The wall was covered in large, shiny white tiles. They looked a little dingy, but she was not sure if they were yellowed by all the cigarette smoke and dust that had drifted up or whether it was an effect of the light from the dim bulb high in the ceiling. There was no doubt, though, that the wall was solid. There were no hidden doors or openings in it. Too bad there wasn't a brighter light she could bring up to examine it by. Mrs. Macready ran her hands over the surface and examined it closely. On the floor were puddles of water. She stepped through them in her high leather boots. Leading away from the wall were wet paw marks on the tiled floor. It hadn't been raining that day, not in London. There was a detail in the report that leapt out of her memory. The witness had said the wolves were covered in snow.

It had been fifteen minutes earlier that she sat in the office of her supervisor, Eliphas Dunleavy of the Bureau of Magical Enforcement in the Ministry of Magic.

She had said, "Let me get this straight. A pack of wolves comes spilling out of a wall as if it was no more solid than fog, in a corner of the Down Street Underground station. And you want me to investigate. Really, isn't this a job for the animal control people?"

He had that placid, patient grin that told her he was willing to let her vent her objections but he would have none of them. It was a direct order and she would come around.

"I assure you that no one could be more suitable, my dear Mrs. Macready." This meant, she knew, that he could not be bothered to trouble any of the men in Criminal Investigations to look into such a trivial matter. She had to admit that it was not, on the face of it, a criminal matter. The wolves had disappeared somewhere in the station and no one had apparently been harmed. In the back of her mind she had already formed the certain opinion that the wolves were an elaborate visual illusion. It had to be some sort of childish prank.

The passers-by seemed to pay scant attention to the middle-aged lady dressed in a long, black leather coat examining the wall. They were intent on going down the nearby escalator to the Circle Line train platform or coming out, headed for the street exit. As metropolitan urbanites they knew better than to show interest in a possibly eccentric woman exhibiting odd behavior. Gradually, Mrs. Macready became aware that she was being watched. Someone was standing ten paces or so behind her.

She turned to look. He was a young man in his early twenties wearing gold-rimmed spectacles. He had on a thin beige suit, as one might expect for a summer garden party. Mrs. Macready wondered if he didn't feel chilly. He had an expression of agonized indecision. His body seemed to shift weight in different directions as if he couldn't decide where to move next. Mrs. Macready didn't know whether to laugh or feel sorry for him. As she fixed a stare on him he seemed increasingly anxious. Finally he stepped forward.

"Is there some reason—that is to say, would you have some reason—." He coughed a couple of times unconvincingly. "Is there any particular reason you would be interested in that wall, as you clearly are?"

"Oh, no, it's a tile wall like any other." Mrs. Macready saw no reason to be helpful. "What brings you to it?"

He paused to consider whether he should be open and honest. "I'm, I'm a freelance newspaper writer and an editor phoned me and offered me a tip."

"I see. What sort of tip?"

"He said a person saw something peculiar. He saw—." The young man paused and continued in a barely audible voice, "—wolves running out of the wall."

"Well, no one would believe a story like that, would they?" Mrs. Macready replied and turned to leave.

"Now look here! I've told you what brought me down here but you haven't explained yourself at all."

"Have you considered that I'm perhaps an animal control officer with the London Metropolitan Wildlife Board?"

"Are you?" He seemed very glad to have discovered a shared interest in this impossible story with some official body.

"No, I just made it up. I do wish you'd stop pestering me."

At that moment her attention was distracted by the sound of nails clicking on the hard floor. Through an opening she could see a gray blur of canine bodies flashing past. There were perhaps six to eight of them.

"Good gracious, wolves," the man blurted out, unnecessarily. He stared in disbelief at the empty space they had passed through.

The Down Street Station was a connecting point between two subway lines. The sign above the opening indicated that the wolves were in the passageway leading to the westbound platform of the Central Line. The bantering forgotten, Mrs. Macready started the pursuit without a word. The young newspaperman, however, was not about to be left behind. She considered the option of immobilizing him but for some reason she refrained. Perhaps the prospect of company pleased her. Perhaps she had a secret need for an audience. In any case, she was grateful that there was a short lull between trains and the area was empty of the public.

The wolves were already out of sight but Mrs. Macready did not slow down. Part way down the passage, on the left, there was a metal door reading, 'Entry to authorized personnel only'. Mrs. Macready came to a halt.

He was surprised how quickly a woman of her age could run. He caught up to her, slightly breathless. "Well, they can't have gone this way," he pointed out. "Wolves can't open doors. Besides, it's locked." He tried turning the knob.

Mrs. Macready pulled out a wooden wand. She stared at the door and waved the wand slowly in front of her. The door wavered as if it were a mirage and disappeared. A branching passage was revealed. It was dimly lit and the walls were bare concrete unlike the tiled walls in the rest of the station. It had the look of age and neglect. There were none of the bright posters and advertisements jostling each other for the public's attention as elsewhere.

"This is an abandoned section," Mrs. Macready explained in answer to his unspoken question.

"But how did you do that?"

"The door was only an illusion. It's magic."

The young man had his notebook out and was furiously scribbling away. At this point his pencil came off the paper in mid-sentence. "No, seriously."

"I'm being perfectly serious. I always am when I talk about magic." She turned to look at him steadily.

This was enough for him to cope with for now. He didn't think to ask why there was an illusion of a door.

Mrs. Macready was forming an explanation for the unasked question. She was going to say that there were places in the world, close by the familiar paths that ordinary people tread, which have been chosen by wizards and witches for their own use. They were hidden and protected by magic charms to discourage intrusions.

As to why wizards would be interested in a bit of abandoned subway she knew that there were magicians who felt a particular affinity to tunnels and underground spaces. They could sense the—what did they call it?—pulse of the Earth, the waves of energy that travel through the ground. They came down here to meditate and renew their connections with the subterranean world.

But all she said was, "No time to explain. We're falling behind." There was something else she thought of. The wolves had not been fooled by the illusion either.

They sprinted into the abandoned passage. The young man was trying to take photographs with a small camera he had slung over his shoulder. Breathing heavily, he managed to gasp, "My name is Denis, by the way. Denis with one 'n'."

"Delighted to make your acquaintance."

Denis stayed close to her but was happy to let her lead the way. He was still running with a notebook in one hand and a pencil in the other.

The lights in the ceiling had evidently mostly burned out. There was only one giving an orange glow some fifty yards ahead. Mrs. Macready held up her wand. Its tip gave a faint bluish glow. It was only enough to reveal any obstacles in their path.

Mrs. Macready thought out loud. "They wouldn't have stayed in the public area. This is the only way they could have gone. But I don't think there's much chance we can catch them now. They see much better than we do in this light and they run much faster on four legs." She came to a halt and paused to listen. There was a distant, regular metallic rhythm. "Sounds like they're going down stairs. Let's check that door." They advanced to a door marked 'Emergency stairs'. It was unlocked.

"I don't see how they could turn the door knobs," Denis complained. "These are real doors, aren't they?" Mrs. Macready shushed him. They entered the concrete stairwell. Denis's first steps clanged loudly.

"Hold it," Mrs. Macready ordered. She pulled out her magic wand, paused to concentrate for twenty seconds and then restored the wand to her belt. "That was a noise dampening spell." They resumed their descent.

Denis's face had a troubled grimace. "There's something I'm not catching. Are you speaking in some sort of code, or in metaphors? Did you just say, 'a spell'? And is that stick you're waving, a—."

"It's a magic wand. Yes." Mrs. Macready felt a twinge of regret that she couldn't give Denis a fuller explanation but there wasn't time.

At the bottom of the stairwell was a door marked, 'Warning: track level'. Denis cautiously opened the door. They stepped out beside the subway tracks.

"There's no sign of them," Denis whispered as loudly as he dared. "Are you sure they've come this way?" He was more than half hoping that she would give up their pursuit before they—well, before they caught up to anything, especially anything with sharp fangs and powerful jaws.

It took their eyes some moments to adjust to the low light level. There were only enough regularly spaced lights to allow maintenance workers to make their periodic inspections. The air was stagnant and warm. Denis began to feel the oppressiveness of the dark. Without being aware of it he was lowering his head as he walked, as if the ceiling were slowly pressing down on them. For a moment, Denis could imagine that this round tunnel was made by some sort of subterranean burrowing animal. The only comforting thing about the darkness to Denis was that it was genuinely dark and there were no glowing wolf eyes watching them.

Mrs. Macready looked around and answered Denis's question. "I'm almost certain that they don't intend to go any further. This is just the sort of place they would feel comfortable in. It's warm and dark and enclosed. They would use this as a home base. There's not much likelihood of being troubled by curious intruders here."

Denis gestured in exasperation. "Well, naturally. That's because sane people don't go chasing after a pack of wolves." A thought occurred to him. "Say, these aren't normal wolves, are they?"

"No, I suspect they're werewolves. Shape-shifters, to be more accurate."

"How do you know so much about werewolves? Did you study them at school?"

"Not especially but they're part of the Magical Creatures class," Mrs. Macready said offhandedly. "Let's not discuss that now. I don't think we need to go any further. I don't really like the odds."

As if this was a signal, a crescendo of howling erupted all around them and echoed off the walls and floors.

"We're surrounded," squeaked Denis in a voice higher-pitched and more panic-stricken than he had intended.

"I think we had better leave," said Mrs. Macready, with some anxiety.

They retreated the way they came. Immediately the howling died off to be replaced by a rhythmic drumming on metal. Mrs. Macready advanced with long but unhurried strides.

"Shouldn't we be running?" Dennis ventured to ask.

"Why? Do you think we can outrun them?"

Dennis abruptly stopped as if he were digging his heels into the floor. Ahead of them a tall figure was blocking the passage.

"What is that thing?" To Denis, who had taken classes in ancient mythology, the first thing that came to mind was Anubis, the jackal-headed god of the Egyptian underworld. It was fitting at least to encounter it in the Underground. The creature stood on two legs, but they weren't human legs; they terminated in a configuration of ankle and paw like a wolf. The torso was almost human. The arms were long with human-like hands, as far as Denis could tell. The head had sharply pointed ears and a long muzzle. No, he thought, these were not ordinary wolves. The thing had to be seven feet tall. It stepped from side to side as it awaited them, as if to show that it was not some statue.

"Now I know how they opened the doors. Opposable thumbs." Denis shook his head in disbelief. There seemed something unsteady about the creature's stance. "It's not used to being on two legs," he thought and for a moment he almost chortled in delight. Then he realized that he was grasping at straws.

Mrs. Macready walked to within fifteen feet of the creature. It stood, barely moving. At times its eyes caught the light and turned into luminous yellow ovals that hovered ghostlike in the darkness. Mrs. Macready lifted her wand. A crack of blue light emanated from the tip, arced across the space and struck the werewolf in the center of its chest. It did not register any effect at all. Denis gasped.

"Magic doesn't seem to work on it," Mrs. Macready said, her grim determination unfazed. She slipped the wand back into her belt.

The werewolf ran its long red tongue over its teeth. It snarled in anticipation, a low reverberant sound that sent Denis's heart to his throat. Denis stood transfixed as if he had forgotten how to make his muscles move. The creature strode forward in anticipation of finishing its kill. On reaching Mrs. Macready it bent down, and with a human sense of drama it opened its jaws wide to show the humans the last sight they would see in this world: its magnificent set of sharp, glistening teeth. Mrs. Macready whipped her Walther semi-automatic pistol out of her hip holster and fired two shots down the wolf's throat before the beast toppled backwards.

"Werewolves. They're so stupid." She grabbed Denis's sleeve with her left hand and they ran.

Behind them a growling pack was coalescing out of the darkness. Mrs. Macready unloaded the rest of the clip into the surging mass of hairy gray bodies. The flashes of gunfire in the dim tunnel and the loudness of the shots in that confined space nearly drove Denis into a disoriented panic. Luckily, all he had to do was run.

They reached the stairwell door and charged up the stairs. Looking below them a werewolf was opening the door. Mrs. Macready fired some shots at the opening. She didn't know if she hit any lupine bodies but a couple of bullets clanged off the metal and forced the wolf to close the door.

"Magic doesn't work on the werewolves but doors are another matter." Mrs. Macready brandished her wand again. Within seconds the door was bathed in a shimmering blue light. The glow lingered for some moments as she continued her spell. When it faded the witch merely muttered, "That should hold them until they can tear the door off its hinges, which I have no doubt they'll do."

"I say, how did we get from a situation where we were chasing the wolves to one where they're chasing us? This can't be right!"

Mrs. Macready glared at him. "It all makes perfect sense. At first they were hoping to elude us altogether. But we came too close to their den. They don't want us telling other humans and bringing them back here."

"So now I suppose they're going to kill us, is that it?"

Mrs. Macready glared at him again but only momentarily. They were both panting from the effort of running up the stairs. There was a sharp clatter on the steps below. "Damn," said Denis, "I've dropped my camera." It did not take him long to decide not to go back to retrieve it.

Back at the top of the emergency stairwell the illusory door beckoned them from a distance. Even as they ran in that direction they could hear another door behind them opening.

"They're coming up another stairway."

They reached the ordinary part of the tube station. "What we need is a door, and not an illusory door. Can't you, you know, make one appear?" Denis pleaded.

"Out of thin air?" Mrs. Macready asked, incredulously. "I deal in magic not in wishful thinking." She had that schoolmistress tone that she so often heard in herself and which made her cringe, but she could not help the way the words flew from her lips.

"Well, I was just asking."

They stood and waited. Never had Denis been so glad to see the normal interior of a tube station. It was an immense relief to be back in the light. The passengers flowed past in the corridor and spared barely a glance towards them. The minutes passed. There was no sign of the werewolves. "Could they have given up the pursuit?" Mrs. Macready wondered. Perhaps they were counting on no one believing her story. But then they knew she was a witch not a layperson. They could be seeking some other refuge. Mrs. Macready made a move towards the platform for the Circle Line train southbound.

Denis calmed down enough to give thought to his journalistic work. He was eager to get answers from Mrs. Macready. "So you're something of a—." His face screwed up from the effort of accepting the outlandish. "A witch."

"That's the common terminology, yes."