Company of Angels 02 - The Demoness of Waking Dreams

and chipped halos, they seemed to cheer him on, lending him strength as he pursued the fleeing demoness.
    How long she ran, he wasn’t sure.
    The sun disappeared, tucked into the sea as night settled over the celebrating city. Brandon lost track of time as she twisted and turned through the streets. He followed, focused only on her. On keeping the flicker of her hair, of her dress, in sight.
    On the dark pull of her, urging him onward.
    Turning the corner, he nearly lost her, the only clue to her a tiny corner of silk rippling, leaving empty air behind it.
    He pursued.
    Above, he read the street name stenciled in black on the cracked white cornerstone on the nearest building.
    Rio Tera dei Assassini.
    He stepped into it. And felt himself stepping into another realm.
    From doorways and cornices, tucked into the designs on the buildings, eyes watched. Dozens of eyes, glistening in the darkness. Lingering figures turned to stare. Not human. Not mortal. Not even demon. Merely goblins, skittering along like oversize rats, cackling to themselves, their wizened skins the color of dirty stone. And ghosts, flickering low in the dimness, their tenuous connection with the earth merely an imprint on the place where they had died. Lost souls, unable to leave the place of their death.
    Nobody had to tell him that people had been murdered here, or how many. He knew it in his gut, from the part of him that remembered what it was like to die. He saw it in those eyes. Felt the chill of death that permeated the cobblestones beneath his feet. Sensed the memory of traumas held within these streets.
    The dark souls who watched him now…not one of them even registered who or what he was. These creatures were simply too stuck in their own despair to register an angel in their midst. He saw that in the eyes glimmering in the darkness, glinting with moonlight and suffering.
    Keep moving, Guardian, he told himself. You can’t lose her now.
    At the end of the alleyway, he spotted her dress again, a fleeting wisp of pink.
    He followed, then paused at the mouth of an alleyway that led nowhere, a dead end that closed in on itself. He found himself standing in the light of a failing streetlamp, peering into the alley. Overhead, the view was obstructed by the buildings. He could not see the moon.
    At the end of that small, enclosed space, he could hear her, the sound of her heart thundering, her fear louder and more palpable than his.
    Focus, he told himself.
    Dead ahead of him, he could sense her, the vibration of her body and the emanation of dark energy pulsing from her. Of fear. He leaned toward it, barreling down the straight alleyway into darkness.
    The walls of the narrow buildings rose above him like a tall cage.
    For a moment, the cobbled passageway seemed to tilt beneath his feet, the darkness of these alleys too similar to the scene of his human death. A second of vertigo, the sensation of tightness escalating as the space between the walls seemed to constrict, the smell of urine and garbage filling his nostrils.
    His heart pounded from the physical exertion and from adrenaline.
    Panic shot into his bloodstream, his heartbeat escalating to a thunder.
    Venice was closing like a trap around him.
    He closed his eyes.
    Venice, he told himself. Not Detroit.
    She turned then.
    In his dream of death, there was no woman.
    Not a dream. Reality.
    She ran up a small flight of stairs leading to a weathered old door, the skirt of her rose silk dress fluttering. And he followed.
    * * *
     
    Luciana’s heart pounded and her feet screamed. How long had she been running?
    An hour? More?
    The angel tracked her through the maze of streets. Streets so familiar she could have navigated them with her eyes closed, drawn to her destination by the invisible pull of memory. Yet, never had she fled down these streets with such fear in her heart, pounding at every turn. Into the Street of Assassins. Into the one place in Venice where there would be others of her kind. Where she had the greatest chance of finding help.
    Behind her, a gale force gathered and drew her backward, like a tornado threatening to uproot a tree. Resisting that force, Luciana reached for the old brass doorknob in front of her. She stretched, her fingertips grazing the cool metal.
    Now, pulled by that unseen power, she turned to look back at the angel who had followed her into the heart of demon territory.
    Light radiated from his body, illuminating the alleyway. Around him, an aura glowed