Company of Angels 02 - The Demoness of Waking Dreams

Prologue
     
    Chiesa del Santissimo Redentore Present Day
     
    W ho will it be?
    In the austere marble interior of the Renaissance church, Luciana Rossetti stood watching the opening ceremony of a festival she despised. Dusky light filtered down through the soaring windows, dimly illuminating the bronzed crucifix that loomed high above the altar. At precisely seven o’clock in the evening, the priests started their solemn procession up the nave, to the front of the church.
    Yes, a priest would make a fine sacrifice, she mused, imagining those ornate robes of cream and gold, spattered with scarlet.
    Or easier pickings? A member of the wide-eyed crowd of worshippers and tourists?
    It hardly mattered to her. She hated them all equally.
    Besides, every human being ended up in the same place, eventually.
    Dead and buried.
    Idiotic mortals, she smirked to herself. You have no idea what the afterlife really holds. If you did, most of you’d run screaming down the aisles of this Church of the Most Holy Redeemer right here and now.
    A single bead of sweat trickled down between her perfect breasts, dripping into the bodice of her silk dress. Her pale emerald eyes pressed closed for a moment, shutting out the sunlight warming her face. Unlike this crowd of fools, she had not come to celebrate the Festa del Redentore, the Festival of the Redeemer.
    No, she came for darker reasons entirely. To pay tribute to a darker force.
    Luciana Rossetti came to hunt.
    From amongst the revelers crowding the church on this hot July weekend, she would select her annual sacrifice. A single victim, exchanged for certain privileges and freedoms granted to her within the demon world. An offering delivered to the Prince of Darkness.
    An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth. A soul for a soul.
    The head priest at the pulpit droned on in Italian, sermonizing about forgiveness.
    About redemption. About salvation.
    “We give thanks to our Lord Jesus Christ for the salvation he brought to Venice, in saving our most serene city from the plague in 1577. In loving gratitude, we citizens of Venice built this church,” he said.
    Salvation, Luciana thought, is a funny thing.
    Fifty thousand people had died during that bout of plague. One-third of the population was wiped out, their bodies dumped into mass graves. Half a century later, the plague swept through Venice yet again, returning to reap another eighty thousand souls. However, the priest didn’t bother to mention that. What could one expect from a man wearing a medieval headdress, so obviously stuck hundreds of years in the past, roped into rituals and incantations.
    If that’s salvation, I’ll take the alternative, she thought.
    Behind her, someone muttered in a low voice, grumbling discontentedly about something that Luciana could not hear. Turning, she saw it was an old woman in the pew one row back. An old grandmother standing with her family. On seeing Luciana’s face, the old woman’s wizened features contracted with fury. Her voice broke the silence of the crowd, shattering the air of reverence with a cry.
    “Demonessa!” the old woman shrieked, pointing her bony finger at Luciana. “Una demonessa nella casa di Dio!”
    A demoness in the house of God.
    Every soul in the church froze, turning to stare in the direction of the crazy old nonna who was carrying on in such a way. Luciana shifted under the scrutiny, put on her most pious smile and tried her best to look as innocent as a dove. Standing at the end of the pew, she tensed herself to flee. Hoped that wasn’t necessary.
    Humans rarely recognized her.
    But once in a while…once in a very long while…
    “Mamma! Basta!” shouted her son, a balding man of about fifty who flushed red with embarrassment as he ordered his mother to stop. To the entire congregation, he rattled out a flustered apology involving Alzheimer’s and missed medication. Then he dragged the old woman away, with the old bat spitting and shrieking as she was pulled down the long nave and out of the church.
    Mutters of sympathy came from those standing around Luciana: “Strega pazza…stronza vecchia…” Crazy old witch…
    Gesù Cristo, the demoness swore to herself. Humans. What a pain in the ass.
    Outwardly, Luciana smiled and shrugged.
    T he ceremony resumed. When the tedious incantations and rituals finally ended, the clergy paraded down the center aisle past the congregation, on their way out of the church. A few of the priests caught Luciana’s eye,