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Chapter 2

2

Wesley moved away from the sofa, backing away from Harmony’s reanimated, splotchy blue corpse, who now wanted to be addressed as “Illyria.” He placed his right hand inside the pocket of his jacket, gripping the crucifix he kept there, for occasions when Wolfram & Hart vampire employees got out of hand.

She rose up quickly, standing straight, with a haughty demeanor.

“What place is this?” She demanded, “Where are my Devotees, and why is my De-vine Personage contained in such an unworthy vessel of corrupt flesh?”

He told her, “You are in Los Angeles, California. In the apartment of my betrothed, Miss Winifred Berkel; who works as a researcher for Wolfram and Hart Corpora-tion.”

She raised her voice in anger. “I am in the home of a woman of an inferior class? Who is responsible for this outrage?”

“Whoever it was,” he told her, “he, she or they, sealed you inside an accursed sar-cophagus, more than three thousand years ago.”

“Oh yes.” She nodded, “The Leaders of the Rebellion. That occurred three thou-sand years ago? Does the Rebellion still continue?”

He shook his head, “That Rebellion is a long time ended, and a long time forgotten.”

“Then why was I only released now?”

“Because you Illyria, are a long time forgotten yourself.”

“I? Illyria? A long time forgotten?”

“It happens to everyone eventually Illyria, including Divinities like yourself.”

She stood there silently, with no change of expression.

Then she asked, “Tell me, what is your name?”

“I am Wesley Wyndham-Pryce the Third. I am a former member of the Watcher’s Council.”

“‘Watcher’s Council’? Tell me Lord Wesley Wyndham-Pryce the Third. What do the members of your Council watch?”

“I am not a Lordship.”

She sighed in resignation.

He went on, “We watch vampires.”

“I see. Are there any vampires nearby?”

“Nearer than you apparently realize, oh most Devine One.”

She turned around, and looked through the open doorway into the bedroom. She saw the lifeless body of Winifred Berkel.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“This woman is dead. Killed by a vampire.”

“That is correct.”

“Have you come to drive a wooden stake through her heart, so she will not become a vampire herself?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Never. She is the woman I love. My betrothed. I will never do that to her, and I will do all that is within my power, to prevent anyone else from doing so.”

“You intend to remain betrothed to a woman, who might become a vampire? Will you be wed to a vampire?”

“I am greatly distraught.” He told her, “I know I am exercising very poor judg-ment, in regards to this situation.”

“Indeed!”

“If it wasn’t for you,” he spoke sharply, “she would not have been killed this way!

“I have no idea who rebelled against you, or why! What I know is that you were sealed inside an accursed sarcophagus! I also know that my betrothed Winifred Berkel was the one who unsealed the sarcophagus. When she did, she inhaled an ether, that caused an infection that was going to kill her.

“I did not want to lose her entirely, so I had a vampire named Harmony come over here tonight, and bite her, so that she would remain in this world, as a vampire.”

“You are a fool, Wesley Wyndham Price the Third.”

“In this situation, I cannot argue.”

“Wait. You said the vampire was named Harmony. That is what you called me.”

“That is correct Illyria. You may have been a Divinity, three thousand years ago, but now, you are just a humble vampire girl, who has drunk blood that was infected with you.”

Now the splotchy blue woman growled. She extended her fangs, and pounced to-ward Wesley, as he pulled the crucifix out of his pocket, and held it between her and himself.

Illyria reached out and gripped the crucifix. Then she howled in agony, and pulled her hand away as she recoiled back.

“Wes!” She called out with Harmony’s voice, “What the hell’s the matter with you?”

The splotchy blue color was gone from the Wolfram and Hart receptionist. Her skin had returned to its normal tone and her hair was blonde again. She looked at the palm of her hand, that had touched the crucifix. She held the wrist in her other hand.

She asked with a whimpery voice, “Don’t you know how much that hurts?”