“Haven’t needed a sawbones since Victoria was queen, mate,” Spike said.

Andrew’s shoulders slumped. “It’s a TV show,” he said faintly. “They show it on PBS.”

“When in doubt, he’s talking about space.” Anya sighed, shaking her head at Angelus. “Imaginary space.”

“Ah,” Angelus said, swatting the idea away with the back of his hand as his focus settled on the list again. “The magic bone and the pan pipes don’t seem like they’ll be much of a threat. Neither does the Ram’s Horn horn. . .” A cruel smile played at the corner of his mouth as he lifted his eyes from the page and looked at Andrew. “Now, what were you two going to do with a stake-throwing crossbow, a crucifix, and a”—he double-checked the list—“Super Soaker full of holy water? Sounds like a vamp-killing kit to me.”

Andrew put up both his hands and backed away until he was nearly level with Jonathan. “They were purely for self-defense, I swear!”

“Naughty, naughty boys and their naughty, naughty toys,” Drusilla tutted. Red skirt streaming behind her, she hopped into the gutter and rushed toward the human boys. Pale fingers encircled Jonathan’s wrist and turned him toward the vampire woman. “What’s a vampire ever done to you?”

“N-n-nothing!” Jonathan jabbered. “Andrew’s telling the truth. Warren bought the kit for self-defense! We never even learned how to load the crossbow!”

Even though she understood it was the nature of vampires to murder humans indiscriminately, Anya found herself overcome with the unusual urge to protect Andrew and Jonathan. First of all, if they died, she would be the fourth wheel on her own mission to recapture the Marnoxon gem—the only member of the party who’d missed out on a century’s worth of bonding. The vampires would assuredly have topside references and inside jokes she didn’t get.

But secondly, Andrew and Jonathan were the only ones who could ID the slayer. The grainy video-camera footage wasn’t good enough for Anya to be sure she’d recognize the blond girl on the street. It would be so embarrassing to attack just any old teenage girl with a backpack full of magical paraphernalia.

Besides, she kind of liked Andrew—as a coworker at least. He was one of the few humans who had never said anything antidemon to her.

“These two couldn’t stake you even if they tried,” she said, blowing a raspberry of disdain. “Look at their noodly little arms. They don’t have the upper-body strength to kill anybody.”

Drusilla extended her index finger and traced down one of Jonathan’s cheeks with the sharp side of one fingernail. “Oh, what a tasty little jam tart you are,” she purred.

The boy tumbled into a metal trash can.

“Leave him be, Dru,” Spike said. “We need him to tell the warlocks what he knows.”

“Surely not both of them,” Drusilla said, eyeing Andrew next. She reached out and looped her finger in his turtleneck. Andrew’s shoulders squirmed as though something were slithering up his spine.

“Spike’s right,” Angelus said. A wrinkle between his eyebrows betrayed how little he enjoyed that particular statement. “Leave them alive for now. There will be plenty of time to play once we’ve found the slayer.”