The Demoness of Waking Dreams (Company of Angels)

by Stephanie Chong

  “Yes?” he growled, peering through the crack.

  “I need to speak to the maestro,” she announced. “Tell him Luciana Rossetti is here.”

  The master glassblower appeared in the doorway a moment later. He was a ruddy-faced man dressed in a heavy apron with spatters of red. He frowned slightly, but bowed and said, “Baronessa, what a surprise to see you here. We never thought you would grace us with a visit.”

  We never thought you would stoop to enter this place, was his unspoken message.

  Every demon in Venice knew that Luciana Rossetti disliked the heat and the noise of the fornace. That she avoided it because of its association with the glass gallery, and with Carlotta. But also, in Luciana’s eyes, the killings that went on here lacked sophistication.

  It had nothing to do with the art of glassblowing.

  But with the maestro and how his Gatekeepers operated.

  I have no choice, she knew. I have to finish this task. For Brandon.

  “I have a very special guest with me,” she said, ignoring the maestro’s frown and its subtext. “He deserves to have a unique experience of Venice. One I know only you can give him.”

  “In that case, please enter,” said the maestro.

  “You’ll want to be fully conscious for this,” she said to Jude. Snapping her fingers in front of the human’s face, she brought him out of his mental haze.

  He blinked several times, trying to process his surroundings. The maestro towered over them, grinning in anticipation. The Gatekeeper hauled open the iron doors with a great screech, and a sweltering gust of hot air blew through them. Jude wobbled backward a step, knocked off balance by the heat.

  And by what he saw inside.

  The demoness pushed him through the doorway, into the factory. The raised metal platform on which they stood overlooked the factory floor. Hundreds of Gatekeepers stopped to look up at them. A hive of activity at the ovens froze momentarily as the demons stopped to see who had just come in. Some of them nodded to Luciana, acknowledging her entrance.

  Then, as abruptly as the workers had stopped, they returned to their activities.

  Some of the Gatekeepers were blowing glass. They stood at the burning ovens with their glowing-hot blowpipes, rods and tongs. Many stood shaping and twisting bubbles of glass into ornate sculptures, vases and stemware.

  Others were forging weapons. Making various kinds of swords and knives, they heated the metal in the ovens and pounded it with massive hammers. The ring of the blows echoed in the large space of the factory.

  Still other demons were busy burning things. A bloody mass of severed limbs—some animal, some human—stood heaped in the middle of the factory floor in a great pool of blood. A charred smell, the scent of seared flesh, hung in the air.

  “In the traditional fornaci of Murano, in the ordinary glass factories, the ovens burn twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week,” the maestro explained. “Human glass masters begin work at six in the morning and stop at four in the afternoon. However, we demon artisans work all hours. Here, the fires are kept burning for many different purposes, as you can see.”

  Jude’s eyes went so wide Luciana wondered whether they might pop out of his head.

  “Normally, the openings of the ovens are relatively small, only a few feet in circumference. We have modified these ovens somewhat, you’ll notice,” said the maestro.

  Large enough to fit a human body. Or several, if need be, Luciana noted.

  “Much of our operations are still in experimental stages,” the maestro said. “We are preparing for what is to come. There is so much yet to accomplish. When it is finished, our humble fornace will be one more step toward reconstructing hell on earth.”

  Luciana leaned in close to Jude and whispered, “And guess what? You’re going to be a part of it.”

  The human screamed. A very bad idea.

  Hundreds of eyes swiveled back toward the platform. The demons had been relatively disinterested in the pair’s arrival. But a screaming, terrified human was entirely different. Entirely more interesting.

  “Well, now, Jude, it seems you have caught the attention of our hosts,” she told him. “Why don’t you run along and take a closer look?”

  She pushed him, and he stumbled down a few stairs toward the factory floor. A few demons came to collect him, and Jude began to struggle, kicking and screaming. He grabbed on to the metal railing of the staircase, but the demons pulled him off and dragged him away.

  Good, she thought. He deserves to suffer as much as Brandon suffered. Jude deserves the equivalent of three thousand deaths.

  “Don’t dispense with him too quickly,” she called to them. “Be creative about it. Your glass creations are beautiful and so distinctive. I’m sure you can apply your inventiveness to this task, too.”

  Jude heard her, and screamed again, louder, begging God to save him.

  “He is not exactly popular with this crowd, mio amico,” she called down to Jude. Then she muttered, “This pathetic human is the most you’re getting from me this year, diavolo.”

  The sound of the iron doors scraping open behind her made her look backward.

  Corbin stood in the doorway, his amber eyes glowing with satisfaction. Behind him was Massimo.

  “Oh, no, caro mio,” the Archdemon said, grinning. “This scrawny little human won’t do the trick. I thought I’d already made that very clear. You should have done your duty when you had the chance, baronessa. You were supposed to deliver the angel. He will accept nothing less.”

  Of course Corbin would come. She had expected it all along. Had known she couldn’t outrun him. Had thought that avenging Brandon’s death would be worth anything she would have to suffer.

  But Massimo?

  Her once-trusted servant stood behind Corbin with a look of barren anger in his eyes. The ache of his betrayal cut her deeply. She glared back at her former Gatekeeper, silently accusing him.

  “I will never deliver Brandon to you, no matter how much you threaten me. No matter what you plan to do to me. I would rather rot in hell for the rest of eternity,” she told them.

  “You know what’s in store for you. If you’re not afraid, you should be,” Corbin growled. “I should have known you would never deliver that angel. You’re in love. How sweet. We can all wait for your lover together, darling.”

  “He doesn’t know about this place,” she said, thinking back frantically. I never mentioned it. Did I?

  “He’s a smart man. He’ll figure it out,” Corbin laughed. He grabbed her by the hair, yanking her face to his so he could press his cheek against hers. “Shall we see?”

  * * *

  Arriving at Marco Polo Airport, Brandon sprinted down the pier to the line of water taxis waiting to be hired. His best estimate put him forty minutes behind Luciana. There wasn’t a moment to waste. If it isn’t already too late, he thought. He was in the middle of engaging one of the drivers when Infusino and Arielle pulled up in a blue-bottomed municipal police boat. In the vessel sat a few other members of the local unit.

  “You don’t know what you’re dealing with, Brandon,” Arielle said. “Come with us.”

  He glared at her for a long moment. “You must be insane to ask me that. You tortured Luciana.”

  “Brandon, I know you feel strongly for her,” said Arielle. “But she is a demoness. She is part of something that could end us all. Not just the Company. Not just angels. But humankind. The world as we know it could disappear forever. We have received information that the demons here in Venice are preparing for something bigger than we had ever imagined. We must deal with Luciana. Tonight.”

  In that moment Brandon paused. The question in his mind was, To whom do I owe allegiance? To Arielle or to Luciana?

  To neither, was the answer. I owe allegiance to my duty as a protector of humankind.

  He got into the boat, needing to see for himself exactly what Arielle was talking about. He could not let Luciana murder a human. Even if that human was a mu
rderer himself.

  “Come,” said Infusino. “We must hurry to the Redentore Church.”

  “She’s not going to the Redentore Church,” Brandon told them as Infusino started the boat. “She’s going to Murano. To the glass factory that supplies the gallery her sister ran.”

  “What? How do you know?” Arielle asked, her intense gaze gleaming.

  “Just trust me,” said Brandon.

  “I know where the fornace is,” Infusino said, then revved the boat into gear.

  As they cleaved through the water, Arielle radioed the Venetian unit for backup.

  “Why didn’t Luciana take you to this fornace if she wanted to finish you off?” Arielle asked him as they sped toward their destination.

  “Because she never seriously intended to kill me,” Brandon said. “Every attempt she ever made on my life failed miserably, because she could never bring herself to do it. But that’s not the case with Jude.”

  Arielle fell silent. She pursed her lips and stared out over the passing lagoon.

  Once they reached Murano, Infusino quietly ushered them out of the boat.

  “We cannot simply pull up to the front of this factory,” said Infusino. “We must be subtle. There is a back way.”

  They disembarked and followed Infusino through a twisting passageway that led to the back of a large, brick building. Cylindrical chimneys billowed smoke into the night sky. Light spilled from the large windows into the darkness around them. From inside came the repeated ringing of metal striking metal, and the flaring roar of burning flames.

  Infusino motioned for the rest of the group to stay behind, while he and Brandon crept over to peer through the brightly lit windows.

  What Brandon saw there brought him to only one conclusion.

  They’re preparing for the End of Days.

  Torture instruments. Weapons. Ovens.

  Piles of dismembered limbs.

  How many bodies were there, he could not even say. The flesh was skinned and bloody, an amalgam of limbs so disfigured it was impossible to tell whether they were human or animal or both.

  And Jude. Trapped in the middle of a horrific scene, with demons all around him, prodding at him with burning-hot tools.

  For an instant, a primal urge deep in Brandon’s gut was finally satisfied.

  After all this time, my shooter is getting his punishment....

  He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut, willing that thought away.

  Forcing himself to remember.

  Who I am…what I am....is a Guardian.

  Whatever base emotion had swept over him, whatever satisfaction he had momentarily felt at seeing Jude in pain—that was all overridden by the conviction that his role as an angel outweighed everything else. Brandon’s oath to protect humankind was more important than any revenge he could have wished on a miserable person like Jude.

  Backing away from the windows, the two angels retreated to the rest of the group and described the scene to them.

  Infusino said quietly, “We knew something like this was coming.”

  Arielle nodded in agreement. “We knew the demon ranks were massing, but we didn’t quite know how. This is only the beginning. There will be other groups. More preparations.”

  Brandon felt queasy, wondering whether his recent suspicions about Arielle were right.

  Whether what his gut told him was true.

  Whether she really was evil.

  Or whether Arielle was simply dedicated to her mission on earth—protecting humankind and fighting demons—and doing what she thought needed to be done.

  “Is this why you’re building the Redemption Center?” Brandon asked.

  She nodded. “Yes, and you must help me. We members of the Company all need to trust each other if we have any hope of winning. I don’t know how we’re going to defeat these demons. We’ll have to find a way. But we can’t stay here now. We’ve got to leave, formulate a plan and return later.”

  Later will be too late, he knew.

  “The rest of you can do what you need to,” he said. “I’m going in. Now.”

  “Wait,” said Arielle, reaching toward him. “You can’t just walk into a swarm of demons unprotected. They will rip you limb from limb and then burn you alive, just like they’re going to do to that human. Besides, he doesn’t even deserve to be saved.”

  “We can’t just leave him here,” Brandon said. He looked at her pointedly. “Torture is never justified.”

  He turned, steeling himself for what he must do. Or perish trying.

  Infusino grabbed his arm, holding him back.

  He broke free, tearing toward the factory doorway, toward certain destruction.

  * * *

  A lone feather drifted into Luciana’s view. The moment she saw it floating in the middle of the factory, a wisp of melancholy grazed over her. Because she knew that if the angel arrived now, Corbin would take him. And that would be the end.

  How can he have found me here?

  The iron doors groaned open once again. This time, every Gatekeeper in the factory turned toward the sound, the nearness of his energy pulling every gaze upward.

  Brandon stepped into the factory. As he walked onto the platform, she saw how stunning he was, the ink-etched muscles of his arms glistening in the heat. Light poured from him, illuminating every surface. The fires in the ovens seemed to dim in contrast. As Luciana looked up at him amid the dull gray of the factory, his gray eyes radiated. Lucent. Fierce. Powerful.

  But he had come alone.

  And she knew all was lost.

  As powerful as he was, a single angel against a horde of demons could not possibly win. Could not possibly even escape. Yet Brandon himself did not seem to realize that. His broad shoulders were set in a stance of absolute confidence, much like the first time she’d ever seen him.

  “Stop!” the Guardian thundered.

  All activity in the factory ceased.

  Silence fell over the building. The muted rumble of fire inside the ovens crackled, waiting.

  Then Jude’s screaming commenced again.

  Brandon descended the metal staircase, each footstep ringing in the large room.

  The demons stood transfixed for another moment, watching him. Then they began to converge toward the stairway, gathering in a ring around it. Brandishing weapons glowing with the heat of hellfire, they circled slowly. But none dared touch him.

  With bold strides, the Guardian headed toward Jude. Untied him.

  Hauled his own murderer over his shoulder.

  And strode back toward the staircase.

  It was Corbin who stepped forward, blocking his way. “You think you can walk in here and take what belongs to us? Massimo, take care of this intruder.”

  The Archdemon snapped his fingers. Very quietly, Massimo stepped forward.

  With a syringe in his hand and a quick flash of vengeance in his eyes.

  A syringe she recognized. Which she had handed Massimo herself, along with the words, I trust you with this.

  “If this is the end, so be it,” Brandon said. “I have no regrets. I will not run from evil.”

  But Massimo did not move toward the angel.

  Instead, he raised his hand and inserted the syringe into the side of Corbin’s neck. In a smooth, deliberate motion, he pressed his thumb down and injected the contents of that syringe into the Archdemon’s carotid.

  Corbin stood, stunned for a moment.

  “Why?” he managed to gasp out.

  “For my mother,” Massimo whispered.

  “That bitch Luciana is not your mother,” Corbin choked.

  “I know,” said the Gatekeeper. “Her name was Carlotta Rossetti.”

  Corbin swallowed, a simple movement of his Adam’s apple. He touched the center of his neck, then coughed. A scarlet gleam of blood spattered on the ground. And then the death rattle began, moving up his windpipe. The sound of dying Luciana had heard so many times before. The Archdemon fell, splayed on the bare concrete floo
r, twitching out the last moments of his existence.

  As he lay in his final convulsions, there was a momentary pause.

  The Gatekeepers stood peering down at him, astounded, many of them expecting him to get up.

  So it works, was what Luciana thought. The poison works after all.

  And then one of the ovens exploded. Whether by some divine intervention or set off by some earthbound thing or creature, she could not say for sure. All she knew was that the oven flared apart with a burst of flame that shot out in every direction, blowing out the nearest windows and cracking the floor beneath it.

  The blast of heat rocked them all: demons, angel, human, Luciana, Brandon, Jude.

  But it was not fire that began to engulf the building.

  The building shook beneath them as the cracked floor split open, a vein tearing open to become an abyss. Water gushed in. Faster than any surge Luciana had witnessed, even after centuries of living in flood-famed Venice. Water engulfed the factory floor, rising around the ankles and up the shins of the shocked demons standing inside.

  The horde scattered, running through the now-knee-deep water, pushing and shoving toward whatever exit was nearest. Brandon grabbed Luciana, hauling her out the back door with Jude over his shoulder. Bolting down the fondamenta away from the fornace, so fast she wondered for a moment if they were actually flying.

  Behind them, the water washed into the ovens inside, hitting the fires with a great hiss of steam that rose to the top of the building. Pressure built. And then it ruptured. The roof blew open and the air was filled with shattering glass. The walls shook, old brick crumbling like unfired clay.

  Fifty feet away from the disaster, she turned to look back.

  And like a carrion crow arriving at a scene of carnage, the devil’s black funerary gondola came floating down the canal. Into the fornace, the dark vessel sailed on a river of flame. Death’s ferryman extended his withered arm from within his black cloak, steering into the heart of the boiling inferno. Moments later, the boat emerged, and as it floated past them, Luciana looked down and saw the body of the Archdemon stretched along its floor. With a nod of his head in her direction, the demon gondolier gave a single push on his pole and drifted away.