The Demoness of Waking Dreams (29 page)

“I am deeply regretful for the harm I caused you. Looking back, there are many things I would have done differently, if I could. If I could change things now, if I could only go back in time…” Julian paused. “But I can’t. So I hope you’ll accept my apology.”

“
Complimenti
to the Company for brainwashing you so thoroughly,” she said. “Serena St. Clair must have gold between her legs. Because the devil knows that you would never have spoken such words as
apology
or
forgiveness
before. Not in the more than two centuries I’ve known you.”

“Luciana, I truly—”

“Vaffunculo,”
she hissed in the instant before launching herself at him. “And in case you forgot what that means, it translates to ‘go fuck yourself.’”

* * *

When Julian came out with three bloody lines raked down the side of his classically handsome profile, Brandon was unsurprised.

“There is a reason she carries out these sacrifices each year, a reason her hatred has escalated over time. You must find out her side of the story. Get her to confess everything to you. She must make the transition to our side.
That is the only way to end this. Because if you don’t, Arielle will dispose of her as she sees fit. Luciana has done some inexcusable things in the past, but I still believe there’s good in her. You’ve seen that. I know you have.”

As Julian left,
one thing was clear to Brandon.

Julian Ascher was not telling the whole truth.

But he was right. There was a reason Luciana believed she had to remain a demon.

A secret she was hiding deep within herself.

And Brandon meant to find out what that secret was.

When he entered her room, she was sitting at the head of her bed, looking out the window into the darkness, staring out over the ocean. Outside, the moon and stars were so bright that the light flooded into the room and illuminated her pale face.

It was an image that was entirely in keeping with the rest of his experience of her.

Ethereally beautiful, but absolutely miserable.

In the stark emptiness of the room, the vibrancy of her beauty was more stunning than ever.

“Go away,” she said without turning to look at him. “You should have left when you had the chance. Did someone order you to stay?”

He didn’t answer.

“It couldn’t have been the bossy one,” she said quietly, still staring out the window. In the moonlight, her profile was delicate, the vulnerable lines of her difficult to reconcile with the woman who, twelve hours earlier, had injected him with poison. “
Tell me, was she always an ice queen, even when you were sleeping with her?”

“What makes you think that?” he growled.

“Spare me. You angels are incapable of telling a decent lie,
” she said.

“I came to check on you. I thought you might need a friend.”

Luciana rolled her eyes, finally turning to address him, her green eyes almost leeched of their spark. But not quite. She told him, “You’re not my friend, and
I don’t need your pity.”

“There’s a difference between pity and compassion.”

“Please. I don’t need a lecture right now. What would someone like you know about pity, anyway? You’re as smug and perfect as the rest of them. Dressed up like a bad guy with your tattoos. Beneath that tough-guy exterior of yours beats a pure heart. It’s the same story for all of you. I bet you lived like a monk before you died. Isn’t that what it takes to be an angel?”

He didn’t answer, refusing to let her goad him into anger.

He wanted to tell her that he knew the difference between pity and compassion, because he had given and received both.

To be perfectly honest, he didn’t know how to help her right now.

He hadn’t even figured out how to help himself.

But he asked anyway. When he did, it came out entirely wrong. Perhaps because he was tired. Perhaps because her anger touched something in him that was still raw.

Whatever the reason, even as the words came pouring out of his mouth, he regretted them.

“What is it you want so badly that you’re willing to sell your soul to the devil for it?” he said. “Is it that you love power? The thrill of killing? I don’t believe that for an instant. What is it you don’t have? What is it that you want?”

You. You are what I don’t have,
she thought, looking at him.
Well, that and revenge.

“Julian told me his version of the truth,” he said. “About what happened between the two of you. It seems like perhaps the two of you have just come to a ‘he said, she said’ disagreement about events.”

“Julian is fundamentally incapable of telling the truth about our relationship.”

“Whatever you want to tell me, I’m willing to listen.”

But there was nothing.

Nothing she could think of that she would want to say to Brandon. Nothing she had to say about Julian that didn’t involve entering into a world of bitterness and regret. What would she say? That Julian had treated a seventeen-year-old girl with casual disregard, stripping her of her virginity and abandoning her to fate. That, over the centuries, he had toyed with her emotions time and again, causing her to hope each time that he cared about something more than just her body or the power she could bring him in the demon world.

“Nothing,” she said. “There is nothing I wish to tell you.”

Nothing you would understand.

“Have it your way,” Brandon said. Under the scrutiny of those piercing gray eyes, she felt like she had been shrunk to the size of a pea. “But for your sake, I really hope you’ll reconsider. There is more at stake here than you can begin to guess.”

Let them take me,
she thought, closing her eyes.
Perhaps it will be a relief after all this time.

“Forget about forgiving Julian. I don’t think that’s the real issue. The question is whether you can forgive yourself for all the suffering you’ve caused. If you were given the chance, could you let go of your guilt and start over again?”

“The world doesn’t work like that,” she said. “I know Julian was redeemed. That the Company
saved
him. Now he gets to sleep with an angel every night, and go to bed scot-free. Good for him. I don’t know how Julian got over his guilt, but I know that’s not going to happen to me. Redemption is not an option.”

“You’re wrong about that. If you give me a chance, I’d like to show you how wrong.”

“That’s impossible,” she said.

“Why are you so quick to believe in tragedy over miracles?” he challenged.

She knew the answer to that immediately.

Because her entire life had been steeped in tragedy.

Because what little grace she had experienced during her brutally short human life had been ripped away and buried in an unmarked grave. Because everything and everyone she had ever loved had been destroyed or had soured against her. Because in the time since then, a very long time indeed, she had neither seen nor experienced anything that told her anything different.

Because she had laughed at redemption, had mocked those who sought it.

Because nobody had ever offered her redemption before.

There was a myriad of reasons why she could not be redeemed. But how could she express that to Brandon, who seemed to have an infinite capacity to try to forgive, even if he never quite accomplished that task? Who was haunted on a nightly basis by the most unspeakable act a human being could do to another. Who simply bore his excruciating nightmare and got up the next morning, went on about his day.

But she didn’t have the strength to explain any of that to him.

Not now. Not tonight.

“I don’t know why you stayed,” she said instead. “
Now you’re stuck here with this lunatic band of rabid do-gooders. I know you dislike them. Not as much as I hate them, but you understand.”

“True. But I’m also stuck here with you,” he said. “Good night,
principessa.
”

He walked out and closed the door gently behind him.

* * *

Brandon was beginning to question his sanity and his motives.

That night he lay in the room next to hers, which mercifully had not been converted into a prison cell. Separated only by a few inches of drywall, timber and dead air, he lay in the comfortable bed. The real barriers, the psychological, emotional and spiritual barriers between them were being stripped down to thin slivers that barely held them apart.

Leave. Just get up and leave,
said his brain.
This is no longer an assignment. Let Arielle deal with Luciana. The demoness is not your problem anymore.

What kept him there was the knowledge that beneath it all was a terrorized young woman whose life had gone badly off the rails at the age of seventeen.

He closed his eyes and slipped into sleep.

Sliding into dream, she came for him, grabbing him by the arm and yanking him with her.

“I’ve had enough of revisiting
my
past for one day. What about
your
past?”

Luciana took him to visit his wife, Tammy.

“Don’t visit your loved ones,”
was the order Michael had given him.

Not every Guardian was given that advice.

Many of them went back, to check up and to watch over their loved ones.

Why Brandon had been forbidden from visiting was a mystery to him. But he had obeyed nonetheless. Now, with Luciana standing beside him, he felt vaguely guilty for disobeying, even though he had no control over where she chose to take him.

Besides,
he told himself,
it’s only a dream.

Tammy still lived in the house Brandon had bought for them, a few years after joining the Detroit P.D. Standing across the street from the house, he saw Tammy come out and speak to two little boys playing in the yard. Brandon smiled, happy that she was happy.

“Let’s go,” he said to Luciana. “I don’t want to stick around in case she sees me.”

“It’s just a dream,” said the demoness scornfully.

“Still,” he said. “She might remember.”

“Wait. I think you’ll find this interesting.”

He saw a man drive up.

Get out of the car and kiss her.

Something bittersweet twisted inside Brandon as he watched them.

“Who is that?” Luciana asked.

“My wife, Tammy,” he said.

“The man, I meant,” she said flatly.

“My best friend and partner, Jude,” he ground out.

“Did you know?” Luciana asked. “That they were together?”

“I had no idea. I was told to leave it alone. And so I did.”

Her eyes sparkled in the light, and what he saw in them was pure, green evil. “There you go. Learn your own lesson in forgiveness. I dare you.”

Chapter Nineteen

B
randon awoke, sweating and sick with the knowledge that more than a wall separated him and Luciana. Not just wood and drywall, after all. But the fundamental core of what they were.

Angel and demon.

She’s pure evil. I would never have done such a thing to her. Would I?

His heart pounded as he lay in the bed.

What did she really do, except reveal the truth?
he argued with himself.

He shot out of bed, threw on his clothes and tore into the hallway.

The noise of it woke Arielle, who was sleeping in a room across the hall.

She opened her door and stood there in her nightgown, white and ethereal.

“What’s wrong, Brandon?”

He needed to drive, to get far away from this insane asylum full of immortals. His palms tingled for a steering wheel. His foot yearned for the press of a gas pedal. He needed speed to rid him of the desire to crawl out of his own skin. Before that desire drove him crazy.

And Arielle knew it.

“Just a minute,” she said, going into her room. When she returned, she handed him a car key and said, “Outside. In the driveway.”

Veering along the Pacific Coast Highway, he drove until he reached Zuma Beach, Malibu. Where he stood on the sand, looking out over the still-dark ocean. Listened to the sound of the waves. Asked for guidance. And what—who—he found there was Michael. High on a cliff above the beach, the Archangel waited, his massive wings extended out behind him.

He launched off the cliff and circled down, toward Brandon, landing on the sand.

“I take it the current situation has exceeded your capacity to text,” said Michael.

“Seriously, I need help. But not from you.”

“You’re stuck with me,” said Michael. “So talk.”

“What am I doing here?” Brandon asked. He did not whine. He never whined. But the frustration had become so intense, it threatened to explode out of him if he did not give it voice.

“What do you mean?” Michael asked quietly.

“I should not be involved in this assignment anymore.”

“You can leave. You have that choice.”

“I don’t trust Arielle. But that’s not the whole problem. I had a dream last night. Not the same dream. And I saw something I had never seen before.”

“What was it?”

“It had to do with Tammy. And her husband.”

Michael let out a sigh, compassion on his face. “There are circumstances beyond your comprehension. There are reasons for things that even we Archangels do not understand. But I warn you, Brandon. You must forget about this entirely. Leave it to divine justice to handle. Don’t throw away everything you’ve worked toward for your entire existence. This, like everything else, is merely a test. You have a choice. The best option is to leave it alone.”

“I’m worried about Tammy,” he gritted out.

“Are you worried about Tammy, or are you angry with her? Brandon, let it go,” Michael warned. “You have your instructions. You have been a good Guardian all these years.”

“So I think I deserve to know. How long have Tammy and Jude been together? Since my death?”

Michael answered, “Yes.”

“Since before my death?”

The question hovered between them.

Brandon was certain Archangels were physically incapable of dishonesty. Michael’s mouth contracted, but he didn’t deny it. All he said was, “We can’t control the actions of anyone but ourselves.”

Fury burned inside him. Hurt. Sadness.

His mind flipped back through all the events of his past. Jude, his partner and best friend. Older and wiser. Giving advice. Hugging Tammy. Hugging her a little too tightly, Brandon realized now.

“Let it go,” said Michael again. “You are not to pry into the lives of your loved ones.”

Let it go.
Brandon had said essentially the same words to Luciana. But now he realized how difficult, how agonizing that suggestion was.

“How?”

“You’ll find a way,” said Michael.

“And this demoness?” he asked. “What am I to do about her?”

“Slay the dragon.”

“Wait. What the hell does that mean, anyway?”

“That’s for you to find out.”

* * *

When Luciana awoke in the early hours before dawn, Arielle was standing over her.

“Where’s Brandon?” the demoness asked.

“He went for a little trip. It will give you and I an opportunity to talk,” Arielle smiled. “To get to know one another.”

Luciana almost snorted. “My kind do not
get to know
your kind. Serpents do not get to know the rats they devour. Even when the rats gang up and gnaw the snake to death.”

“I’m going to ignore that comment because I know you’re under a lot of stress. Look, I’ve brought you some breakfast,” said Arielle.

There was an assortment of breakfast foods laid out on a tray.

Cereal, scrambled eggs and bacon. A cup of coffee.

“American food,” said Luciana with a flick of her hand, looking over the food. “This is clearly part of my torture, no? A choice between cardboard and a heart attack? No, thank you.”

“Cut the crap, Luciana. This isn’t
la dolce vita.
”

“Really? I think you’d be a lot happier if you learned the art of
la dolce far niente.
‘The sweet art of doing nothing.’ Either that, or maybe you could get laid once in a while,” she said, smiling her sweetest, sunniest smile. “And maybe then you wouldn’t need to pimp out members of your Company.”

Impervious to the insults, Arielle merely picked up the cup of coffee, set it in front of her. “I trust you slept well.”

“
Grazie,
I slept tolerably enough,” Luciana said, taking a sip of the coffee and grimacing. “But not as well as I slept after I made love to Brandon.”

Arielle still didn’t move a muscle. “I understand that you’re frustrated and I imagine it’s not very pleasant for you to be kept against your will. But if you cooperate, then we can all accomplish our goals. We know you created a very special kind of poison.”

“Perhaps,” Luciana drawled.

“You will tell us where it is. You will tell us how you made it.”

In her blandest tone, the demoness said, “No wonder it took you two hundred years to reform Julian. If this is your idea of how to negotiate, I can’t blame him. It’s too bad that the best you can offer demonkind is a good screw from your underlings.”

“Where’s Corbin?” the supervisor asked, switching subjects abruptly.

“I have no idea where Corbin is,” said Luciana, studying her fingernails.

“You must know. You were lovers. You spent three months living with him in Las Vegas.”

“Truthfully, I really don’t know where Corbin is. I don’t care. He’s no longer my lover, and he’s certainly not my friend.”

“Play these games,” Arielle said coolly. “Laugh at me all you want. But in the end, I’ll have the last laugh. I have the power to keep you apart from the only thing that matters to you.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. My home was destroyed in a fire two nights ago. There’s nothing more that I want.”

“Well, now, that’s not true at all, is it?”

It was not an angelic halo that radiated out from this woman, but an aura of smugness.

“This is a totally different approach than you took with Julian,” Luciana said instead, broaching a subject that genuinely piqued her curiosity. “You went to such lengths to reform him.”

“Of course,” Arielle said. “Because Julian was my very first Assignee. When I was ordained as an angel, two and a half centuries ago, the first person I was sent to guard was Julian. But you know how things went with him. He got extremely out of hand, especially when you entered the picture. Why, all those years ago in Venice when you were seventeen, I told him to leave you. If you had just stayed out of the picture, everything would have been fine.”

Arielle smiled as the morning sunlight broke into the room.

And Luciana understood everything.

Julian had been a priority for Arielle because he had been a personal mission.

The one who got away.

And Arielle had been responsible for guiding Julian’s decision to leave Venice two and a half centuries ago. That decision had ultimately ruined Luciana’s human life.

“You’re not interested in reforming me, are you?” Luciana said finally.

“Not you.
The idea of
you
joining the Company is intolerable. You will never become an angel,” said Arielle evenly.

“I have to hand it to you, Arielle. There’s more to you than I thought.”

“
Grazie.
I take that as a compliment,” said Arielle.

“There is no more poison. It burned to the ground with Ca’ Rossetti,” the demoness said truthfully.

“Good,” Arielle said. “That’s all I really wanted to know.”

“Yes, that’s the truth,” Luciana said. And for once, it was.

“No, actually it’s not.”

“I swear it all burned. I tried to save some of it, but your colleague stopped me.”

“Well, no. There’s still some of that poison left. Do you want to know how I know?” Arielle smiled, infuriatingly neutral.

It’s eerie the way she sometimes reminds me of Corbin,
Luciana thought.

“I found this in your home before I burned Ca’ Rossetti to the ground.”

She held up one of the little glass vials, which held the poison Luciana had concocted in her workroom in the days before she had left Venice.

It was empty.

Luciana looked down at her coffee cup. “American coffee really is poison, isn’t it?”

Is this how it feels?
Luciana thought.
I had forgotten.

The pain of dying was unbearable.

The poison Arielle had fed her burned through her veins, killing parts of her physical body as it went.

“How strange to be poisoned yourself, isn’t it? Imagine, after you’ve done the same to so many others,” said the angel.

Luciana tried to answer back. The word
bitch
formed on her lips even as she convulsed, caught in a spasm as the cyanide burned through her veins. Arielle looked down at her, that infuriating coolness of hers unchanging as she surveyed the results of her work.

“Who do you think ordered the burning of Ca’ Rossetti? You may have thought it was Corbin, but I doubt he would ever be so destructive. No,” Arielle said, “I was the one who did it. The reason should be perfectly clear to you. I did so in order to save human lives.”

Luciana looked up at her from the floor.

“I think you did it for your own satisfaction,” she managed to gasp. “For revenge.”

Arielle shrugged. “The reason hardly matters now. What’s more important are the consequences. By burning down your house, I was also able to ensure that you wouldn’t be able to manufacture any more poison. From what I hear, you had quite the little laboratory set up there.”

The demoness stumbled away, about to vomit.

“We’re working toward the same thing here in the Company of Angels. Only we call it by a different name.” Arielle smiled. “Disposal.”

The thought that ran through Luciana’s mind was,
I wish it had been different.

A thousand thoughts and a thousand images rushed into her mind, flooding through her like a wave that washed over her, took her breath away, swept her into unconsciousness.
Her parents’ faces…her sister…Julian…the fallen republic of Venice and all the citizens plunged into poverty and humiliation…every face of every human victim she had ever killed…the Gatekeepers she had raised like children…

And Brandon…

As the tide of darkness rolled over her, she smiled, suddenly grateful that she had gotten the chance to know him at all.

A single word rushed into her mind.

Peace.

How much time passed as Luciana lay on the floor of that horrible little room, fading in and out of consciousness, carried on the tide of the poison, she had no idea.

She only knew that when she opened her eyes, Arielle was standing over her, looking down, her blond hair lit by a blaze of fluorescent light from the ceiling above.

“Get up,” said the angel.

“You killed me,” Luciana accused, coughing out a little blood.