Angelus pointed him vaguely in the direction of the far wall. Jonathan considered telling the others where he was going, but quickly realized that Willow and Drusilla would only care so that they could eat him later. Anya and Spike wouldn’t care at all. Andrew and his boss Mike seemed genuinely wrapped up in the Mayor’s story about his founding of Sunnydale and its original purpose as a harbor for demons.

“I always knew that there would be a day when our secret haven would become an open utopia,” the Mayor was saying. “And, having brought that paradise to fruition, I am determined to see its expansion.”

Jonathan slipped away. For once, he was grateful for his size. He could creep between demons without being noticed. Most of the assembled beings had no body heat, either on account of their status as walking corpses or reptilian cold-bloodedness. It reminded Jonathan of wending his way through the warehouse full of party-bots. Minus Warren and Andrew shouting in his ears.

In general, it was unusual for him to be anywhere not flanked by Warren and Andrew. The three of them had always operated as a unit, one never seen without the other two. At least, that’s how it had been in high school.

Since the sunshade went up and the schools closed, it was only Jonathan who sat at home, waiting for the others to return so they could go buy groceries or see movie matinees. Andrew had his shifts at Best Pressed. Most mornings, he was out of the house before what would have been dawn if the sky weren’t one dark stain. Warren used to spend Monday through Friday at his internship, fetching coffee for the Mayor and giving tours of City Hall to other politicians considering partnerships with hell.

Jonathan tried to imagine how Warren would have reacted to being in Demondale’s number one vampire club, surrounded by every conceivable type of demon. Would his friend have been able to play it cool? Warren had such a flash-bang temper, as likely to laugh as he was to rage. Jonathan couldn’t picture his friend anyplace where he’d be at the absolute bottom of the pecking order. Warren had devoted his entire life to trying to find ways to position himself above everyone else. First, by recruiting weaker friends. Then, by programming the party-bots to obey his every command. And finally, with his obsession with Ascending. Warren would literally have rather changed species than stay weak.

For the first time, Jonathan found himself pitying Warren. Not for his untimely demise, but for the life he’d led. Nineteen years of never being satisfied, never accepting himself as a fragile human nerd. Jonathan himself was just that. Human. Dorky. The absolute bottom of the Demondale food chain.