Misha didn't know what Bran was planning to do, but he knew it wouldn't look all that nice given the sword through the gu-huo-niao's middle, so he turned and angled the little girl's field of view in the opposite direction. To draw her attention even more, he even stuck out his forked tongue and let her play catch with it.
Had the gu-huo-niao been human or even a normal, non-magical animal, she would have been outright killed by the impaling, no questions asked, but given she was what she was, she was still alive, though bleeding profusely.
Bran stopped in front of her and crouched. The creature spat at him, though this didn't seem to bother him in the slightest. Instead, he pulled a piece of yellow paper from his pocket and tapped it to the creature's bird-like forehead.
The gu-huo-niao gave a shudder then seemed to fall into a kind of trance with the piece of paper still stuck to her forehead.
Bran stood, walked behind her, then began to pull the sword from her body.
Misha, who was watching intently, flinched then had to use his tail to shield the little girl's eyes and give her something new to play with.
Blood spurted from the gu-huo-niao's back and poured from her front, but Bran kept going with the grissly task until the blade finally left the creature's body. To Misha's surprise, instead of collapse or scream, the creature merely gave a sigh, seemingly of relief, then began to transform back into a woman's visage.
Bran took the instrument case from his back, replaced the sword back inside it, and locked it again, all without cleaning the blood from the blade. Misha didn't know much about swords, but he was pretty sure leaving a liquid on metal was a good way to grow rust. Had to be a special blade.
The gu-huo-niao, now fully human again, sat cross-legged on the ground and closed her eyes as if she were meditating.
Seemingly satisfied, Bran came back over to Misha and the little girl. He put his first and second fingers to the little girl's forehead. There was a brief glow of light then the girl lay limp in his arms. At the same time, the red, weeping walls around them seemed to melt and peel slowly away.
"She's asleep," he told Misha, "Now we just need to return this little one to her grandfather…"
"You won't be able to," said the gu-huo-niao, eyes still closed.
The four of them were back in the normal world again, in a narrow alleyway. It was a different place from where Misha had forced his way into the Coil earlier, but it looked similar enough that Misha concluded that it had to be nearby.
"Why?" asked Bran.
"It has nothing to do with me."
"But…?" pushed Bran.
"He's been sent to the hospital."
Misha's ears perked up. He remembered the police by the flat where the compass spell jar had indicated where the grandfather was.
"What happened to him?" asked Bran.
The gu-huo-niao shook her head. "I don't know. I arrived too late. All I saw was… blood. A lot of it." She said this last part in a quieter voice even though the child was now asleep.
"We'll figure it out," said Bran as he slid something out from an outer compartment of his instrument case.
Misha was not feeling so thrilled about this sudden turn, and he swept his tail between Bran and the woman. He gave a low growl as he eyed her. She chuckled.
"It's alright," said Bran, patting the dragon's neck. "Once I get you sorted, you can ask whatever questions you want."
Misha turned his attention from the woman to Bran.
What sorting?
"What? You want to transform back now and walk naked all the way back home? I mean, if you want…"
Misha immediately stomped one of his clawed feet then nipped at the case on Bran's back.
"You already destroyed my spare set of clothes. I haven't had time to put a new set in."
Misha sat down heavily on the ground. What was he going to do?! He couldn't waltz around the place as a dragon, and he wasn't going to streak his way home…
Bran scratched under Misha's chin. "Alright, no more teasing. C'mon, let's get you home first. First, we need to find a door…"
Misha kept one eye on the woman as he followed Bran down the alley back toward the main street. He nipped at the edge of his shirt and whined softly.
"The gu-huo-niao's not going anywhere," Bran replied. "This door should do." He stopped in front of a doorway near the end of the alley, flanked by two large rubbish bins and looking rather worse for wear. Bran pressed a hand against the door then, seemingly satisfied with something, produced another paper charm and stuck it to the metal door.
He waited a moment then stepped back. "Alright. You hold her for a second…" he said, putting the sleeping child on Misha's back again, then headed back down the alley to help the woman up and to the door.
Misha watched warily and when they returned, Bran turned the handle of the door and pushed it open…
Into his aunt's flat.
Misha stared, completely shocked to suddenly be faced with the familiar setting.
"Cool, huh?" Bran said to Misha as the woman made her slow way over the threshold and into the flat. "Right, I'll be back soon. You go in first and wait for me."
Bran took the sleeping child from Misha's back and stepped aside to let the dragon go in.
"I don't want this connection to home to be permanent, so I need to remove the charm on this side," Bran said in response to Misha's questioning gaze, "plus," he adjusted the little girl so that she lay her little head more comfortably on his shoulder, "I need to take her to the police."
Misha's gaze dropped as he headed for the door and his eyes fell on the red blood of the gu-huo-niao that was still on the floor. Except that it wasn't really blood. It was a mass of densely packed inscription symbols.
"Go on."
Finally, Misha nodded and headed in, tail and all.
--
The streetlamps still flickered, and the streets were still empty, but the heart of the night had already passed. Already the rain was becoming more of a patter than a storm and a few birds were making the most of an early start. In an hour, the city outside these enclosed walls would start to stir and rise from its bed, but it would still be a few more hours before the Walled City would do the same.
The boy stood quietly and almost completely still as he surveyed the area. Not even the bells around his wrist made a sound when he did finally begin to walk down the street. The patchwork ground was still slick with rain and that slick reflected the lights of the lonely neon lights, so uncommon in this current ear, and yet, the boy's reflection never appeared in one.
Was he merely good at avoiding the puddles - was he playing some variation of 'the floor is lava'? - or was there something else to all of this?
The boy stopped at the mouth of an alleyway. His cool eyes looked the place up and down, looking almost blank in their lack of expression.
His gaze stopped.
There was something on the ground, glinting.
He turned and walked into the alley. It was a dead-end, filled with air-conditioning units, a few scraps of rubbish, and not much else, yet to the boy, this small spit of land had more value than the entire block.
He stopped over the small jar and stooped to get a better look at it.
It was a jar of chili sauce, or at least, it had been one. Now it housed a dark liquid that bubbled and spun within its glassy cage, looking almost angry as it tried to escape.
The boy reached into his jacket and pulled out a plastic ziplock bag. Carefully, without touching the glass with his own fingers, he maneuvered the bag over and around the jar, then finally turned it over so that it fell neatly into the bag.
With the plastic now providing a layer of separation, he boy turned the jar slowly in his hand, watching as the ink floated and bumped inside it. Had the boy been the kind of person to smile, he would have done so, but of course he wasn't, so his face, instead, remained blank.
Would this be enough? he wondered to himself. Likely, no. Life was never that easy, but still. This was certainly a step in the right direction.
He rose and pocketed the bag and jar then pulled something small and metal from his pocket.
It was a singular bell.
He held it for a moment, shook it so that it rung out once, then purposefully dropped it. The metal ball didn't make a sound as it hit the hard surface of the ground.
He had tests to run, theories to work through, but he would return soon.
His target was close.