It was better outside. The sun touched the highest branches of the trees and stained the buildings orange. I passed the locked entrance to the House’s underground Martyrium, dry grass crunching under my boots. The air remained blistering, oven-hot and thick. With luck, the humidity heralded a storm.

A Cat handler reclined in the shade of the stables. Sweat shone on her forehead and beaded her upper lip.

“I am to courier a report for Reverend Cyde,” I said.

She straightened, eyes narrowed. “Now?”

“She’ll be down in a minute.”

The handler, who I guessed was an Oblate despite her plain clothes, got up and dusted off the back of her trousers. I understood her suspicion. The use of the Cats was generally restricted to Heralds and Reverends, or Acolytes who worked in communication. I clearly did not fit into any of those categories.

“You’ve ridden one before?” she asked.

I shook my head.

“I’ll saddle Claws, then. He’s the easiest to control.”

The stable was largely empty; most of the Cats were with the retrieval cohort. Three animals remained; the handler approached the smallest.

Haqules, to use their proper name, were intimidating. They were as lithe as their smaller feline cousins, with eyes that saw as well in the dark as in daylight and excellent hearing. Adults stood shoulder height to humans, and a fully grown Cat’s head was as large as my entire torso. Their fur was coarse and variegated, their canines capable of puncturing iron. Although few other animals could slow a Haunt, prides of Cats tore them to pieces.

When interacting with their human handlers, however, they had the personality of puppies.

“Heel, Claws,” called the handler.

The Moon House housed eight Cats, seven for service and one reserved for Reverend Cyde’s personal use. Claws was evidently the runt of the litter. He bounded over to the handler, forked tail swaying.

“Good boy!” She stood on tiptoe and scratched behind his massive, bat-like ears. He shivered with pleasure. The handler cast me another doubtful look.

“He’s very quick,” she said.

“I’ll manage.”

I kept out of the way while the handler fit a leather harness to Claws’s back. One of the other Cats wandered over to investigate, sniffing my clothes. I patted her, a little uncertain. She sneezed, arched her back, and ambled off into the cooler shadows of the stable.

Reverend Cyde’s boots crunched on the grass outside and she appeared in the entrance. She handed a wax-sealed letter to me.

“Deliver this to the Council as soon as you reach Ceyrun,” she said.

“Yes, Reverend.”

She smiled. “I despair.”

“Kneel, boy,” said the handler.

Claws crouched. I slung my leg over his side. His fur smelled of grass and prickled against my exposed skin. I hugged him around the neck, feeling his muscles shift beneath me.

“You can just sit tight. He’ll head to the city on his own.” The handler adjusted the leg straps of Claws’s harness until they squeezed my calves. “You want to stop, tell him. He’s smart.”