“They’re not the best neighbors,” Anya told Jonathan as they hurried away from the smell. “But you can’t argue with the product. Goat cheese just tastes better when it’s hell-fresh.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Jonathan flashed his ID to the bouncer, who barely looked at it before giving him a sharp-toothed grin.

“Human child!” the one-eyed Juggernaut demon exclaimed, all the veins in his neckless body jumping. Jonathan’s hand and ID disappeared into the demon’s massive hands as the Juggernaut gave him a welcoming shake. “I love this guy,” he told Anya as Jonathan’s teeth rattled in his skull. “Without him, I would not have experienced the fight of the century.”

“The century is almost over,” Anya told the demon flatly.

His snakelike smile only widened. “Imagine the bloodshed the new millennium will bring.”

Flexing his hand to check that none of his bones had crumbled, Jonathan followed Anya into the club. On the rebuilt stage, Sweet, the new lounge-demon, was crooning. His oversize zoot suit was the same livid red as his skin. Unlike Drusilla and the Dollies, Sweet had no backing band. The jazzy piano and trumpet underscoring him played from nowhere—or everywhere—leaving him room to effortlessly tap-dance. The crowd on the dance floor swooned and sighed with his every movement.

Clem was pouring drinks behind the bar. Spotting Jonathan and Anya, the loose-skinned demon flapped a sharp-nailed hand in greeting,

“The usual?” he called.

“Two!” Anya called back. At Jonathan’s questioning look, she sniffed. “What? It’s happy hour. I’m not going to waste a deal.”

“Do you even pay for your own drinks here?” Angelus asked, materializing out of the crowd. A leather sleeve glided around Anya’s waist, drawing her close enough for him to kiss. “I heard you’re sleeping with the owner.”

“I’ve seen your books, lover, you really can’t afford to comp all of my drinks,” Anya said, booping the vampire’s nose with her index finger. “You know how much Black Frost it takes to get me drunk.”

“You could start drinking something with an alcohol content higher than a loaf of bread,” Angelus said.

Anya blinked at him in confusion. “But hard liquor isn’t part of the happy hour special.”

“Jonathan!”

Grateful for the distraction, Jonathan spun around, spotting Andrew, Willow, and Drusilla seated at one of the tall bar tables. Squeezing between two passing Fyarl waiters and a knot of reptilian demons throwing darts at a caricature of the slayer, Jonathan made his way over.