The Demoness of Waking Dreams (28 page)

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

I
n 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.

Nothing was going to keep Luciana down.

She reached the fence, looking up at it, studying the ornamental wrought-iron spikes at the top. It was about a dozen feet high, difficult to climb under the best of circumstances. And now, exhausted as she was from this whole ordeal, it would be impossible.

That fence stopped exactly where the lawn ended and gave way to a small stretch of sandy beach. Straight ahead lay the open ocean. But the waves were turbulent, and the beach was bordered on both sides by craggy rocks. Luciana had thought simply to slip around the end of the fence. But as she touched it, she felt a flash of pure energy that blinded her as though she’d run into an electric current. She fell to her knees, clutching her head. Between her temples, a blinding white light pulsed, combined with the most powerful pain she had ever felt.

She screamed, a shriek that must have carried up to the heavens and down to hell. But not a soul came to aid her.

She looked up, toward the main building.

Where the ethereal beings who held her captive stood in a long row, looking down at her from the vantage point of a wall of glass that stretched along the second story.

Watching.

The Company of Angels had her penned in.

“What was the point of that?” Brandon asked, standing with the rest of the angels at the window as they watched Luciana writhing on the ground. He started toward the door, determined to go get her. “It was just unnecessarily cruel.”

Arielle put a hand on his arm, stopping him. “There’s no need. I’ve sent a couple of my people out to take her back to her room.”

The Company watched as two of the Guardians went out to collect the demoness.

“The point of that was to prove that we do, in fact, have the facilities to keep Luciana securely locked up. And to teach her that there’s no point in trying to escape,” Arielle said calmly.

Brandon looked toward Michael, challenging. “I cannot believe you’re letting this go on.”

“I agree,” said Michael. “That did seem unnecessary. Arielle, in future, please refrain from any needless disturbances to the detainee. Your track record is spotless. I know you understand your responsibilities in terms of safeguarding the best interests of everyone involved.”

“Yes, of course,” Arielle said smoothly.

“For now, this meeting is adjourned,” said Michael.

The Company began filing out of the boardroom, the angels muttering quietly to each other about what had just happened.

“Wait,” Brandon said, turning to Michael. “What about me? What is my role here?”

“That is your own decision. The Chicago unit is functioning well at the present time. No problems have been reported. You may stay or go as you choose,” said Michael.

Then he, too, turned and walked out of the room.

Leaving Brandon staring out at the spectacular view, wondering what the hell he was going to do.

“I need to talk to you,” said a voice behind him, startling him. “Man-to-man.”

Brandon turned to see Julian Ascher standing there.

“Man-to-man, I think you’ve got your head shoved up your ass,” Brandon said. “At least when it comes to Luciana.”

“You may well be correct. So I need you to listen.”

“Why would I do that?”

“As Michael said, we’re all working for the same thing. The greater good of humankind.”

“I don’t buy that for a second,” Brandon said.

“Call it guilt, then.” Julian sighed. “There are things I was never able to admit to before.
There are things you don’t know about Luciana. Things that are important.”

“I’m listening.”

Julian held his head in his hands for a moment. When he raised it, he looked squarely at Brandon. “This isn’t easy to say. But I have made some terribly bad decisions when it came to Luciana.”

The story Julian spun out before him was a tale of a young English lord, a future duke, who had traveled to Venice on his Grand Tour. Who had stayed because he was mesmerized by the beauty of the city and its people. Fundamentally, it was the same story Luciana had told Brandon only a few nights ago on the Lido.

Except when Julian told it, he did not blame himself entirely for what had gone wrong.

“We were two young people who had fallen madly in love. But then I, arrogant young man that I was, began to doubt and then test that love. I found Luciana’s attentions lacking, and thought she did not truly care for me. I ultimately made the decision to leave her to fate, and left to go home to England.

“I had not seen Luciana for ten years when I spotted her in a crowd in London. Luciana came to me with a story of a difficult marriage, of beatings, of desperation. And we resumed our affair. Soon after, she asked me to kill her husband. I challenged Harcourt to a duel. Neither she nor I expected her drunkard husband to show up sober, nor that Harcourt would be such a good shot. Yet with a miraculously steady hand, he hit his mark. And I hit mine.

“Both of us bled out on the winter snow of an empty field.

“In hindsight, I have finally come to a place in my life where I can take some responsibility for what happened. I no longer blame her for the choices I made.”

“Maybe you should tell
her
that,” Brandon said.

“If you think it will help, I will go talk to her. But I doubt she’ll listen to me.”

“Even if she doesn’t listen, it’s something she needs to hear.”

* * *

Luciana huddled inside her cell of a room, miserable and still filthy from her capture and her attempted escape.

For celestial beings, these angels have no sense of decency,
she thought.

She glared up at the video camera in the corner of the room.

Going into the small bathroom, she finally stripped off the ruined silk gown and threw it in the garbage bin. Stood in the shower and felt the comfort of hot water pouring down over her tired body. There was a folded outfit on the bed, a modest white dress that reminded her of a hospital gown. She put it on. Then she sat down on the bed, wondering where Brandon had gone. Wondering what these angels planned to do with her.

What do they expect me to do? Curl up in the fetal position and give up?
she thought bitterly.
I have survived for over two hundred years. I am not giving up now.

She knelt and began to examine the chair, contemplating whether she had the strength to unbolt it and throw it through the window.

The series of electronic beeps sounded. The metal bolt slid open.

The man standing at the door made her wish she had unbolted the chair.

So she could smash it over his head.

Julian Ascher.

When they had said he was a changed man, they had not been kidding. The difference in him was palpable on his face, on his body. As long as she had known him—and it had been a long time—he had always been smug, arrogant and self-absorbed.

Now, he seemed lighter, somehow. Brighter, somehow. It made her sick.

“I don’t believe it,” she said flatly.

Julian sat on the edge of the bed.

She recoiled, moving away from him.

His hands shot up in a gesture of pacifism. “I didn’t come to hurt you, Luciana. I came to ask you to consider what the Company is asking of you.”

“Why should I?”

“A lot has passed between you and I. There’s something I need to say to you.” He paused. “I need to ask your forgiveness.”

She blinked, the shock of that word hitting her, slamming into her like a slap in the face.

Forgiveness.

A word more profane than any curse she had ever heard.

That word was like a sucker punch to the gut.

Drawing in a deep breath, the words that poured out of her seemed so inadequate, so profoundly failing to express the utter fury that burned inside her. But she let them stream out of her anyway.

“How dare you,” she ground out, advancing toward him in the small space. “After what you did to me? To my family?”