The Demoness of Waking Dreams (Company of Angels)

by Stephanie Chong

  “Where did you get the money for that?” he asked. “The L.A. unit has been notoriously underfunded.”

  She smiled, but said nothing. He knew the answer. Julian Ascher.

  “I’m taking Luciana back to Chicago with me,” he said. The roughness of smoke lingered in his lungs, abrading his throat as he spoke. He cleared it and said, “I captured her. She’s my detainee.”

  “Your contribution has certainly been commendable,” Arielle told him, with that placid smile fixed on her face. “But the demoness is technically the responsibility of the Company as a larger organization. Considering the amount of…ahem…personal interaction you’ve had with her, you wouldn’t want anyone to think you were biased, would you?”

  Something gleamed in the corner of Arielle’s eye.

  If he didn’t know her better, he would have said it was something evil.

  In her own seat, the demoness sat absolutely still. Restrained by the cuffs, both her hands were clenched into fists.

  “Forget it,” he said. “I’ve cleaned up your mess, Arielle. Now I’m going home. Back to my own unit. Back to my own team. You’re no longer a part of this assignment.”

  The blonde angel leaned forward and stared him evenly in the eye.

  He shivered, overcome by the sensation that he was staring into a block of ice.

  “That’s not your call to make, now, is it?” she said. “Given that this plane belongs to the L.A. unit, you don’t have a lot of say in our destination.”

  Brandon sighed, too exhausted to fight. “Why are we arguing about this, Arielle? Let’s just contact Michael and ask him for our next instructions.”

  He pulled his wet cell phone out of his pocket. Trying to power it on, he realized it was waterlogged and defunct.

  “Give me your phone,” he told her.

  “It’s not safe to use cell phones during flight,” she admonished, with that trademark smile of absolute neutrality. “Besides, does Michael know exactly how personally close you’ve gotten with the target?”

  “Don’t threaten me, Arielle,” he growled.

  She sat back in her chair, crossed her legs. Folded her hands on top of one knee. “The plane is on course for Los Angeles. You’ll see once we get there. It really is the best place for her. It’s so secure and secluded. We’ll have a proper chance to discuss the option of disposal,” Arielle said sweetly. “And we can interrogate her.”

  “Interrogate her?” said Brandon, his hoarse voice rising, attracting the worried glances of the other angels. He didn’t care. “That wasn’t our assignment. Our assignment was to capture her, and to make sure she didn’t circulate any more poison. Those goals have been accomplished. Michael never said anything about interrogation.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Arielle said, “once we land in L.A. Luciana is a source of information, and there are still so many unanswered questions. Luciana has not yet disclosed whether any poison still exists. Nor is there any guarantee that she’ll refrain from using her considerable skills to concoct more poison in the future. We must ensure that she is neutralized. The Archangels left this with us to resolve.”

  “We will see about that,” he growled.

  But short of hijacking the plane, Brandon realized there was no point in arguing with Arielle any further.

  Even if he wanted to, he had no energy left to do so.

  All he could do was lean back and battle sleep with every ounce of energy he had left in his body.

  * * *

  This is utter humiliation, Luciana thought to herself as the angels bickered over her. Not since my human life have I been shamed in such a manner. I have not been taken against my will for over two centuries.

  The last time she had been held captive, she had vowed she would never let a man seize the vantage point again. Between Julian and Harcourt, the bowels of hell and the brothel, she had endured enough hardship and betrayal for a dozen lifetimes. Being chained to a bed alone with Brandon was one thing. Deep down, she had always known that there was a way out. But now, staring out the tiny window of this little plane, in the company of these assholes, chained to the seat?

  There was no escape this time.

  America represents abject failure, she thought. When she had last left American soil, she had crept away a broken woman, barely alive, having escaped by the skin of her teeth. She had to clench her jaw to keep from screaming out what was going through her mind. Whether it’s Los Angeles or Chicago, it hardly matters.

  Brandon and Arielle stopped fighting, and the plane lapsed into hushed whispers. Brandon sat silently with his eyes closed, but the rest of the angels continued to murmur about the Guardians who would be waiting for them in L.A.

  Serena St. Clair…Julian Ascher....

  Mother of Lucifer, let me out of here, she pleaded. If I could only open a window right now, I would gladly pitch myself from this aircraft at ten thousand feet and spare these celestial vermin the trouble.

  “Serena is a yoga teacher whom Luciana had almost succeeded in killing only weeks ago,” Arielle explained to Infusino, who was nodding, taking in the information.

  Hearing that girl’s name is like fingernails on a blackboard, Luciana thought. But Serena is merely an annoyance, not a serious challenge.

  “And then there’s Julian Ascher,” Arielle said. Her voice dropped. “He’s Luciana’s ex-lover. The reason she had become a demoness in the first place.”

  Then, Luciana really did stop listening.

  She did not need to hear the details as Arielle murmured them to Infusino.

  It was a story the demoness knew by heart.

  A heart that had long ago been crushed into dust.

  The plane jolted and Luciana’s stomach churned, but whether it was from the turbulence or the thought of Julian Ascher was difficult to tell. The last time she had seen Julian, only a couple of weeks ago, her plan for revenge had been horribly spoiled. Perhaps now there would be another chance.

  Now, she had nothing to lose.

  Luciana smiled to herself, turning her head to conceal the smile.

  From across the plane, Brandon saw her and frowned.

  Let him wonder, she thought. He, too, will pay.

  That thought churned in Luciana’s head for the next dozen hours as she stared miserably out that little window. It churned and churned, until the plane landed and she found herself staring at the hazy-dry landscape of the San Fernando Valley in high summer. In only half a day, the angels had transported her a world away from her cool marble palazzo in Venice.

  A palazzo that was no more.

  * * *

  Brandon watched the demoness stare out the window, taking in every detail of their early morning arrival. Sunlight spilled over her features; he was struck by how beautiful she remained, even in the midst of her exhaustion. Still lovely despite her despair, despite her fury.

  He refused to feel sorry for Luciana.

  She deserves to be brought to justice for what she has done, he reminded himself. Whether that’s here in L.A. or in Chicago will be for Michael to decide once I contact him.

  He saw the clarity of her green eyes as she gazed out the window, sunlight slanting through her irises. Her gaze flicked to him.

  There was war in those eyes.

  Despite that, Brandon knew that abandoning the demoness now was not an option.

  “Let’s go,” Arielle instructed.

  Heaving a sigh, he uncuffed the demoness. Led her down the metal stairs and into the July heat, through the terminal and out the other side, where an SUV was waiting for them. Brandon pushed her inside and sat down next to her, while Arielle piled into the seat behind them.

  Watching the scenery roll by outside the car, in the strange peace of the early morning, none of them spoke a word.

  “No doubt, we’re heading to another hovel,” Luciana muttered, after an hour of silence in the car. “You angels and your sanctimonious poverty.”

  Like Luciana, Brandon had expected the compound to b
e a modest affair. By “retreat center,” he imagined a run-down operation that was poorly maintained. A few rustic cabins a step up from camping. Bathrooms with mildewed walls. Primitive cooking facilities with communal food preparation responsibilities. Lots of fireside sing-alongs.

  Not a gated compound, whose sprawling, multilevel buildings might have been conceived by Frank Lloyd Wright.

  A strange chill passed over Brandon as the driver pulled through the iron gates and into the compound. As those gates clanged shut behind them, Brandon realized why Arielle had picked this place. Not because it could have been on the cover of Architectural Digest. The clean lines of the whitewashed walls fairly glowed, pristine beneath the soft glow of the coastal sunset. But despite the smooth strokes of its architecture, despite the natural harmony between the structures and the environment, the compound was built like a bunker.

  Fort Knox with sand.

  Originally, those gates had obviously been designed to keep people out.

  Under Arielle’s direction, they would now be used to keep people in.

  “What is this place?” he said as he looked at Arielle’s pristine blond hair and the content little smile on her face as they pulled up to the main building. He had no doubt it really had once been a retreat center, the kind of high-end health resort where wealthy ladies forked over thousands of dollars to be taken on “nature hikes” on dirt trails for hours and then served a few leaves of lettuce for lunch.

  “It used to be a residential health spa,” she confirmed. “We were very lucky to get it. We’re still deliberating about the name. But we’re thinking of calling it the Center for Redemption.”

  “Sounds like a recycling facility,” Brandon said. Remembering the angels’ old joke that when a Guardian’s physical body happened to be killed, it could be “recycled” and sent back to earth, he shuddered.

  “In a manner of speaking, I hope it will be,” Arielle replied.

  The blonde supervisor led the way, waiting for Brandon to escort the demoness out of the car. Hauling Luciana out, he cuffed her to himself. “Let’s go, principessa.”

  She offered little resistance, wide-eyed as she stepped from the car.

  They entered the building, into a lobby that could have belonged to any institution with money, a richly endowed museum or an ultramodern theater. The whiteness of it almost overwhelmed him, its blank paleness broken only by the enormous panoramic wall of glass with an unobstructed view of the ocean.

  The building was absolutely deserted.

  No staff stood behind the reception desk, no guests or patrons milled in the lobby. Instead, emptiness hung beneath the soaring ceilings, and the sound of their own footsteps echoed against the marble as they followed Arielle.

  As they rode up the elevator, Brandon took note of the security measures. The card-swipe and electronic combination locks, the surveillance video cameras everywhere. The heavy bars on the doors they passed as they walked the demoness down a hallway.

  And he wondered what Arielle was really planning to do here.

  * * *

  “Is this the Company’s idea of heaven?” Luciana muttered. “Everything sterile and completely colorless? Perfect.”

  Nobody answered. Instead, they marched her through the building and brought her to a stark, white cell of a room. The only furnishings were a single bed with a white duvet, and a white plastic chair. Both of them were bolted to the floor. The small, antiseptic-looking bathroom was also entirely white, with nothing in it except a toilet, a sink and a shower stall.

  Brandon uncuffed her. Then he pushed her gently into the room and shut the door. She heard a series of electronic beeps and the slide of a heavy metal bolt. Locking her into this high-end version of solitary confinement.

  “I should have killed you while I had the chance,” the demoness hissed, running to the door to slam the butt of her fist against the small window. “I could have done it easily.”

  Brandon didn’t answer. He just stood there and looked at her through the small square of reinforced glass, his rainy-gray eyes overflowing with anger.

  “Now, now,” Arielle chided brightly. “Think how lucky you are. People have paid a veritable fortune to come here and stay in the very same room you’re in right now. The Company has been working overtime to prepare these accommodations especially for you. We put a lot of effort into modifying these facilities. We hope you’ll enjoy our hospitality and have a very relaxing stay with us.”

  “I’m going to make sure every last one of you suffers hideously by the hands of Satan himself,” Luciana screamed, pounding the window. “The Prince of Darkness will disembowel you with his own bare hands. And I will be there to watch.”

  Arielle’s mouth curved into an infuriating smile. “Make yourself comfortable here, dear. You’re going to be staying with us for a very long time.”

  “Mezza stronza, mezza strega,” Luciana cast at the window before spitting on it. “Andare all’inferno.”

  The angels walked off, leaving her in the prison cell alone.

  But she heard the end of their conversation as they walked away.

  “‘Half witch, half bitch.’ That’s what she called you,” said Infusino. “And then she told you to go to hell.”

  “Thank you, Infusino,” Arielle said, pursing her lips tightly. “In future, if I want a translation, I shall ask for one.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  In the bright sunshine of the perfect SoCal summer day, an eerie feeling swept over Brandon as Arielle led the rest of the Guardians through her new property. As they walked, he only heard fragments of what she said. Something in his gut churned, but he couldn’t identify what. A feeling of suspicion, perhaps. He didn’t trust Arielle, but he didn’t quite know why.

  “…security cameras monitoring every inch of the detention facility…”

  “…converting this into a training area…” she said, pointing to a large grassy field.

  “…the helicopter pad for emergencies…”

  “Where’s Michael?” Brandon demanded. “We don’t have time right now for a guided tour. There are important matters to attend to.”

  “Patience is a virtue,” she admonished, pursing her lips at the interruption. “Look, here we are. This is our new boardroom. It’s a change from the legal-aid clinic, though we plan to keep the old headquarters, too. But it was time for an expansion.”

  On the second floor of the main building, the room she led them into was large and impressive, with soaring ceilings and a view that overlooked the wide expanse of lawn that stretched to the ocean.

  At the head of the long, rectangular boardroom table sat Michael.

  The rest of the members of the L.A. unit sat assembled around him. Brandon recognized Julian Ascher and Serena St. Clair, and two dozen other faces, all of them calmly waiting.

  He took a seat in one of the empty chairs at the end of the table.

  “Congratulations, Brandon, on a job well done,” Michael said. “I speak for the entire Company and all the Archangels when I say that we recognize and appreciate your hard work in finally capturing Luciana Rossetti.”

  All pairs of jewel-bright eyes fell on Brandon, all of them shining with gratitude.

  The angels clapped and nodded vigorously, smiling their approval.

  “Thanks,” Brandon said. “But we need to talk about what we’re going to do with her.”

  “We’ll discuss that now,” said Michael.

  Arielle cleared her throat, rising to stand at the other end of the table. “If I may speak frankly, I think we can all agree that this is a strong case for disposal.”

  “Forget it,” snapped Brandon. “We don’t all agree.”

  Michael sighed. “We cannot let such things divide us as an organization. We must work together at all times to achieve our goals. I know every person in this Company has different opinions and different beliefs. But we’re all working for the same thing. For the greater good and protection of humankind.”

  “
Yes, Michael,” Arielle said. “What do you propose?”

  “We Archangels are against outright disposal in all but the most extreme cases,” said Michael. “We don’t judge that Luciana has been proven to be such a case in this time. We will revisit the case in the future, once more evidence has been compiled and a period of observation has elapsed. If she shows signs of remorse and the possibility for redemption, we must pursue that path. We Archangels trust you Guardians to deal with Luciana in the meantime, until we have determined the best course of action.”

  “Seriously?” asked Brandon. “Keeping her here indefinitely isn’t an option.”

  “Come, now,” Arielle chided. “It won’t be forever. We can reform her at our own pace.”

  “How do you plan to do that?” Brandon challenged. “What are you going to do when she tries to escape?”

  “She won’t. This place is airtight. But just to demonstrate, I think we should stage a little trial run. Won’t that be fun?” asked Arielle.

  A set of monitors lowered from the ceiling. As they flicked on, what they showed was footage from the security camera in Luciana’s room.

  Where the demoness sat on her white bed, still dressed in her ruined silk gown, looking miserable.

  Arielle pressed a button. And the door to Luciana’s room swung open.

  * * *

  Luciana stared at the open door.

  That’s a trap if I ever saw one, she thought. But the open door called to her. What’s the alternative? Sit here and wait for them to wear me down?

  She got up. Took a step toward the door. Then she ran as if she still had a life that depended on it. Down the length of the long, white hallway. Down the curving staircase. Through the empty lobby and out into the blazing heat of the midday sun.

  She bolted, barefoot, racing across the vast stretch of lawn, not knowing where she was headed. Yet certain that anywhere was better than that stark little room. Her lungs burned, but she did not stop running.

  Heading to the left, she ran toward the wide-open space, toward what looked to be an undeveloped area. If she could just get herself out of here. Back to Venice. Somehow, she would cut a deal with the devil. She would complete this year’s sacrifice—maybe throw in another victim just to smooth things over. She would make things right again.