“I’ll say. You’re wearing clothes now,” Angelus said, pointing out Demon-Mike’s Best Pressed T-shirt and khakis. “I like you a lot better when I can’t see your stalactites.”

“Stalactites—plural?” Anya asked. She and Andrew exchanged a curious look. Anya had never been sure which realm of hell Demon-Mike came from, but she was doubly interested now.

Demon-Mike ignored them. “I look forward to fighting by your side tonight, Angelus. For Demondale. If we live, perhaps you will allow me to show my remorse for how I treated you in the past. Anything you want from Best Pressed Juicery, on me. As many add-ins and boosts as you want.”

“That’s a good deal,” Anya informed Angelus. “A large pressed blood and entrails with vitamin D and protein powder comes out to fifteen-fifty.”

“Before tip,” Andrew added.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Angelus said. “Thanks, Beast. We need strong fighters like you.”

“Please”—Demon-Mike pressed his fist over his chest and bowed his horns to the vampire—“call me Mike.”

A commotion drew Anya’s focus away from the reconciliation. What appeared to be a solo human man was dragging a clear glass podium across the Bronze’s stage. Anya thought that the human’s black vest was vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t place him.

“Who the hell is that?” Angelus asked, face transforming into a furious snarl. “I didn’t authorize any entertainment tonight. It’ll distract from the battle!”

“Maybe Drusilla requested it,” Jonathan piped up. “She was upset about not getting to finish her set list earlier.”

“Why would Drusilla want to perform in the middle of a fight against the slayer?” Angelus asked.

“To support the troops?” Andrew guessed.

“Because she’s out of her mind?” Anya offered.

“Well, she’s right over there,” Jonathan said, pointing past a group of mosquito-centaurs.

Tailed by a group of jabbering chaos demons, Willow carried a swooning Drusilla. Enjoying the attention, Drusilla offered a royal wave to the demons she passed.

“Dru?” Spike shouldered past Bro’os the loan shark and his ugly-suited cronies. Not that he needed to bother. Neither Willow nor Drusilla seemed to notice Spike chasing them down until Willow came to a stop in front of Angelus.

“Oh, hello, Spike,” Drusilla said vaguely. She motioned to the flaky pink skin on his forehead. “You look a bit peaky. When was the last time you ate someone?”

“I look peaky?” he asked with an incredulous laugh. “You know what, Dru? We’re finished, you and me. I can’t do this anymore. If we live through this, we go our separate ways.”

Drusilla cocked her head at him. “Of course, my darling. I foresaw you breaking up with me weeks ago.”

Spike buried his fists into his eyes for a moment. “And did you think about telling me?” he asked.

Stroking one of Spike’s enviable cheekbones with the back of her hand, she giggled. “No, silly. You told me.”