting the other wolf see from his body language just where the enemy stood.
Isaac sank down into a crouch and took a couple of gliding leaps away, separating so that they could attack from different directions and also would be two targets instead of one.
There was an abrupt crash from the doorway that Anna and Beauclaire had disappeared into, and then came the broken sound of a woman sobbing. The mostly invisible fae moved again, swinging its head toward the noise, Charles thought. Then Anna appeared in the opening, and the fae rushed her.
But it wasn't as fast as Charles. He aimed low, relative to the size of the creature he was attacking, about three feet up. From the way it moved he was pretty sure it was bipedal - and that meant tendons. He hit something that felt like the front of a moose's hock and changed his bite mid-attack, letting his momentum pull him around so that his fangs cut through the joint horizontally as his body swung around until he was behind the creature. Then he set his jaw like a bulldog and hung on, digging into bone while he tore at the horned lord with his claws, reaching upward to see if he could find an important part to damage.
The fae creature howled, a wild, piercing whistling sound that was an odd combination of elk bugle and stallion scream, and when it did, air moved through the subbasement like a sea-fed storm hitting shore. Something that felt like a club hit him in the shoulder, and then Isaac leapt into the fray, striking higher than Charles had, perhaps hoping to knock it over. Beneath Charles, the fae creature swayed, but it didn't go down as Isaac found something to set his fangs into. His head rocked in a motion that told Charles he'd scored a chunk of muscle rather than bone. He was tearing it while he held on with front claws and raked with his hind legs like a cat.