“That’s enough, Spike,” Angelus warned.

“Holy shit!” Jonathan cried, darting behind Andrew and pointing across the street. “It’s a land shark!”

The demon in question did look like a shark. At least, on top. A gunmetal-gray fin protruded from the top of a shark’s head, complete with flat black eyes and teeth that made the vampires’ look like kittens’. From the neck down, he had a humanoid body clothed in a shiny maroon suit.

“Nah, he’s a loan shark,” Spike said. “That’s Bro’os. He’s got a pay-advance office over on Third Street. Good guy. But God help you if you don’t pay him back on time.”

Anya fixed the human boys with a glower she hoped communicated her displeasure with them. “If you scream at the sight of every demon you encounter, how do you survive in this town?”

“We don’t usually walk places,” Jonathan said in a sheepish mumble. “We just misplaced the keys to our van.”

“They were in Warren’s pocket when he exploded,” Andrew said.

“Sure, and no demon is strong enough to open a tin can on wheels,” Angelus said sarcastically. With an irritated flick of his little ponytail, he extended a grabby hand to Andrew. “Let me see that manifest again, boy.”

“Right, sure,” Andrew said, jumping to squeeze himself between Anya and Angelus. He flipped open the flap of the ugly green messenger bag slung across his chest and rummaged around inside for a crumpled piece of notebook paper. It was slightly damp in one corner. Andrew gave it a shake, a vain attempt to either smooth out the wrinkles or air out the sour smell it had acquired from being on the damp bar back at the Bronze.

Walking on her toes to see over Andrew’s shoulder, Anya read the handwritten list. Andrew and Jonathan’s dead friend had inventoried all the artifacts needed on hand for his demon Ascension. Now it was a list of the slayer’s arsenal.

“Okay,” Angelus said with a heavy sigh. “We’ve established that the slayer has the unlisted green gem—”

“The Kryptonite,” Andrew said, panting to keep up with Angelus’s long stride.

“The Marnoxon,” Anya corrected.

“Attached to the Gandalf staff.” Angelus paused, tilting his head ponderously. “I don’t know this demon Gandalf. Is he an Old One?”

“He’s a wizard,” Andrew said.

“From Lord of the Rings,” Jonathan piped up, lagging nearly half a block behind the rest of them. Anya couldn’t tell if it was his fear of the vampires or the length of his legs holding him back.

“There’s also the Dagger of the Unkillable.” Angelus continued reading, as though no one had spoken. “That’s mostly a threat to gods and Lower Beings. I’ve never heard of this Urn of Fernda—”

“It’s bigger on the inside,” Andrew said. “Like a TARDIS.”

Angelus looked at the human boy, frowning. “A what?”

“A TARDIS. Time And Relative Dimension In Space,” Andrew said. When Angelus showed no sign of recognition, Andrew cleared his throat. “Spike, you’re, um, English. You must know Doctor Who.”