“I’ve spent all day searching for the right weapon for this fight,” Ripper said, flinging an arm at the many open books. “A spell, a sigil, something! There’s nothing on earth that can overpower the Marnoxon gem. It can’t be summoned, located, or destroyed. So long as the slayer wields it, she’s basically invincible.”

“Then we’ll have to cut off the arm that’s wielding it,” Angelus said. “Slayer or not, she’s just a little girl. Any long-range weapon could slow her down. She’s hunting the humans, so we’re going to hunt her right back. We’ve got the bait on our side.”

“Ah, so it isn’t actual concern for these two humans that motivates you,” Ripper said.

“They got us in to see the Mayor and stole the Black Flame out from under the slayer,” Angelus said, considering Jonathan and Andrew. “They’re okay. For blood bags.”

“High praise,” Ripper said sarcastically.

Shock made Jonathan light-headed. The biggest and baddest vampire in Demondale thought he and Andrew were okay? And had given them credit for their help? He could have just as easily pretended that they had only tagged along all day. That’s what Warren would have done. No matter how much time and energy Jonathan put into the development of new weapons, Warren was the one who had final say on naming rights. Warren filed the patents. Warren fired the first test shot.

How could it be that Angelus was better at treating Jonathan and Andrew as equals than their own best friend had been?

Glass shattered as Spike punched his way into the case and retrieved a broadsword. “This should do the trick,” he said. “Oi, Angelus, there’s a chain mace in here. You want it?”

“A mace?” Angelus cried, joyfully trampling the books on the floor as he bounded to Spike’s side. “All right! I haven’t killed anyone with a mace in decades!”

Ripper glared at Jonathan and Andrew. “That’ll be five hundred dollars for the flail and the sword. And a thousand for the broken case.”

“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!”