“And did you foresee her?” Spike asked, throwing a dirty look at Willow.

“She took me fully by surprise. Just one of the wonderful things about her.” Drusilla rubbed her nose against Willow’s temple. Both girls let their eyelids flutter, lost in the snuggle.

“Fine, whatever. Bye, Dru. Good-bye, rebound girl,” Spike grumbled. He glared at Angelus. “I’m going to get a drink before the shit hits the fan.”

The group watched him sulk through the crowd, pushing his way to the bar and cursing at anyone who came close.

“Why aren’t you two guarding the flag?” Jonathan asked Dru and Willow in a loud whisper. His eyes darted around furtively, as though he was worried the slayer would burst into the room just in time to eavesdrop on him.

Willow raised her lack of eyebrows at Andrew and Jonathan. “Wow, you two are still alive? I’m impressed. I thought for sure Angelus would slit your throats the second we left you alone.”

“Oh, my daddy Angelus would never,” Drusilla said, reaching over to smooth Jonathan’s messy hair. “I called dibs on this little monkey the moment I saw him. If anyone gets to eat him, it’s me.”

Jonathan wrenched out of Dru’s lily-white grip. “No one is eating me!”

“He’s right,” Angelus said. “The first drop of blood to be spilled tonight belongs to that vest-wearing idiot. Nobody sets up in my club without my okay. This isn’t an open mic.”

“What vest-wearing idiot?” Willow asked, wheeling around to follow Angelus’s glare. The heels of Drusilla’s boots whirled around in a blur, like a sword swipe. Onstage, the guy in the vest was affixing a microphone to the podium he’d positioned. Willow whipped back to face the group. Andrew and Demon-Mike sprang out of the way of Dru’s formidable footwear for a second time.

“Oh, him? That’s Jeff,” Willow said. When she realized that no one had any idea who she was talking about, she clarified. “The Mayor’s secretary. You met him earlier. Big desk, phone headset? I wouldn’t mind seeing his blood spilled. Officious little shit.”

As she looked back at the man in the vest, the pieces of Anya’s memory clicked together. She recalled the small man who sat behind the desk at City Hall, passing out campaign buttons and wielding crucifixes.

Angelus growled, his fangs glinting in the dim light. “What is he doing in my club? And how did he get a podium inside without anyone noticing?”

“I showed them in through the stage door,” Drusilla said, batting her long lashes at her vampire-dad.

“And why did you do that, Drusilla?” Angelus asked through gritted fangs.

“Dru had a vision of your plan failing,” Willow said.