Company of Angels 02 - The Demoness of Waking Dreams

single moment in which she knew, I will.
    Violetta Ravello flung herself into death with all the fervor of a burning monk or a martyred saint shot through with arrows. In the name of all that was divine, she placed herself in the hands of a greater power and trusted in what was on the other side.
    In the moment of her death, she heard a single, high note, the sweetest music she had ever heard, sustained like a beacon of light at the end of a tunnel built of pure sound.
    The noise was sickening as Luciana slid the knife into Violetta’s lamb-soft skin, throat slitting open like butter. With one quick, deep stroke, she cut through the girl’s jugular and trachea. Blood rushed out of the girl, streaming in a massive pool of scarlet that spread across the marble floor.
    Luciana wanted to weep for this poor, fragile human girl.
    Why, she did not know. She had done this before, so many times. Countless times.
    Had slaughtered so many victims without a single moment of remorse. Had consecrated so many innocent souls to the devil.
    For such an emotion to plague her at this moment was absolutely nonsensical.
    She held the dying girl’s head as Violetta closed her eyes for the last time. Stroked the soft brown hair that streamed down to the floor, the ends now wet with crimson. And whispered into her ear, “Rest in peace, my dear. Or as close to it as you can find.”
    “She’s going so peacefully,” Massimo commented. “Not like the ones who fight it.”
    Not like the ones who thrashed. Who cried and scream at the end. Who begged for mercy.
    Luciana had seen it all, watched the death of each of her many victims. Big, small. Powerful, weak. Famous celebrities and reclusive hermits. Captains of industry and street sweepers. Of all the deaths she had seen, this young girl had died with perhaps the most dignity she had ever witnessed.
    Perhaps it was the right thing, after all, Luciana thought.
    In death, the girl was beautiful. Even more beautiful than she had been alive.
    Young. Tender. Innocent. Preserved forever in the glorious, innocent state of youth.
    Violetta, lucky girl, would be spared the agony of life. Spared the continued abuse and torture at the hands of the Gatekeepers. But also, spared the agony of making impossible decisions and ridiculous sacrifices.
    “You, child, are dying in your prime, at the pinnacle of your talent, with the world laid open like an oyster before you. You will never know the decline of your beauty or your potential,” she said to the shell of the girl, almost emptied of life.
    Yet, Luciana felt a tremor of regret.
    Perhaps because the girl’s potential would never be realized to its fullest.
    Perhaps because in the afterlife, Violetta would most certainly continue to suffer.
    The demoness laid a hand on the girl’s forehead, comforting her as she eased into the final stages of death. The most vulnerable point, as the soul separated from the body.
    “Now,” Luciana said to Massimo, putting her good hand out.
    He placed a syringe into it. Luciana inserted the needle into the dying girl. She removed a length of blood, drawing out enough to fill the plastic tube.
    “This must be done quickly. Just as the soul is releasing from the body. This is the vital ingredient I have been collecting for my poison,” she said.
    Massimo looked at her, brow furrowed. “Blood?”
    “What I gather from my victims is much more than just blood,” she told him.
    “How?” he puzzled.
    “It is the essence of death itself.”
    The rare kind of terror that arose only during a person’s last moments on earth.
    Even if Violetta’s death was a quiet one, Luciana knew the feelings coursing through her. Even if she did not scream and thrash, beneath those closed eyelids, in the girl’s mind, the fear of the great unknown would spin until she reached oblivion.
    I know because I remember that myself, Luciana thought.
    She held up the syringe, bright red in the dimness, as the girl lay fading on the floor. Trapped in the scarlet liquid, the essence of death would be distilled into Luciana’s concoction later.
    “Take this upstairs and put it in the workroom. Then take the body, and go out to the requisite meeting place. There is a chance that the conditions for this year’s hunt might still be satisfied, even though I am late,” she told him. “And get the others to clean up this mess.”
    There was a glint in his eye, deeper and more powerful than she had ever seen before.
    “Out of curiosity,