From across the room, Anya caught sight of a familiar pair of horns sticking out above the crowd. Demon-Mike was wearing his Best Pressed uniform, the cotton visor balanced awkwardly between his giant ribbed horns. His mottled red-and-black face split into a bright-eyed grin when he spotted Anya. He rushed toward her and Andrew, beaming.

“Other Mike said you had to rush out earlier, Anyanka,” he said. He had a bone-rattlingly deep voice, more resonant than that of any human. Except possibly Barry White. “He didn’t say it was to stop the apocalypse.”

“Ugh, that is so like him,” Anya said with a scoff.

“I’m so glad you told me about this get-together, Andrew,” Demon-Mike said, patting the human boy on the back with one of his pot-lid-size hands. Andrew stumbled from the impact. “I wouldn’t want to miss helping my community stand up to this slayer bully. And I get to fight alongside my favorite crewmates. What a—”

Abruptly, Demon-Mike’s convivial demeanor shifted into stony silence. With his rocklike skin, he pulled off stony particularly well. Anya followed his gaze to Angelus, who was equally expressionless.

“Hello, Beast,” Angelus said, taking a step backward so he could speak to Demon-Mike without having to tilt his chin. “Never thought I’d see you in my club.”

“Beast?” Anya asked, looking between the two males, perplexed. “Is that a nickname, or are you being mean? I learned today that the two aren’t always mutually exclusive.” She peered around Demon-Mike’s shoulder at Andrew. “Right, moron?”

“Right,” Andrew squeaked.

“Hello, Angelus,” Demon-Mike said, his tone missing its usual rosiness.

“Stop staring at each other and tell me what the hell is going on!” Anya demanded. There wasn’t time to waste on men’s cagey feelings. “Or did you forget about our impending doom?”

“The Beast and I have a history,” Angelus said stiffly.

The two demons continued to stare at one another. Anya looked to Spike for answers, but he shook his head, as lost as she was.

Demon-Mike cleared his throat. It sounded like pebbles being ground to dust. “I may have asked him to kill some Prussian priestesses for me,” he admitted.

Angelus let out a humorless laugh. “May have? You did everything but force my hand!”

“I craved an alliance with you!” Demon-Mike said. One of his huge index fingers shoved into Angelus’s shoulder. Angelus stepped to the bigger demon, his hands curled into fists.

“And those Svear girls still kicked the shit out of me!”

“They sent me back to hell! And you could have stopped them!” Demon-Mike bellowed. His mouth snapped shut, and his eyes closed behind calcified lids. Holding up his huge, craggy hands in surrender, he spoke again in a softer tone. “I’m sorry, Angelus. Prussia was a long time ago. I came to Demondale for a new beginning. New century, new leaf.”