The Demoness of Waking Dreams (Company of Angels)

by Stephanie Chong

  Massimo looked down at the black cloth that lay in stillness on the bottom of the boat. Tried his best not to imagine the body within, stiff and cold. Tried not to imagine her face, her brown hair spilling on the floor of the palazzo in the pool of her blood.

  “You missed out,” Giancarlo said. “That girl was a fantastic lay.”

  “Don’t speak of her like that. Have some respect for the dead,” Massimo said.

  Giancarlo snorted at the wistful look on Massimo’s face. “Better to die young and leave a beautiful corpse.”

  That was something both of them knew firsthand.

  Returned to earth and preserved at the age of their deaths forever.

  By the time the sun began to rise, the Gatekeepers realized they had come far too late. What would happen to the baronessa, Massimo didn’t know. He genuinely worried for her. In two centuries, had never seen her this worn, this tired.

  “What should we do with the body?” Giancarlo said. “Throw her overboard?”

  Massimo looked over the edge of the boat, into the water. Here, in front of the Redentore Church would make as fine a resting place as any. “All right.”

  They weighted the corpse with the concrete blocks they had brought for such a situation, though had never needed until tonight. Then they tipped her over the edge, slipping the body into the water with a little splash. The top of the cloth she was wrapped in came unraveled. Massimo watched as her brown hair drifted downward in the water. The last tendrils of it seemed to reach up toward him as the girl disappeared into the depths of the canal.

  Once she was gone, he started the motor and headed home.

  “The job’s done,” Giancarlo said.

  But not done well. They didn’t realize the extent of it until they returned to the palazzo.

  Where the girl was waiting.

  Not the full body of her, just a flicker of her spirit, floating in the window near the place where she had died. Her voice, ghostly and beautiful, drifted out to fill the canal. The faint but sweet strain came from an aria that he recognized from Puccini’s Tosca, the last role she’d sung.

  I lived for art, I lived for love,

  I never did harm to a living soul…

  “The baronessa is not going to like this,” Giancarlo said, voicing both their thoughts. “Not one bit.”

  Chapter Six

  Sunrise over the Grand Canal

  Brandon awoke in the early hours of the morning, went to the window overlooking the fluid curve of water that sparkled in the pale light. Somewhere out there, Luciana was plotting.

  The first place he started looking for the demoness was the last place she had run last night.

  Rio Tera dei Assassini.

  Even in the early morning, the sun was already blazing in the sky and a sticky heat was settling over the city. In the light of day, his destination looked as charming and as innocent as any other street in Venice. On the corner stood a bookstore stall with racks of Italian publications. There were a few souvenir shops, and restaurants with their colorful awnings. And of course, tourists milled about the street on this too-sunny day.

  The glass gallery was not difficult to find. A few humans stood examining the glassware displayed in the window.

  He pulled open the door and went inside.

  The glass shop showed no trace of a struggle.

  The shelves were restocked, every piece back in perfect order.

  Not a drop of blood in sight. No stray shard of glass to tell the story.

  The immaculately dressed shop assistant sauntered over to him.

  “May I help you with something, sir?” she said in English.

  Does every single demon in Venice have green eyes? he wondered fleetingly.

  “I’m looking for a woman,” he said. “Her name is Luciana Rossetti.”

  Nothing on her face moved but for the slight widening of her eyes, the barest recognition of the demoness’s name before she recovered her composure. “I’m sorry, sir, I am not familiar with any person by that name. May I interest you in a handblown wine decanter? Although you will find many pieces of glass for sale in Venice, the artistry of our master glassblowers is unparalleled. The pieces are all lovingly crafted on the neighboring island of Murano, where all the factories were originally established because of the risk of fire to the wooden buildings of Venice—”

  He cut off her sales pitch with a quick jerk of his hand and said quietly, too low for the others to hear, “I don’t have time for a history lesson. I’m looking for Luciana Rossetti. Don’t pretend you don’t know where she is.”

  “Now look here,” she said. He caught the demonic spark that lit in her eye, and her voice dropped to a hiss. “In Venice, we live in agreement, your kind and ours. Don’t upset the balance.”

  “Then tell me, where’s Luciana?”

  “I haven’t seen that bitch for years,” she choked, spitting out the words. “She would not deign to enter this place.”

  She was lying. Brandon knew it in his gut, as surely as he knew his own name.

  “I guess you won’t mind if I search the gallery, then,” he said.

  The woman grabbed his arm. “What do you think you’re doing? You have no right to march in here and start poking your vulgar nose into this business.”

  He held up his arms, the healing cuts still visible. “I have every right in the world.”

  In the shop’s back room, he looked among the shelves. Nothing. Not a single hint of anything amiss. He stood for a moment, waiting in the stillness.

  Then his eye caught the movement of a door in the very back of the shop opening, noiselessly. Just a tiny crack, a sliver of darkness that shifted. And then it shut again.

  He looked down at the shop assistant. “What’s back there?”

  “Nothing,” she said. Her eyes flickered to the customers inside the shop, perusing the glass. “Sir, you are disturbing our patrons. Please leave.”

  The humans looked over at him, whispering.

  “The shop is shutting for an emergency right now. If you’re interested in purchasing something, please come back later,” he told them. He pulled open the front door and flipped the sign to Chiuso—Closed. As the humans scurried out, Brandon said to the salesgirl, “There. No customers to worry about.”

  He marched to the back of the store, hauled open that door.

  “Wait!” the woman shouted. “You can’t go up there.”

  Ignoring her, he peered into the darkness, up the staircase. “Oh, but I can.”

  Brandon charged his way up the stairs.

  At the top, he entered the foyer of a grand space designed as an entertainment area, which looked as if it was waiting for a party to begin. Velvet sofas and sumptuous draperies furnished the space. A sweeping staircase led to yet another floor above, with a long row of closed doors behind carved balustrades overhead. Above it all, the high ceilings were hung with elaborate chandeliers.

  One of those doors opened, and a girl peered down to call out, “È lui un cliente, Carlotta?”

  “No, he’s not a client. Not at this time of day,” the saleswoman snapped in English, as she came barreling up the stairs after Brandon.

  The noise prompted more doors opening. On the balcony overhead, girls in various states of undress came out of their rooms, gathering as they peered down over the carved banister. They clustered in a pack together, looking down at him, the collective hiss of their hypnotic voices, whispering, “Angelo.”

  Eyes burning bright in the dimmed light inside the brothel.

  Because that’s what this was, he realized.

  A demon brothel in the middle of Venice.

  The first girl who had spoken sauntered up to him, fingering her cleavage so that he had nowhere else to look. “I have a tattoo, too. Would you like to see it?”

  She pulled her bodice open, flashing her breasts at him. He looked away quickly, pushed her aside without looking for the promised tattoo.

  “Where is Luciana Rossetti?” Brandon d
emanded, calling up to the rest of the women. “Who among you has seen her?”

  “La Lucciola?” one of them crowed.

  They laughed, all of them, the sound of it like a siren’s call, the promise and the smell of sex hanging in the air. Their nearly naked breasts, pushed up and mounded in corsets and clothing designed to accentuate their assets, shook with their laughter.

  Behind him, Carlotta said smoothly, “Luciana is not here.”

  “What does that mean?” he asked gruffly. “La Lucciola?”

  Hearing the sound of the Italian words coming out of his mouth, the demon women laughed louder. Some of them gripped on to the banisters, as if they might fall right off the balcony above.

  Carlotta laughed, too. “It is a nickname she used here. It means ‘firefly.’ If you’re trying to catch her, maybe you should try a net,” she said, drawing her silk scarf teasingly across his face. When he swatted it away, she said, “You, my dear, could use some lessons on how to treat a woman. You might loosen up if you stick around long enough.”

  “Enough!” Brandon shouted.

  Beneath them, the floor shook. The damask-covered walls and the antique furniture rattled. The chandeliers hanging from the ceiling trembled in a precarious circle, threatening to fall, sumptuous tiers of crystal shaking in a jangle of sound.

  “Do you doubt the power of the divine to raze this madhouse to the ground?” he bellowed, bluffing. It was unlikely such a thing would actually happen. But none of these demon women knew that. “Tell me where she is!”

  The entire group fell silent.

  Terrorized.

  The clink of the crystal chandeliers overhead was the only audible sound in the room, before even they lapsed into stillness.

  Carlotta’s lip trembled.

  “La baronessa would hardly sully her reputation in here,” said the brothel keeper. “She hasn’t been seen in here for years.”

  “But she was, once…”

  “Yes. That bitch worked here once. She was once even more of a whore than she is now.”

  Now that’s an interesting bit of information that wasn’t in her file, was his first thought. His second thought was that it came as no great surprise. Yet, strangely, it stirred something in him, a sadness for her. Empathy for a demoness was not something he had ever thought possible before. Yet Luciana was a woman with some deeply hidden secrets, and despite his better judgment, they intrigued him.

  How did she end up here? Did she work here of her own volition? A thousand questions flooded into his mind, but there was only one that was relevant here and now.

  “Where is she?” he asked.

  “In the deepest reaches of hell, for all I care,” Carlotta spat.

  “I’ll give you one more chance to answer my question. Where is Luciana?” he said.

  She smirked.

  And he grabbed her by the throat and squeezed.

  There are rules governing the interactions between angels and demons. Arielle’s words rang in his ears as he watched this demon struggle as he held her by the neck. Rules that must not be broken.

  Killing a demon without just cause was one of those rules.

  He might not be allowed to kill her, but he could certainly take her as close to the precipice of death as his own conscience would allow. He tightened his grip a little more.

  Human lives are at stake, he reminded himself. If I don’t track down Luciana, who knows how many people could die.

  Carlotta choked and grasped his wrist, trying to pry herself out of his hold.

  None of the other girls rushed forward to save her. They stood frozen, but did not dare interfere.

  Finally, he released Carlotta and she stumbled away.

  “Tell me where to find Luciana,” he said, looming over her.

  “I didn’t know you angels could be such bullies. Aren’t you supposed to be a harbinger of peace?” she said, narrowing her eyes at him, rubbing at her throat.

  “Now!” he thundered.

  “Luciana’s home is nearly impossible to locate.”

  “Why?” he demanded.

  There was a hush in the bordello. Not a soul moved.

  Carlotta swallowed, and the sound seemed to echo in every corner of the room. “Because it was erased from human memory.”

  “How did that happen?” he asked, relenting a little.

  “Luciana was the daughter of one of the noble houses of Venice. The Rossetti family was once very well-known, as esteemed as any of the others inscribed in the Libro d’Oro, the Golden Book of the city’s nobility. She was the last of her line. After she died and became a Rogue demon, she made a deal with the devil to protect her home. By his hand, her family’s name was erased from the city’s records. Her palazzo was hidden from the view of ordinary mortals.”

  “So how do I find it?”

  “It is in plain view on the Grand Canal, although it is protected by dark forces. Any human who tries to remember the house simply cannot hold the details of its history in mind. Some of them may sense its demonic vibrations, but their minds are too weak to fully grasp what that house holds. However, we demons here in Venice know it well.”

  “You will take me there. Now.”

  She peered close, held out her hand. “If I’m going to take you there, I want to be compensated.”

  “How much?” he asked.

  She named an ungodly sum. He agreed to it, saying, “I’ll arrange for you to receive the money. You have my word.”

  “Molto bene,” she said, placated at last. “I know you angels are too self-righteous to break your promises. I will show you the palazzo. Once you have seen it, you will not forget it. We will have to wait until nighttime, to lessen the chance of being seen by her Gatekeepers. It will be easier in the darkness. But I warn you. If you do manage to track her down, you will never be able to conquer Luciana Rossetti. She is a scheming bitch, and she will find some way to destroy you or extinguish herself trying. She has survived in this world for centuries. If you think you’re going to find some way to best her, you have another think coming. You’d better pray for a miracle.”

  * * *

  Carlotta was right, Brandon thought as he looked at the house to which she had taken him.

  I need a miracle.

  The front of the house was only accessible by water, so she took him in a small motorboat that she drove herself. As they drifted slowly past, Carlotta’s mouth pinched into a flat line as they looked up at the house. She hid her face behind the hood she wore.

  “She will kill me if she finds out I have brought you here,” said Carlotta.

  The palazzo was fully lit, the lights reflected on the canal in front of it.

  There was no sign of Luciana herself in the large, imposing windows.

  But the air in front of Ca’ Rossetti had a dark, shimmering quality that he had never seen before. Meticulously maintained, the palace was a confection of carved stone, its arched windows delicate and accented with gilt and brilliant blue the color of lapis lazuli. Even in the darkness, its pristine facade contrasted against the elegant decay of its neighbors, the other buildings weathered and crumbling from centuries of exposure to the elements.

  As they advanced closer, Brandon noticed that the ornate entranceway was adorned with carvings of demons, their stony wings folded in repose. Half a dozen goblins, a small pack, perched on the corner of the concrete landing in front of the doorway, like water rats living beneath the palazzo. The creatures hissed at the passing boat, their red eyes glowing in the darkness.

  The canal rang with the reverberation of a voice, singing.

  “Did you hear that?” he said.

  They paused, listening. Carlotta narrowed her eyes at him.

  “You will go insane, angel. She keeps a nest of vipers as security guards,” the brothel keeper hissed. “Even if you manage to get past them and capture her, you’ll never pin her down. She will more likely destroy you before you destroy her.”

  Then she disappeared into the night, l
etting him off not far from Ca’ Rossetti, standing on a concrete walkway. And he knew he needed to find somewhere he could keep an eye on Luciana.

  * * *

  Brandon wandered the alleyways behind the palaces surrounding Ca’ Rossetti, looking for a place to set up surveillance. He found it in an abandoned palazzo across the canal from her, the windows boarded up.

  He pushed open the door and entered, his eyes adjusting to the darkness.

  Skitterings of unseen vermin and the scent of urine. High walls and a narrow space.

  Am I dreaming? he thought. No.

  Not Detroit.

  Venice.

  Not an alley.

  But rather, the ground floor of a once-glorious noble house. There was a single long room stretching the depth of the palace, completely empty of furniture. The fixtures dated from another century, but which one, he could not even guess. The windows in the back looked very old, made of dusty, nearly opaque glass like round bottle ends fused together in the large frames.

  He climbed the stairs to the second floor, which opened into a room that might once have been a ballroom or a grand dining room. Moonlight flooded in through the huge windows. The peeling frescos, smudged images from a distant past, stood disfigured and unrecognizable now. Ornate doorways and ceilings, the plaster broken and chipped, were fallen away in sections in some parts.

  He found a spot in front of the window that was well hidden, unseen from the outside. From this vantage point, he could see Ca’ Rossetti across the street, as meticulously maintained as this palace had been neglected. Here, he had a view of not only Luciana’s front door, which opened directly onto the water, but the side entrance, as well.

  And he settled in to watch.

  * * *

  Luciana sat in her workroom, hunched over the table. The cuts on her back had almost healed. Her left hand still throbbed. But she had reset the bone, and in another day or so it would be back to normal. Sitting still was far from comfortable. But there was much work to do.

  Massimo hovered over her shoulder, watching carefully, absorbing every word that she said.