“We’re gearing up to save the world!” Jonathan protested, gripping the edge of the counter that stood between him and Ripper. “Can’t you cut us a break? Or at least a discount? If we don’t all die today, we’ll bring the weapons back to you!”

“We could trade some of the stuff we already bought from you,” Andrew offered. He swung the blue backpack off his shoulder and ripped open the zipper. “Do you want a horn that can call upon the livestock of hell? Poisonous sheep on command!”

“You gits have earned none of my goodwill,” Ripper said. “The last time you were here, you murdered my business partner!”

“We didn’t!” Jonathan protested. He did his best to covertly point at Angelus, who was swinging his new chain mace around. “We can’t control that guy. He’s almost three hundred years old!”

“He’s here with you,” Ripper said, unmoved. “And I won’t let you borrow so much as a pencil from my inventory. This is my life’s work here. I’d rather die with it than give it away to Ethan’s killers.”

“Fine, Smaug,” Andrew jeered at the older man. “Sit on your treasure pile while the world ends! We don’t need your help!”

“That’s not true,” Anya said, inserting herself into the conversation. She clapped the book she was holding down onto the counter. Its title was in Latin. Had Anya actually been able to read it or was she playacting to look busy? She did claim to be over a thousand years old. When had Latin died as a language?

“We absolutely need your help,” Anya told Ripper. “Well, your stuff. But we’re willing to pay for it.” She looked expectantly at Jonathan and Andrew. “What are you waiting for? Hand him money. Lots of it. Money always changes people’s minds. It’s the best thing about it. Other than being exchangeable for goods. And the smell of it. And how safe it makes you feel when you have, like, a lot of it.”

Jonathan reluctantly retrieved the messenger bag, He handed the last of their money over to Ripper, who rubbed one of the twenties over a craggy pink crystal next to the cash register. As the bill passed over it, the crystal glowed orange as though filled with an inner fire.

“Are you taking the piss?” Ripper asked sharply. The bill crunched into a ball in his fist. “You think I’m going to fall for this again?”

Jonathan shied away from the counter, hugging the shrink ray inside the messenger bag like it could save him. He cleared his throat, finding it suddenly very dry.

“Fall for what?” he asked.

“I told your tall friend that I wouldn’t take any more of this counterfeit shit,” Ripper said, pitching the crumpled bill onto the floor and picking up another from the stack. “He’s still got his name written in binary here. W. Mears. What a twat.”

“You read binary?” Andrew said, impressed. “That’s so cool.”