“Too small,” Anya said. “We could fit ten or twenty demons in here, maybe. We need at least a hundred if we want to try to trick the dowsing rod. We’re trying to match the evil of an actual slice of hell here.”

“How are we supposed to convince a bunch of demons to show up to one place?” Andrew asked. “Won’t they want payment for risking their lives? I guess we could go print off some more twenties.”

“Keep your phony lucre,” Anya said bitterly. “Demons deserve better than your lies, especially if they’re agreeing to fight. We should offer them something everyone likes—”

“Pizza?” Andrew guessed.

Anya’s nose crinkled in bewilderment. “No, I was going to say alcohol. Haven’t you ever heard of rum rations? Get your soldiers drunk enough to keep warm and stay loose for the indiscriminate murder of strangers in the name of God and country. And if you add lemon, it staves off scurvy. But I guess food is good too. Probably cheaper to buy in bulk.”

“Okay,” Jonathan said, chewing on his thumbnail. “We need somewhere defensible. Somewhere that can fit a lot of people—I mean, demons—with room to fight. And somewhere that has food and drinks. . .”

Slowly, everyone in the room turned to look at Angelus. The vampire fidgeted under the weight of the expectant silence, touching the space where his ponytail had once been.

“What?” he asked with a disbelieving laugh. “You want to turn my club into the battleground of Armageddon?”

Ripper’s mouth unraveled a slow smile. “Come on, Angelus. Do it for team Save the World.”

Eleven

MIDNIGHT AT THE BRONZE: Fight the slayer, drink for free!

Using all the ink in the Metaphysical Boutique’s creaky printer was Ripper’s last charitable act before pushing everyone outside and locking the door behind them. Standing at the glass door, he held up two fingers in a reverse peace sign that Spike informed them was not actually a peace sign. Even the Brit’s middle finger had an accent.

“There has to be a magical way to recruit an army,” Andrew said, looking down at the flyers in his hand. “Like a mass summoning spell. Or a bat signal.”

Jonathan watched Anya and Angelus walking alone down the street. The two of them were going to prep the Bronze for the impending battle. Neither showed any sign of worry that they were sending the two most likely to die—and Spike—to do the dirty work. Who sent humans to conscript demons?

Jonathan hugged his own stack of flyers to his chest and sighed. “This is definitely punishment for giving her fake money,” he said. “Which isn’t fair. It’s not like we meant to hurt her feelings.”