Rachel Aaron: Spirit's Oath

“Their fur is softer than anything you’ve ever touched,” he said with a wistful sigh. “I could make a fortune if we could get a farm going, but they don’t breed well in the heat this far south. Such a pity, but these two were more of an experiment, anyway. No real harm done, and they make such a nice addition to my collection.”

Miranda bit her tongue. She didn’t approve of caging anything, but while the foxes looked hot, they had food and water and seemed generally healthy. So she kept her comments to herself as Martin led her to the next cage, which held a pair of black armored pigs. After that there were grass lions, a forest panther, some sort of feathered lizard from the southern rain forest, and an enormous red-golden stripped cat that Martin claimed was some kind of crossbreed that had never been successfully created until now.

“I’m the only one in the world to own one,” Martin said proudly. “I’m thinking of naming it Hapter’s Cat; what do you think?”

“It would certainly be a telling name,” Miranda said, not bothering to hide the bite in her voice. She was getting awfully tired of this tour. “Is that all, then?”

“One more,” Martin said, his smile morphing to a secretive grin. “I’ve saved the best for last.”

They were at the end of the building, so Miranda didn’t know where this “best” would be until Martin turned down a little hall behind the last cage she hadn’t noticed until that moment. The short hall led into a room that was taller than the rest of the building. It was obviously a new addition, built of much thicker stone. The sides were a foot thick at least, and a great wall of iron bars ran straight across the room’s middle, dividing it neatly in half. On Miranda’s side, the floor was tiled and set with padded benches; on the other side, inside the bars, the floor was covered in a thin layer of straw that had been worn to chaff by the enormous creature pacing the cage’s edge.

Miranda had never seen anything like it. At first glance, it looked like a dog, but no dog was ever that huge. The creature was enormous, fifteen feet at least from the tip of its broad, black nose to the point of its tail. Its eyes were orange as pumpkins and nearly as large, and they followed her with murderous intent, but most amazing of all was the creature’s coat. Its fur was as long as her index finger, and for the most part, it was a cloudy silver, but streaking across its pelt in curling patterns was a lighter, pure silver that moved as Miranda watched, the color drifting across the animal’s fur like dappled moonlight. The moving patterns sped up as she got closer, the silver marks flashing so quickly they reminded Miranda of a snowstorm, an impression that was only heightened by the beast’s swift, graceful movements as it stalked back and forth along the bars of its cage, its head down, ready to strike. When its orange eyes met Miranda’s, the creature lifted its lip, showing a wall of foot-long yellow teeth.

She took a step back on instinct and ran straight into Martin.

“No need to be afraid,” he said, catching her shoulders. “The bars are reinforced. I had them specially made so that even the ghosthound’s famous strength couldn’t break them.”

“Ghosthound?” Miranda whispered. That was a ghosthound? She’d heard of them, the enormous monsters that ruled the snowy continent at the top of the world. In the stories they were slavering beasts, huge and ugly, all claws and teeth for eating bad children, but the creature in front of her was beautiful. Beautiful, graceful, and deadly as the blizzard it resembled. Looking again at the swirling patterns, she understood for the first time why they were called ghosthounds. The shifting silver-gray made the dog look otherworldly.

“No other man in the world boasts a living ghosthound,” Martin said, his voice quivering with pride. “I have a few skins in the gallery upstairs, but it’s not the same. Their patterns stop moving when they die, so you don’t get the full effect. The only way to truly appreciate a ghosthound is to see one yourself. Took me almost three years to get a live one. Isn’t he magnificent?”

“He is,” Miranda said, though not for the reasons Martin mentioned. The ghosthound’s eyes were on Martin now, and they shone with such hatred it took her breath away. Unlike the other animals, which had looked hot or uncomfortable or simply bored in their cages, this animal looked furious. Usually, a spirit’s intelligence and power were directly related to its size. Animals were different, though. With the exception of humans, animals tended to be relatively less intelligent than their size said they should be. Spiritualist scholars postulated this was because they had to use some of their power maintaining a living body. It was a trade–off—a horse tended to be markedly less intelligent than a rock of the same size, but where the rock was stuck in one place and spent most of its time asleep, the horse stayed awake and could go where it pleased. Looking at the ghosthound’s eyes, though, Miranda couldn’t help but see the intelligence shining behind them. Whatever this ghosthound was, he was no simple animal like the others. The deep hatred in his eyes could only grow in a thinking mind.

Martin must have seen it, too, because he grabbed Miranda’s arm and pulled her back a step. “Best not to get too close to the cage,” he said, his voice slightly less smug than before. “I haven’t broken him to human company yet, and even trapped behind the bars, his reach would surprise you. That, and he’s very, very fast.”

As though to prove him right, the ghosthound chose that moment to throw himself against the bars. He moved so quickly Miranda’s eyes couldn’t follow. One moment he was pacing, the next the bars crashed as he slammed into them, his front claws slicing out into the air several feet in front of the cage.

The noise made them both jump. Martin recovered first, straightening his jacket with a glare. “I’m going to tighten those bars in a few days so he can’t fit his paw through,” he said. “Come, Miss Lyonette. I believe it’s time for dinner, and you don’t want to see that creature eat.”

Shaken by the ghosthound’s speed, Miranda let Martin lead her back past the other cages. But as they stepped out into the gardens, the fresh air cleared her head, and she turned on her host with new fury. “You shouldn’t keep that ghosthound caged,” she said. “He’s intelligent.”

Martin laughed. “No more intelligent than my hunting dogs, I assure you. He’s an animal, and a very well treated one. I take exquisite care of all my treasures. Once he calms down a little, I’ll move him to a larger enclosure.”

“He’s not going to calm down,” Miranda said, glaring at him as they walked across the lawn toward the house. “He hates you.”

“Ghosthounds hate everyone,” Martin said with a shrug. “He’ll come around once he realizes how good he has it here. As I said, he’s as smart as my hunting dogs, and animals are much better at recognizing a good deal than humans. In a month he’ll be docile as a puppy. You won’t even recognize him.”

Miranda doubted that very much, but they were entering the ballroom, so she was forced to hold her anger for the moment.

Martin delivered her to her family and took his leave. Miranda was surprised to see her mother smiling as he left. She’d been bracing for a lecture about running around unchaperoned with a man, especially one who didn’t come from a good family, but Lady Lyonette looked almost pleased as she laced her arm through Miranda’s and led the way up the stairs to dress for dinner.

As to be expected for such a large party, dinner was a grand affair. The dining room was as large as a normal mansion’s ballroom, and the long white-cloth-covered tables filled every inch. Miranda wasn’t sure what her family had done to deserve it, but the Lyonettes were seated in places of honor beside their host at the very first table at the front. Miranda was sandwiched between her mother and her elder sister with Alyssa thankfully confined to the far end. Her father and Martin sat together at the table’s head, and they spent most of dinner deep in a conversation that must have pleased Lord Lyonette very much, judging by his uncharacteristic smile. The servants brought out seven lovely courses, but Miranda was so worried she didn’t taste a bite. Her eyes never left her father, and the more she watched, the more anxious she became. Anything that made her father that happy couldn’t be good.