Company of Angels 02 - The Demoness of Waking Dreams

supervisor, I’m a leader and a team player,” Brandon explained. “I foster an environment of trust, so much so that my unit virtually runs itself. There is rarely dissent among my team. We all consider ourselves equals. I’m available for mentoring when the younger angels need guidance. I manage, but I don’t micromanage.” He paused, cleared his throat. “But in the field, it’s a different story.”
    When Brandon Clarkson worked, he was a lone wolf.
    He went undercover alone, and he never took anyone with him. After the trauma of his human death, he would not put another angel at risk the way he risked himself. He would never allow anyone to suffer as he had suffered.
    “I’m going in alone,” he said.
    Arielle blinked rapidly, her mouth pressing into a line so flat it almost disappeared. Then she said, “This matter is far too important. You’ll need backup. Won’t he, Michael?”
    Brandon crossed his arms and stared at the video screen as intensely as he would have done if they were standing in the same room. “Arielle, if I have to clean up your mistakes, I’m doing it on my own terms.”
    “There are rules in the battle between angels and demons,” Arielle shot back. “Rules that cannot be—”
    “Broken?” Brandon finished. “My ass. Rules are made to be broken.”
    “Stop!” Michael ordered. “The Company must remain strong. There is no point in bickering amongst ourselves.”
    “At least call Infusino, our contact in the Venetian unit,” said Arielle. “He can help.”
    “I don’t need help,” Brandon said. “I will handle this alone.”
    Arielle’s eyes flickered with determination, and he knew she was about to launch into an extended rebuttal. He had been the victim of Arielle’s long-winded speeches in the past. He wasn’t going to sit through another one tonight.
    He cut her off at the pass, pushing the button to cut off video feed from the L.A. unit.
    One-third of the screen went black. He shouted into the speaker, “Sorry, Arielle. Technical glitch. Michael, I’ll talk to you when I’m back on American soil.”
    “Wait,” said a male voice Brandon did not recognize. “I’m Julian Ascher, the newest member of the L.A. unit.”
    Around the table of the Chicago unit, the Guardians looked at each other with raised eyebrows. Julian Ascher, former Archdemon, had just been converted into the Company after almost two hundred and fifty years. He had been brought in by one of Arielle’s underlings, a neophyte angel whose innocence and naïveté were unmatched in the Company. Not everyone had agreed with Arielle’s tactics, and her scheme had been the subject of debate within the Company lately.
    Don’t judge, Brandon reminded himself. It’s not your job to judge.
    “Just listen for a second,” Julian said. “Although I’m not proud of it, I was once Luciana Rossetti’s lover. I have certain information about her that will help you track her down.”
    “Let’s hear it,” said Brandon, listening.
    “Luciana has a deal with the devil that keeps her out of hell. Every year, she has to provide a human sacrifice to pacify the Prince of Darkness. She’ll be at the Redentore Church tomorrow night, at seven o’clock in the evening. Without fail, she selects her victim from that church. You’ll find her there. But be careful. Luciana is extremely skilled at using men to get what she wants. She will stop at nothing”
    “Duly noted,” Brandon said. “Thanks for the advice.”
    “Bring Luciana back as quickly as you can,” said Michael. “And don’t be afraid to call for backup if you need it.”
    “Good luck,” said Arielle as coldly as the last time they’d spoken.
    Brandon was intimately familiar with exactly how cold Arielle could be. But in any case, he had no time to worry about Arielle and her moods right now.
    Right now, I’ve got a job to do.
    * * *
     
    To Luciana, walking into Ca’ Rossetti was like walking into a jewel box.
    In the high-ceilinged piano nobile, the main floor of Ca’ Rossetti, her staff of Gatekeepers scrambled to assemble to welcome the demoness home. The heels of her shoes clicked on the marble floor as she inspected the condition of the palazzo. Every surface sparkled, from the intricate mosaic floors to the Murano chandeliers. The walls were adorned with rich swathes of silk damask and lavish murals. Every square inch of floor, every gilded table, every lacquered cabinet and crystal vase, every cornice and curlicue was