Chapter 9: Nightmares & Rain

Chapter 9: Nightmares & Rain Bran was in the kitchen using the stove when Misha returned. If asked, he would describe what he was doing as ’cooking’ but to anyone who had tasted his... creations, his being in the kitchen was a real cause for worry. Misha shut the door behind him and sniffed. "What are you cooking?" he asked as he kicked his shoes off, donned his pink fluffy slippers, and went to the kitchen. He’d never smelled something quite like this before. "Huh? Oh, fried rice," said Bran, spatula in hand. Misha followed his nose and looked at the contents of the wok in front of Bran. It did not look like any fried rice he had ever seen. Maybe it was a special kind of fried rice. "You can cook," noted Misha. Bran nodded. "I get by," he said. Misha detected a note of pride in his voice. He looked at the ’fried rice’ again and decided to at least give Bran the benefit of the doubt. The man had performed miracles saving him, what was a little cooking anyway? "How’d the charm go?" asked Bran as he hoisted the wok up with one hand and began to dish out half of its contents into two bowls. It was only half the contents because the other half was stuck to the metal. "Huh? Oh, good. I played basketball," replied Misha. "Basketball?" "Yeah, up on the roofs. Been there before?" Bran shook his head. "Anyone else up there?" He handed a bowl of what he’d made to Misha. Misha did his best to hide his hesitation. "Yeah, loads of kids. I even talked to a woman." "Oh. A woman." "God, don’t be like that, Bran. I’m not in primary school." Bran shrugged, clearly showing that he was going to be like that. "What did you chat about with this woman, then?" Misha took his bowl of ’food’ to the table, ignoring Bran and his immaturity. Bran filled the wok with water, left it in the sink to bathe, then grabbed some utensils and joined Misha at the coffee table. At first Misha had found it odd, and even a little annoying, to have to keep crouching down to use the coffee table for everything, but now it was second nature, and he happily curled his legs under himself. Bran sat and began eating and Misha watched him warily. The cook did not seem to have any weird reactions to the grey-green mixture. Bran seemed to sense Misha’s eyes on him, and he pointed at the kitchen. "I forgot to re-season the wok." "Ah." Misha looked down at his own food and loaded up a spoonful. "So, what have you been up to?" he asked, not quite ready to commit to eating just yet. "Sleeping." "Sleeping?" "Yeah. Just woke up. Jetlag." "Ah." That explained the weird behaviour, though it didn’t explain the weird... food. Misha held the spoon closer to his face and sniffed. It still smelt as questionable, but surely someone as capable at Bran should be a good cook. Maybe he’s just cursed with having his food look bad, but taste brilliant? Misha seemed to recall reading a comic about that once. "Actually, aren’t you jetlagged?" asked Bran. "Me? Probably just hasn’t hit me yet," replied Misha. It was an honest reply. "Hang on, you mean, you flew in from somewhere too?" "Yeah, same place as you." Misha stared at Bran, dumbfounded. "You came from Pretan too?" Bran nodded, mouth full. "Huh..." The airport, the crabby security inspector, the flight, all that seemed so far away yet they’d only just happened a day ago before. Misha put the spoon in his mouth as he thought about how quickly time can pass... Then went rigid as pure evil consumed his mouth, clawing at his tastebuds and making his insides squirm. For a few minutes he sat completely still - not even his tail twitched. "How is it?" Bran asked as he ate his meal as if it were actually something edible. Misha debated internally with himself and ultimately decided that keeping Bran on side was the bigger priority. He swallowed. "Great," he said. "It tastes great." -- The girl was cold, absolutely freezing, as the rain came down on her. She was crouched with her little arms around her legs, but it did nothing to keep her warm. A quiet sob shook from her, and she quickly forced a hand over her mouth to stifle the sound. A flash of lightning from the storm lit up the narrow alleyway for a moment, laying bare the red liquid dripping down the walls. The girl flinched and tried to make herself smaller in her little corner. She had looked for the source of the red liquid, tried to be brave, but the sight of all those blinking eyes even now made her shake. Far away she could hear the sound of the city - people shouting, bargaining, walking and laughing - but it was all somehow dim like she was underwater. Then came the thunder and what loud thunder it was. The vibrations from the clap shook the ground and the girl finally couldn’t hold it back anymore. She screamed. "Misha." I woke with a start and immediately tried to sit up. "It’s alright," you said, a hand on my shoulder. I could just about make you out in the dark sitting on the edge of the bed. I felt my heartrate calm. "Just a nightmare..." I mumbled. Your hand left my shoulder. "Not quite," you said. It was then that I saw the sword in your other hand. There was an unnatural gleam to its naked blade. "I have to go out for a bit," you said. "Don’t leave the flat." Then you got up and went to the door. "Wait!" I jumped up and followed after you. "Is this about the little girl?" You stopped. "In my dream, there was a little girl crying and-" There was a sudden lull in the storm outside and again I heard the tearful sob of a little girl. That little girl. "...I recognise her. She’s the one that’s gone missing." -- Bran did not like the idea of involving Misha - he had next to no experience with the supernatural, let alone with a case like this - but he had a feeling that he’d best take any advantage he could. The rain was coming down even heavier now, forming rivers of water in the narrow passages of the Walled City, and the whole storm had an eerie taint to it that Bran did not like. "What now?" asked Misha from behind Bran. They were standing at the entrance of the flat with the door open. "First," said Bran, closing the door. They needed proper gear if they were going to go out in that rain. "I want to find the girl’s grandfather and look around where the girl lives, see if there’s anything strange there." "Do you know where he lives?" Bran shook his head. "I was too tired this morning so I didn’t give enough attention..." Misha could tell from his voice that he was blaming himself for whatever was happening or going to happen. Why he felt that he was responsible was lost on Misha. "If you had something of the grandfather’s, would that let you be able to find him?" he asked. Bran raised an eyebrow. "Do you have something like that?" "Yes." Misha rushed to his bedroom and returned with the book Bran had lent him and pulled the missing person’s notice from it. "Here." Bran brought the paper to the lamp on the table and turned the light on. He hadn’t looked at the pamphlet all that closely that morning, but he now saw exactly what he needed: it was handwritten. "Perfect. Alright. I’ll get the spell started and you look for rain gear." "Where do I look?" "In there," Bran said, pointing at the room that he himself now slept in. "It was my aunt’s. The wardrobe in there’s full of all kinds of things." Misha nodded and went to the room. He hadn’t been in the main bedroom before and he was surprised to find it almost entirely devoid of anything, not even a bed, so unlike the room he now slept in. Misha tucked that bit of information away in his head and went to the wardrobe, the only piece of furniture in the room, and flung its doors open. As promised, there were all kinds of things in it. Fishing rods, boots of all shapes, a stepladder, different official looking uniforms, something that looked like an astronaut’s suit, and even diving suits. Misha quickly ran an eye over the mess and spotted the plastic outline of a raincoat sticking out from behind the astronaut suit. He pulled the suit back and found half a dozen raincoats of varying sizes and, of course, colours. He pulled out two large, transparent ones, grabbed two sets of rainboots, and headed back.