“Not with Warren,” he said quickly. “With Anya. She was the first one to believe us about the slayer, and she kept the vamps from eating us. We’d be dead ten times over without her. I think we really screwed up by hurting her feelings.”

Andrew’s face fell. “We should do something nice for her before the world ends. I mean, the only things I know for sure that she likes are money and vengeance. How can we gift those to her without letting her torture us?”

“I think she’s going to torture us no matter what.”

“Wait. I have an idea,” Andrew said. Pulling Jonathan by the sleeve, he led him across the street, toward the neon BEST PRESSED JUICERY sign lighting up the end of the block. “I need to go talk to my boss.”

Twelve

ANGELUS COMPLAINED ABOUT the battle plan the entire walk from Uncle Ripper’s Magic Box. Anya had never heard a vampire whine so much. Well, maybe that one time she’d been called to punish a vampire who had turned himself a new girlfriend without breaking up with the old one first. Anya had cast him into a world with only shrimp. Shrimp were a terrible food source for the undead. Very little blood. And zero hemoglobin, so eventually the vampire starved for lack of protein and oxygen. But it took ages.

Angelus was lucky Anya didn’t have the power to send him to Shrimp World. And that losing his ponytail in his fight with the slayer had increased his attractiveness.

As he scowled at their single remaining flyer, Angelus’s face stayed stuck in vampire bumps.

“It’s too late to change it,” Anya told him.

The flyer crumpled in his fist as he turned his peevish yellow eyes on her. “Shouldn’t people be fighting for the glory of battle? To keep the slayer from destroying our reality? Do I really need to give them free drinks?”

“Look, I don’t like the idea of profit loss either”—Anya clapped a hand on his shoulder and schooled her face into something she hoped was reassuring—“but you did fail to kill the slayer twice now, so maybe it’s time to admit that we need to recruit some help. Besides, if you wait to serve the drinks until after the battle, then one: Everyone’s sober for the fight. And two: Fewer people to comp. Did you see how many newborn vamps the slayer dusted back in the Master’s bedroom? She’s a killing machine.”

Angelus huffed, his face smoothing out and fangs retracting. Anya chose to see this as a confirmation that she was right. She would have liked to hear it out loud for once, but she took what she could get.

“I guess, if the slayer doesn’t show up, we could always tell the crowd that Andrew and Jonathan are slayers,” Angelus grumbled. “Pay them back for giving you fake money.”