Andrew smoothed the gelled point of his hair and squared his shoulders before stopping at the edge of a picnic table. He set a flyer down next to a frosty pint too yellow to be beer. Jonathan hoped it was apple juice, but knew from the Best Pressed menu that vampires were the only demons picky about the bodily fluids they’d consume. Jonathan didn’t recognize the species of the demons at the picnic table. They were large with neckless heads balanced on shiny bodies topographic with varicose veins. They reminded Jonathan of the X-Men villain Juggernaut. With the needle-sharp teeth of a snake.

“Hello there, my fine fellows,” Andrew said, addressing the crowded table.

“Human child,” rumbled one of the Juggernauts. They sounded like a garbage disposal full of forks. “You want to be our next burger? Sign up inside.”

“Oh, no thank you,” Andrew said politely. “I’m here to invite you to save the world.”

The demon nearest Jonathan had burger juice streaming out of their lipless mouth. According to the menu in the window, right now everyone was apparently enjoying a taste of “Skyler.” The menu also warned that Skyler burgers weren’t safe for anyone with an allergy to Manasseri demons. Or dairy.

Was it wrong to want to believe that the burgers were made of the same Skyler that Warren had bought the Books of Ascension from? Jonathan wouldn’t mind not having to worry that the albino demon was going to reappear, demanding either five thousand real dollars or the exploded books back.

“Demondale is under attack,” Andrew continued, seemingly unfazed by the lidless stares of the Juggernauts. “There’s a vampire slayer on the loose. To stop her, we need strong fighters. Like you guys.”

At the next picnic table, a spiky-haired woman stood up. Yellow vampire eyes stood out starkly against her brown skin. In a flash, she had a hand fisted around the collar of Andrew’s turtleneck and was yanking him backward.

“Is this some kind of joke?” asked the vampire. A drop of red shone on the tip of one of her fangs. Jonathan prayed it was ketchup. “The whole reason I left Boston was because the slayer was there. That and Red Sox fans. Intolerable.”

“It’s not a joke, I swear,” Andrew stammered. “The slayer is here.”

“She burned down the Church of the Eternal Night,” Jonathan said. Willing himself not to flinch, he held a flyer out to the vampire woman, hoping to distract her from Andrew’s exposed neck. “Angelus, the owner of the Bronze, is promising free drinks for anyone who shows up to fight her.”

The spiky-haired vampire released Andrew to snatch the flyer. “Angelus is putting his weight behind this, huh? That sounds legitimate. I never liked the Church much—call me old-school, but people should be turned in alleys, not on an altar—but Demondale’s no place for a slayer. This is supposed to be our safe haven.”