Dodging another blow from the flail, she runs into the living room. From the wall, she tears down the decorative sword and shield. Hefting the shield, she realizes too late that it’s as featherlight as a disposable pie pan. The sword is only slightly better—it’s made of decent metal but butter-knife blunt. Too late to back out now.

“Come on, Slayer,” Angelus says over the whoosh of his flail slicing through the air. “You’re forestalling the inevitable. Put down your toy sword and give in. We’ll give you a quick death. After some light torture.”

“How generous of you,” the Slayer says. “Especially since I killed your sire. Have you had time to grieve Vampy Faye Bakker yet?”

The flail zooms toward her face, metal spikes twinkling in the overhead lighting. Stabbing through one of the chain loops, the Slayer flicks the tip of the sword and flings the weapon out of Angelus’s grip. The metal ball and its handle sail through the air and splinter the sliding-glass back door.

Spike hurtles forward, his sword aimed for the Slayer. She discus-throws the metal-plated shield. One corner smashes into Spike’s temple, staggering him.

The Slayer dives behind Angelus, pressing the toy sword against his throat. Even with her super Slayer strength, she can’t quite make the dull blade cut through his skin. This is going to be the longest decapitation of all time.

“What’s the matter, Slayer?” Angelus taunts. His hands wrap around her wrists, trying to force the blade away. She has to dig her knee into his back to keep him still. “You’ve got a boyfriend back home that looks like me too?”

“Not exactly,” she says, voice strained. Even if she kills him, there’s no way she’ll survive the gloating if she tells this guy about her will-they-or-won’t-they with Angel. “The you back home is way less of a try-hard. He doesn’t need this whole threatening-torture thing. He’s more of the strong, silent type. Maybe because he has a soul.”

“A vampire with a soul?” Spike laughs. “Oh my God, how lame is that? Is he all ‘Boo-hoo, poor me, I’ve got to eat people to stay alive, but I wish I could be a vegetarian’?”

“Yeah, basically,” the Slayer says.

“Ha!” Spike guffaws. “I wish I could see that. Namby-pamby Angelus with a conscience.”

“Tell me where Jonathan hid the Black Flame flag and maybe I’ll bring you to the real Sunnydale,” the Slayer bluffs, doing her best to sound coquettish. “There’s no sunshade, which means there’s still plenty of people to eat. You must be so hungry in a demon-only town. My Sunnydale has babies. Coeds. Whatever kind of human Happy Meal floats your fangy boat.”

“Oh yeah?” Spike says, matching her smokiness. He sucks one of his elongated canines, his yellow eyes blazing. “Tell me more about these Happy Meals.”