Angelus shook his head. “If she’s not killing vampires, she’s not the slayer. Of everywhere in town she could have burst in and picked a fight, she chose a party with you all? A slayer would be in the cemetery, at the least, killing off the newly risen. Better yet, she’d come try her luck with us. Between myself, Spike here, and Drusilla, we’ve got some of the most famous slayer killers in history under one roof.”

That sounded to Jonathan like reason enough for the slayer to never ever set foot inside the Bronze, but he didn’t say so. He was too busy trying to figure out how he could make a portal gun that would immediately eject him from situations this dangerous.

Andrew cleared his throat and held up an index finger. “There is. . .one more thing. Warren was in the middle of Ascending into a demon. Maybe she wanted to stop the second coming of Shaak’garar?”

“The Scorpion King?” Angelus scoffed. “All of the insectoid Old Ones eventually go mad from the leakage of their own venom sacs. He’s better off dead.”

“Hey! That’s our friend you’re talking about!” Jonathan said, anger overtaking sense. Warren wasn’t better off dead. He was the only reason that Andrew and Jonathan had survived in Demondale this long. “He didn’t deserve to die!”

Angelus frowned, confused. “Didn’t you kill him?”

“The slayer made me!” Jonathan said, his voice coming off as whiny even to his own ears.

Anya slid herself onto the closest stool, propping her elbows on the bar and squinting at the draft taps.

“Can I get a pint of Black Frost?” she asked Spike, the blond bartender. “Go ahead and start me a tab.”

“Sure thing,” Spike said. He retrieved a fresh glass from under the counter, flipping it in the air and catching it under the tap. “You want a bloomin’ onion with that? Best thing on the menu. And they’re half price through happy hour.”

“Oh, that does sound good,” Anya said. She wet her lips in apparent relish and slapped a couple of bills down on the bar. “Half price. I’ll take one. I’ll be here for a while. You know how long it takes for vengeance demons to get drunk.”

“That I do,” Spike said, inclining his head to her as he gathered the cash. “I’ll keep the drinks coming, then, shall I?”

“Please,” Anya said. “I’ve got a pocketful of cash just waiting to become a hangover.”

“What?” Andrew asked, his face pinched. “You aren’t giving up on searching for the slayer already? Just like that?”

“Like this,” Anya said. She accepted the ice-cold cup of quitting from Spike and raised it in cheers to Jonathan and Andrew.

“But what about Warren?” Jonathan asked, helplessly.

“You killed him.” Anya shrugged, licking away her beer foam mustache.

“By accident!” Jonathan yelled. Panic tightened his chest. He couldn’t just sit back and eat happy-hour snacks. The only reason he’d agreed to brave the inside of this godforsaken club was so that they could get the gem back from the slayer and get Warren back from the dead. If Anya gave up, then all hope was lost.