Twirling her borrowed ax, Anya walked down the stairs on unsteady legs. She recognized a group of baby eaters swapping recipes with Jarvlen flesh eaters. A cluster of shrieking bone bats was making a racket near the bathrooms. The dance floor was at a standstill. The chaos demons pressed against the stage to make room for an encroaching gelatinous blob. What appeared to be the entire Miquot Clan was shoving one another trying to be closest to the bar. Yellow-and-orange-striped elbows flew as the reptilian demons fought to yell their drink orders. The crystalline spikes on top of the Miquots’ heads blocked Anya’s view of Clem, but she could hear him begging everyone to put their knives away.

Anya’s whiskey buzz was quickly evaporating. As she pushed her way through the crowd, the gravity of the situation was starting to weigh on her. How many more demons had to show up before the slayer arrived, raring for another fight? The flyer might have said midnight, but it wasn’t like the slayer was going to get the invitation. She’d portal in whenever she wanted.

Anya closed her eyes and held her head firmly over her shoulders. She took in a deep breath, aware of how much of the club smelled like chaos-demon mucus and the vampires’ leather. It was a reassuring odor. It smelled both hellish and earthen. A little bit of both. Like her.

“You okay?” Angelus had stopped walking too, watching her in obvious concern.

“Fine,” she said.

He squinted as if he didn’t believe her. “If you need to throw up, I can move the shrieking bone bats out of the way of the bathroom. They’re more annoying than they are dangerous.”

“I’m fine,” she said again. “I have a strong stomach, Angelus. I ate lunch in the Vengeance LLC cafeteria practically every day for a millennium. I’ve had grimmer things in my gullet than your Irish liquor.”

He smiled. “If you say so.”

“Angelus, you son of a bitch!” called an approaching vampire in a black Stetson hat and beat-up brown coat. His face was vamped out, so Anya couldn’t tell whether or not he was being friendly until Angelus reached out for an aggressive handshake. The impact of it rang out like a slap.

“Lyle Gorch,” Angelus said. “It’s been ages. I thought you’d gone back to Texas.”

“I’m Tector,” said the vampire. His frown made his fangs stick out the sides of his mouth.

A mustachioed vampire stepped beside him, dressed identically except for the color of his hat. “I’m Lyle,” he said, mustache wriggling.

“Didn’t I say it’s been a long time?” Angelus said, shaking Lyle’s hand with far less enthusiasm than he’d shaken Tector’s. “What brings you boys to Demondale?”