For the last couple of weeks, Willow had been paying Andrew to run errands and help with her and Drusilla’s ongoing house hunt. Andrew insisted he wasn’t a true Renfield since he didn’t have to eat bugs or stay on call for the vampires’ every whim. It was just more research as to whether or not he actually wanted to be turned. Ever since he’d found out that Spike and Angelus had both been turned in their mid-twenties, Andrew was more open to the idea of getting older before receiving the bite.

“You’ve settled on a place, then?” Angelus asked.

“We think so,” Andrew said. “It’s been hard to find somewhere that combines Dru’s love of haunted properties and Willow’s hatred of anything colonial.”

“With room for my dollies,” Drusilla added.

“But this place looks promising.” Andrew spun the real estate binder around so that everyone could see it. The flyer showed a slim Victorian house near downtown. The inside seemed nice enough, with cozy rooms and multiple fireplaces and built-in bookcases that could surely house at least some of Drusilla’s dolls. There was also, inexplicably, a set of prison cells in the basement. Complete with rusted metal bars and seatless toilets.

“Miss Edith will have to listen to me now,” Drusilla said, humming with excitement. “Otherwise it’s off to a ‘pestilential prison with a lifelong lock.’”

“We still need to check it for termites,” Willow said. “The Mayor said that he could try to clear them for us, but the spell requires multiple sacrifices to an Old One and bribing the housing inspector, which seems like more trouble than it’s worth.”

“Speaking of the Mayor,” Anya said, helping herself to more of the bloomin’ onion. “Jonathan, have you accepted his job offer yet?”

Jonathan choked on a mouthful of onion.

After giving back the empty urn, the Mayor had told Jonathan and Andrew that they had proven to be assets to Demondale. There would always be jobs open for them at City Hall. Especially since so many of his employees had died in skirmishes with the slayer. Andrew had declined immediately, citing his job at Best Pressed and pseudo-Renfielding for Willow and Drusilla. Jonathan had asked to sleep on it.

That was three weeks ago.

“You told me not to take it!” Jonathan said defensively.

“Anya!” Willow chastised.

“That was when I thought he was offering some unpaid garbage internship,” Anya said, wagging an onion petal at Jonathan. Horseradish sauce dribbled onto the table. “Free labor is for fools. If you’re going to get paid, you should definitely do it. Haven’t you always wanted to be a powerful human like the people in your picture books?”

“Comic books,” Andrew corrected, a hand covering his full mouth.

“Whatever,” Anya said. Her unwavering focus remained leveled at Jonathan, even as a Fyarl arrived with her beers and two Shirley Temples. “What’s more powerful than politics?”