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Manor Leonigras had not been haunted while Amran was growing up.
Every summer, he’d spent day after sunny day pelting through the grounds with the children of his parents’ colleagues, who could have perhaps been his friends but largely weren’t. Still, together they climbed trees, skinned their knees, ruined their clothing and, above all else, basked in what generous sunshine there was. In those days, the house had been grand, well-maintained and proud. The manor’s boards were painted the same robust brown as its many oak trees, while the light filtering through its windows flickered in tones warmed with the green and yellow of its abundant nature.
These days, it seemed almost impossible the manor had ever been so splendid. These days, the manor was empty.
Only it wasn’t, Amran reminded himself as he moodily paced down the upstairs hall towards the servants’ stairs. His dressing robe billowed behind him as he strode, gently disturbing the edges of the track he’d worn in the dust. Only Havil ever came to call anymore; Amran didn’t care to invite anyone else. Not with the lion.
By all accounts, it was not a regular lion. It couldn’t be. He’d summoned an animal control service—he’d summoned the nearest zoo, practically a day’s journey away—and none had ever heard of a lion in his backyard. Indeed, when they examined the grounds, they found no evidence thereof, no matter how Amran insisted that he’d seen the creature. He could tell them exactly where and when it had been and yet, in those places, they found nothing. Not a claw-drug trench in the earth, not an inch of animal dung, not a single shed hair.
But there was a lion. Amran swore it up and down, because he woke at night to the sound of catlike roaring in his periphery. When he pitched himself at the window, his desperate eyes beheld a great white creature lingering along the edge of the nearest copse. The animal turned its golden eyes upon Amran, and he felt a chill take his very core. More than once, in the depths of the night, he’d thrown open his window and shouted into the skirling wind, “Leave me alone! Go away! Please, leave me be!”
Was it any wonder the milkman now left his bottles at the end of the drive?
Amran could travel that far from the house, but no farther. He still remembered the last time he tried: he’d gone to the wrought iron gate separating Manor Leonigras from the main road and pushed it open, intending to walk himself right into town and buy a paper like any proper gentleman ought to be free to do. The instant he made to cross that threshold, he heard it behind him: the telltale growling. He’d felt the hulking presence of a beast. He’d trembled, and swallowed, and refused to turn around.
He woke in his bed, his face clammy and his breath short, with his housekeeper Nina leaning over him, a concerned look in her eyes.
When Amran asked her what happened, she simply told him, “You fainted, Master.” Try as he might, she would tell him nothing further. She left him with a cup of tea, a headache larger than he wanted to deal with and a sensation of deep, desperate despair.
The knock at the door surprised him so much that Amran froze in place on the staircase, staring. Had his beast learned to knock? If he opened the door, would it finally swallow him whole?
No. No, that was fanciful. Like as not, it would only be Havil.
Expecting familiarity, Amran was quite stunned by what he did behold upon opening the door. Before him stood a slim gentleman dressed in loose, flowing clothing of a style Amran did not recognise. He had, for some time, considered himself a man of fashion and engaged with the trends of the world, but these colours were so bold as to be nearly garish. The tunic was rich-toned burnt sienna, embroidered with bold saffron trim and arresting green seams; the trousers at first seemed dull by comparison, an ink-black blue like cloud-covered midnight, but as Amran studied them the colour seemed to draw him in. It shouldn’t have worked together, but it did and what was more, it somehow perfectly suited the person wearing it. And the person himself! What a gorgeous man to behold, possessed of rippling red hair and startling emerald eyes that Amran felt could see right through him.
“Pardon me.” The stranger spoke politely, and even his voice was an uncanny, musical thing that Amran longed to press into a record and play back on his gramophone. “You’re Lord Amran, are you not?”
“I am.” Were Amran less taken with the beauty of this individual—and a man of lesser breeding—he would point out that it was unseemly to address him so familiarly as that on this, their first meeting. Instead, he extended his hand, “To whom do I owe the pleasure?”
“Yoru, please, sir.” The man bobbed his head before he seemed to recall his manners, and he took Amran’s hand with a grip that felt as smooth and unmarred as the finest silk sheet. He glanced up, his luminous eyes searching Amran’s face for something unknown, and then added, “You believe your manor is haunted?”
So that was who this stranger was. What a relief. Amran nodded his confirmation, adding, “The grounds are, at the very least. I’ve never seen the thing inside the house.” How good it was to speak his suspicions plainly! He’d stopped mentioning it to Havil after the fifth time Havil had quite aggressively rolled his eyes. Nina and Lailah, his cook, did not answer when he started insisting there was a beast keeping him trapped here; he supposed they didn’t feel allowed to comment. Amran didn’t know what to believe anymore. He couldn’t say if he properly believed in haunting—ghosts, spirits, whatever one wanted to call them—but he knew he could no longer leave the property, and he’d become desperate enough to try almost anything.
Including, it turned out, inviting to his home the most beautiful spirit medium the entire country had to offer.
“Do you have room for me to stay?” Yoru asked, though he seemed to bear little in the way of a case or luggage.
“Of course. You must have come a long way.” Strictly speaking, the request was another faux pas, something Yoru would not have made if he were more attuned to well-bred customs. He must be foreign—oh, he could hardly be anything else, could he? Amran turned and began to lead the way, adding, “You’ll have the room near the kitchen, which also has a door out towards the rear courtyard.”
As they walked, Amran noticed a bag slung over Yoru’s shoulder, the strap previously hidden in the voluminous folds of Yoru’s clothing. It all struck Amran as terribly light packing and, self-conscious in a manner he couldn’t explain, he found himself adding, “I hope you’ll be warm enough.”
Yoru smiled graciously, an expression that made Amran’s heart contract so hard it was almost painful. “I will, thank you. Don’t worry.”
The room which he opened to Yoru’s attention was clean but minimally furnished, offering only a bed and a writing desk with no great means to store any personal effects. Amran raked a hand through his tangled hair and fought embarrassment. “I’ll have a trunk brought in for your things.”
“It’s alright, I don’t mind.” Yoru hurried to dismiss the suggestion, abandoning his bag on the bed and going to examine the nearby window. Silent, Amran watched him draw back the net curtains and take in the wilted greenery framing the paved stone patio. Beyond that, lawn stretched until it was perforated by the handful of trees where Amran most often observed his lion. Was he imagining things, or did Yoru’s attention seem to latch to that copse?
The silence between them lasted until Amran cleared his throat and forced himself to ask, “Do you know how long you’ll need to stay?”
Yoru turned back towards him, frowning thoughtfully. “First, I need to attune myself to this place so I can understand what’s bothering the spirit. If you are haunted, it has some kind of concern. Once I know what that is, we might be able to resolve it.” Yoru said it all perfectly seriously, as though it wasn’t almost complete nonsense.
Amran, for his part, forced himself to keep his mouth shut. He opted instead to cross his arms over his chest and tilt his head to one side. “Surely you can guess at how long that will take. Perhaps from prior experience?”
“Well…” Yoru began by meeting Amran’s exacting gaze, then glanced away. Finally, he admitted, “It can take weeks.”
Weeks. Amran would be sharing space with this stunning man for weeks, and what could he do about it? Nothing. Not one damn thing.
As it happened, they really had very little to do with one another. Amran initially tried to keep himself presentable for the sake of entertaining Yoru’s company, but he soon wafted back into his state of monotonous despair. Why wash when there was no where to go? He could still pace from window to window along the upstairs corridor, how exciting. He could clatter down the servants’ staircase and—joy of joys!—ascend the central one meant for distinguished company and general use. He could rove the space like a starving animal and catch only glimpses of the fey redhead meant to be solving his problem.
Yoru spent a good deal of time outside, which Amran supposed made sense, if he was trying to somehow ingratiate himself to the lion’s presence. Amran watched him from an upstairs window, curious about the black chips of stone Yoru placed in formation and the lines of chalk he drew between them. When Havil next visited, he persuaded Amran to join him outside in the hazy sunlight while Yoru walked barefoot in the grass beyond the patio.
“You summoned a medium.” Havil let himself sound disdainful as soon as he was sure Yoru was out of earshot, drumming his fingers impatiently on the arm of his chair. Lailah, having just served a tray of tea and scones, withdrew without comment, leaving Amran to despondently shake his head.
“It was all I could think to do.”
“You don’t think of anything but your strange lion anymore, do you?” Havil tilted his head, continuing to observe. A breeze chose that moment to billow through Yoru’s hair and clothing, and Havil whistled lowly under his breath. “He’s a pretty thing, though. Have you had him?”
“No.” Amran tried and failed to contain the moaned note of abject despair in his voice. He wrenched his hands back through his thick blonde tangles and shook his head again. “He seems not to hear my insinuations.”
“Well, that’s just good business. You’re paying him for something else, so I suppose it’s best that you not bed him.” Havil suddenly grinned wickedly, and Amran knew what he was going to say next before he even spoke, “You won’t mind if I do?”
“You’re welcome to try.” Amran heard his answer and hated that it was what he said, because if Havil had Yoru before him, he would be absolutely inconsolable about it. After Havil left—and Yoru excused himself to his room, saying that he had to make notes about his observations—Amran locked himself in his rooms for the rest of the day. He kneaded his frustration into his body, long-since untouched by anyone other than himself. And what could he do but fantasize about those pristine fingers, those delicate collarbones, those bewitching eyes? Amran didn’t know how long it had been since he’d had company beyond his household and Havil, and while Havil was undeniably good-looking, he was far too much of an ass to be actually appealing.
Yoru, though. Yoru was beginning to haunt him just as much as the lion that haunted the manor.
The morning Amran finally received an answer, he was not wakened by anyone but his own self. He startled conscious at dawn, his chest heaving around the bad-memory-turned-dream and his eyes burning with wetness. He lay flat on his back, his limbs splayed out in a bed that felt too large for one, and stared up at the ceiling. How had it come to this? When had it all gone so wrong?
The ceiling held no answers for him, so he forced himself upright. By habit, he went to the window, and almost did a double-take. There, in the garden, stood Yoru, and he was less than an arm’s length from the vicious lion that haunted the grounds. Amran shoved the window open, almost clambering onto the roof in his desperation to call down, “Yoru! Get away from it! It’s going to get you!”
As one, the lion and Yoru both turned to look at him, Yoru seeming a bit more startled by his shout than the lion was. But Yoru beamed up at him, smiling encouragement, and lifted his hand to make a beckoning gesture. Amran rushed to belt his robe around him and scrambled down the stairs. In his rush to go outside, he forewent his shoes, bursting onto the back patio and raising his arms, “Get away, get away!”
Yoru, with his hands buried in the white lion’s mane, shook his head urgently, “You don’t understand, sir. This is a guardian spirit, not a curse.”
Amran’s knees gave way beneath him. How did that… it didn’t make sense. It was too upsetting. With his shoulders slouched and his face buried in his hands, Amran shook his head and moaned, “Then why has it cursed me?”
“It’s not cursed you.” Yoru’s voice was more soothing than anything else Amran could think of. When he glanced upward, Yoru’s expression was soft and sympathetic. “It’s become unwell as the grounds themselves have become unwell. Did something bad happen, something sudden?”
“My parents.” Amran admitted; it was what he’d been dreaming about. “They died in an accident. No one expected it.” He kept watching the lion as he spoke; the beast leaned towards Yoru’s clever fingers, but kept its gaze fixed on Amran himself. He found himself longing to reach forward and stroke the animal, but he couldn’t move forward from this spot.
“I’m sorry.” Yoru murmured, before turning his face to whisper what must have been the same thing in the lion’s ear. The lion shook itself before settling into a seated position, its great paws facing in Amran’s direction. Yoru continued, “Before that happened, didn’t you love it here? Didn’t you used to run and play and imagine how good life could be?”
“That’s for children.” Amran sniffed, then stiffened when Yoru laughed. He laughed like a clear stream, pure and refreshing, and Amran longed to bottle the sound so he could sprinkle it upon himself in moments of need.
“It’s for everyone.” Yoru corrected, and the lion nuzzled warmly against his chest in a way that made Amran’s heart seize with envy. “You need to be brave. If you invite life and light back into this place, it will become healthy again. And the guardian will protect you from harm. That’s all it’s ever meant to do.”
“Is it?” Amran wondered aloud, blinking. A set of tears ran down his face, but this time, they made him feel light enough to rise, swaying, to his feet. Yoru, observing his motion, disengaged from the lion, letting his long fingers trail out of its mane as he stepped to one side. The lion guardian glanced towards his retreat before standing and taking one single step forward. Amran took a step into the damp, dew-strewn grass and marvelled at how cold it was on his bare feet. When had he last been outside to watch the sunrise? When had he last loved the smell of earth and glory in the morning? He couldn’t recall. It had been too long.
The beast that had terrorised him for the last dozen years sat, patient and implacable, as Amran reached it. Before he raised his hand, he hesitated, looking towards Yoru for reassurance, “You’re sure?”
Smiling faintly—still beautifully—Yoru only nodded.
So Amran laid his hand upon the lion’s head, and suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to cry. His mind’s eye surged with recollections of his childhood delight, not with unfamiliar children but with Lailah and Nina, the daughters of the previous cook and butler who stayed by his side even as he descended into darkness. He recalled barelling into Havil with the intent of ruining his carefully put-together outfits and coming out the other side scuffed and delirious with joy. He remembered how regal his father’s bearing had been, how well-presented his mother had always been, and how proud he’d always been to call this place home.
Beneath his fingers, the lion purred.
His face wet with tears, Amran broke away from that brilliant amber gaze to look at Yoru’s instead. “Thank you.”
“It’s alright.” Yoru shook his head, pushing a stray length of hair behind his ear. “I suppose I should prepare to leave, though. I’ve imposed on you long enough.”
Amran stroked the lion’s head and swallowed. As if reading his heart, the animal headbutted him gently, right in the middle of his chest, and Amran raised his voice, “Please. I’d like you to stay.” Yoru’s face went first white, then pink, but Amran did not stop there, rushing into more, “I owe so much to you, more than money can ever repay. Stay as long as you like, and let me look after you. Help me relearn happiness. I’ve never known anyone like you.”
Yoru’s flush remained, and he fastened his hands together behind his back. He seemed to think for a long moment before he dipped his chin, answering brightly, “Well, alright then, Lord Amran. I quite like it here, actually.”
“Me too.” Amran felt himself fill with warmth, from his cold damp toes all the way to the roots of his hair. “I love it here, and I’ll love it all the more with your help.”
And when the gates of Manor Leonigras finally did reopen, the place was once more a bastion of beauty and wonder to behold.