Company of Angels 02 - The Demoness of Waking Dreams

so.
    But this was no dream. There was no watch in his pocket.
    He checked. He double-checked.
    I’m awake .
    He took a seat beside her.
    “Did you know,” she murmured, without turning, “La Fenice burned down not once, but twice? In the end, the opera house survived, rebuilt by us Venetians to rise again from the ashes. She is a true phoenix.”
    Luciana turned to look at him fully then, those emerald eyes of hers glittering in the darkness, so green against the dimly lit gilt and mirrors decorating the interior of the box.
    “You are like a phoenix, too, rising every night after your repeated death,” she said quietly. “And you will continue to rise. On your own. You must know that I can’t go with you. It is completely impossible.”
    “You’re making this more difficult than it has to be,” he said. “It can be easy.”
    “Easy?” The single word, spat, her brow furrowed. “I will make it easy for you. Go back where you came from. Leave now. Before something disastrous happens.”
    “Never. Now that we’re here, let’s at least be honest with each other. We both know that I won’t go home. That I will never leave you alone. And the reason I came tonight no longer has anything to do with the assignment the Company sent me to accomplish. Nothing to do with my mission.”
    “Look around you,” she said, ignoring his comment. “There are more demons in the world than humans could ever imagine. We run rampant in this city. We are responsible for everything. From corrupt politics to overcharging tourists for mediocre food in the caffès. From natural disasters to picking pockets on the vaporetti. We are everywhere.”
    Brandon stared back at her. “So are angels.”
    “We are inescapable,” she said, barely hearing him, staring out over the audience of the opera house with wide, frightened eyes.
    “Are you talking about Corbin?” he asked. “Because the Company can find a way to protect you from him.”
    Her mouth set into a stubborn line. She shook her head, her dark curls tumbling around her. “We’ll win in the end. You know it. My kind always do. We barely have to lift a finger. Humans do it to themselves.”
    He couldn’t speak past the lump in his throat. He wanted to bolt the door shut and keep her in here for eternity, in their own little bubble of gilt and mirrors. It wasn’t exactly his taste, but with her here, he would capture this moment forever.
    Forget the war between angels and demons, he thought.
    The war going on inside him was a thousand times more dangerous.
    * * *
     
    There’s no point in arguing with him , she thought. It always results in the same thing.
    An impasse.
    So instead, she smiled and said, “Let’s not argue about it. We have this time together. After the opera is over, we will say our goodbyes. But until then, let me love you.”
    She rose, pulled the curtain shut across the front of the box.
    “I didn’t know you could do that,” he said. “What’s the point?”
    “In my day, we shut these curtains all the time. The opera was a lovely place to come to have a little party with the people you knew. Half the time, we only listened to the arias.”
    To lose herself in his arms. That was all Luciana wanted.
    Sorrow. Melancholy. Regret.
    These things welled inside her, untouched for so long. His mere presence stirred them.
    Her hands reached up to caress his neck.
    “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
    * * *
     
    What do you have to be sorry for? he wondered.
    He was about to speak the thought aloud, but the words never made it through his lips.
    Instead, he felt the prick of something sharp sliding into the carotid artery. Felt the cool rush of the foreign substance entering his bloodstream. He knew instantaneously what she had done.
    Poison.
    Releasing itself into his bloodstream. He blinked, holding his hand to his neck.
    In that instant, he realized just how mistaken he had been. How badly he had missed his mark. He had sorely underestimated the speed with which Luciana worked, the ruthlessness with which she performed her set task.
    Brandon felt the nearness of death. Knew that whatever poison she had shot into him was working its way through the pathways of his body. Through veins and arteries, until it reached his heart. Once there, the heart would stop pumping, the chambers of it cease the circulation of blood. His breathing would stop. The flow of blood, that precious substance, would stop entirely.
    Whatever he had expected, he had not been