“The sun rose, and the dust was choking,” Drusilla said, giddily bending forward. She seemed to remember that she was supposed to be frail and wilted against Willow’s shoulder. “It was horrible.”

“So you decided to abandon your post at the temple?” Angelus asked balefully. “You left the Black Flame flag unprotected?”

“Of course not,” Willow said. “Protecting the flag was a mission assigned to me by the Mayor, not your troop of Girl Scouts. The goddess agreed to take the flag back to hell for the night.”

“She went to visit her lover, Twerfon, in his realm,” Drusilla purred.

Anya gasped. “Glory is sleeping with the god of cubicles?” For once, she had something juicy to share at the Vengeance LLC water cooler, and most of her coworkers were dead. What a waste of good gossip.

“We brought you an evil actually powerful enough to lure the slayer here,” Willow said, nodding toward the stage again.

Jeff had vacated the spotlight. The stage stood empty for just a moment before there was a burst of noise. Red, white, and blue streamers erupted. A floor-to-ceiling poster unraveled against the back wall, revealing a photograph of an avuncular face with smiling blue eyes framed by the words BRING HELL TO SACRAMENTO: RICHARD WILKINS FOR GOVERNOR OF CALIFORNIA!

With a shiver of excitement, Drusilla kicked off the applause. The rest of the demon-packed club was slow to join. Until the thunder of Demon-Mike’s hands cracking together made it seem rude not to take part. The Mayor walked out of the wings, waving at the crowd with both hands.

“He thinks this is a campaign event to thank him for his help today,” Willow shouted to the group.

“Did he help today?” Anya asked.

“He’s about to.”

Fourteen

“HELLO, PEOPLE OF DEMONDALE!” the Mayor called into the microphone. “Wow, what a turnout! It is so wonderful to see the true working class of our town brought together like this. Unwinding after a long, hard Tuesday. How about we keep that applause going for our gracious host, Mister Angelus?”

The Mayor shaded his eyes and peered into the crowd. A spotlight above the stage swung over the audience. The Bronze’s owner glowered under the illumination, his vamp face on. Conceding to the applause break, Angelus raised a hand of acknowledgment and the spotlight whipped away from him.

Squinting into the rafters, Jonathan noticed that there wasn’t anybody operating the follow-spot. It must have been controlled by magic. Whether the magic was the Mayor’s or someone else’s, Jonathan couldn’t tell.