Spirit’s Oath(14)

“Mistress?” Durn’s question was soft in the dark. “Why are you so angry?”

“Because people are idiots,” Miranda answered. “We’re getting out of here tomorrow.”

“Yes, mistress,” Durn said, his voice relieved. “I don’t like this place at all. It makes you angry.”

“The place is fine,” Miranda said. “It’s the people.”

Durn rumbled at that, and Miranda pushed him gently back to sleep. Her own rest was harder to find, however. Tima knocked at her door a few hours later, but Miranda ignored her. She didn’t want to talk to anyone. Eventually, her sister left, but Miranda still couldn’t sleep. The more she thought about this situation, the angrier she became, and not just at her parents for putting her through something like this. She was angry at Martin. She hated his superior looks, his giant house full of dead animals, and especially his smaller house full of living ones. That thought brought her back to the ghosthound. She’d nearly forgotten him in the shock of discovering her parents had sold her out, but now that she’d remembered him, she could think of nothing else. Whatever Martin said, he was abusing that ghosthound. Capturing and keeping such an obviously intelligent animal was wrong no matter how nice the cage. That thought gave her no rest, and when the sky outside her window began to turn gray with the predawn, Miranda put on the simplest dress her mother had packed and snuck into the hall.

This early, the house was still asleep, and Miranda was able to slip out easily. She crossed the gardens, shivering as the dew soaked through the ridiculous cloth slippers her mother had packed instead of sensible boots. The door to the zoo house was locked, but a quick word from Durn had the latch up and out of the way in under a minute. The animals woke as she passed, and Miranda spoke to each of them, but without a spirit to act as mediator, only the enormous red cat was intelligent enough to answer, and it only asked her when food was coming. Satisfied that at least these animals were not being abused, Miranda put them out of her mind and focused on her real objective.

The ghosthound was sleeping when she entered, his patterns moving in sluggish circles. Miranda moved forward very slowly and opened her spirit just a fraction. “Ghosthound,” she whispered.

The hound moved like lightning. One moment it was seemingly asleep, the next its front leg was through the cage, slashing an inch from her face. Miranda jumped back with a yelp, and the ghosthound growled, dragging its front leg back into the cage. Pressed against the wall, Miranda forced her gasping lungs to breathe normally. On the other side of the room, the ghosthound gave her a disgusted look and sat back on its haunches.

“Ghosthound,” Miranda said again when she was sure her voice wouldn’t quiver. “Do you understand me?”

The ghosthound’s expression didn’t change.

“I know you can hear me,” Miranda said. “I understand you’re angry about being caged, but if you talk, I can help you.”

The hound’s ears flicked forward, and Miranda smiled, but then the dog began washing its front feet, and Miranda felt her hopes drop. The ghosthound was responding to the sound of her voice like any animal would. Maybe she’d imagined the intelligence she’d seen earlier, or maybe Martin was right. Maybe it was smart, but only smart as a dog, not a sentient creature.

“Please,” Miranda said again. “I’m a Spiritualist. I am sworn to help spirits who are being abused, and I think you are one of them. I’m on your side. Talk to me, if you can. Help me understand how I can help you.”

She sat there, waiting, but the dog just continued his unhurried washing. After five minutes, Miranda heaved a deep sigh and turned to leave. If the dog weren’t intelligent, maybe it really would get used to life here once it saw that it had regular food. That would make things less complicated, at least, and her life was certainly complicated enough at the moment. But when she reached the entrance to the little hall leading back to the other cages, a deep, growling voice stopped her in her tracks.

“If you break the cage, I promise to let you live.”

Miranda whirled around. The ghosthound was sitting as before, but he was no longer washing his paws. He was staring at her, his orange eyes bright and knowing. Under such intense scrutiny, Miranda had the overwhelming urge to drop her gaze, but she refused to be intimidated. After all, the dog was the one in the cage.

“You’ve got a rock tied to your soul,” the hound continued, his lips creeping up over his yellow teeth as he spoke. “A big one, well big enough to crush this metal wall. Let me out and I promise to spare you. My fight is with the dark-haired man who smells like powder and hidden fear.”