If Warren were there, he would have seen the way Jonathan strained under the weight of the shrink ray in his messenger bag. Even if it was just to make fun of him for being the slowest member of the group, he would have noticed.

“Hey, do you guys know Tucker the Merciless?” Andrew asked the bloodsuckers as the group climbed the stairs leading to City Hall. “He’s a vampire. About my height, dark hair. Beautiful singing voice.”

Spike’s upper lip curled. “Sorry, mate. No self-respecting vampire would call himself Tucker. No matter how mercilessly he was tucking himself—or anyone else.”

“Oh, well. He might have changed it by now. I always thought that if I were a vampire, I’d change my name to something cooler. Like Cyrus. Cyrus the Virus.” Andrew’s shoulders came up to his ears until he was hunched, vulturelike, into his own chest. “But Tucker’s my brother. He got turned right after the sunshade went up.”

Jonathan rolled his eyes, the same way that he and Warren used to whenever Andrew started telling Tucker stories. Andrew was full of Tucker stories. Even before Tucker had become a vampire, there had been a dozen stories about him for any prompt.

Tucker, who was the best Dungeon Master since Gary Gygax himself.

Tucker, who spoke multiple languages, including Klingon and Elvish.

Tucker, who summoned demons to Sunnydale before it was trendy.

Jonathan wasn’t surprised at all that Tucker had cut contact with Andrew once he’d been turned. Nothing would ruin the mystique of the undead like an overeager little brother.

“Freshly turned, huh?” Angelus asked. “He’s probably one of those goofballs in a pirate shirt and a fake accent, quoting Anne Rice. This town’s full of amateurs. Do you know who sired him?”

“He, um, volunteered,” Andrew said. “At the Church of the Eternal Night? I couldn’t go because I was still in school—I mean, there still were schools then—but I think it was the Master—”

Letting out a growl closer to that of a lion than a man, Angelus gripped Andrew by the turtleneck. When the vampire’s face transformed, Jonathan was hyperaware of the threat of violence in the glint of his fangs. His mind kept replaying the moment Angelus killed Ethan Rayne, the viper strike of those teeth that had torn the life out of Rayne’s body. It had happened in a blink. If Angelus decided to kill Andrew, Jonathan would be powerless to do anything but dive out of the way of the blood splatter.

“Don’t ever speak that name in front of me!” Angelus warned, yellow eyes flashing.

“I’m sorry!” Andrew’s teeth chattered in fear. “You asked!”

“Come on,” Anya said with a bored-sounding groan. “City Hall closes at five. We don’t want to have to come back tomorrow. There might not be a tomorrow, remember?”

Angelus released Andrew and stormed the rest of the way up the stairs, the other monsters in tow. Flushed, Andrew fell back, reluctantly trudging beside Jonathan once again.