Until you got close enough to see the stained-glass images of blood overflowing from bent necks and dripping down hands pressed in prayer. Demon labor had torn off all the iconography painful to vampires, every crucifix replaced with the new church’s symbol of a coiled snake breathing fire.

Walking up the palm-tree-lined path to the front entrance, Anya could smell the magic keeping the trees alive. It gave them a sort of plasticky scent that reminded her of the fake Christmas tree the new receptionist had erected in the Vengeance LLC break room.

“At what point does a church become nonlethal to a vampire?” Andrew asked as Willow threw open one of the heavy wooden doors leading inside. “I thought Catholic stuff was toxic to you guys. Crucifixes, holy water—”

“Missing your self-defense kit?” Spike asked him.

Willow gestured to the huge circular stained glass above the front entrance. It depicted a hand shooting out from a mound of grave dirt, underneath a white crescent moon. “The old bishop deconsecrated the building at the Mayor’s request. But it was desecrated when the Master spilled that bishop’s blood in the baptismal font.” She and Drusilla cackled together as though this was the punch line to the funniest joke ever told. Seeing no one else enjoying themselves, Willow explained further, “Just to be safe, they replaced all the floors that could have been tainted with holy water. It’s perfectly safe. It has to be. It’s a vampire church.”

“Vampire church,” Angelus scoffed, slowing to a stop outside the open door. “I’ve never heard such an oxymoron. It’s a cult of the arrogance of one egomaniac.”

Anya sidled up beside him, close enough that she brushed his leather sleeve. His head snapped toward her. Was she imagining the way his gaze softened when he looked at her? Or wishing for it? She was unused to wishing for herself.

“All cults are feeding farms for egomaniacs,” she said.

“That’s true. But this one has a literal feeding farm on the premises,” Angelus said.

He reached over, his cool fingers curling under her chin while his thumb brushed at the corner of her mouth. A shiver ran through her as she watched him lick the side of his thumb.

“Chocolate,” he explained with a smile.

Anya’s lips parted. She felt suddenly very human, helpless, and hunted. Only it wasn’t as distasteful as she would have assumed. It was sort of exciting. Like being a teenager again.

Over her long, long life, Anya had done her fair share of dating. Mortal men, trolls, demons with mostly compatible genitals. But she hadn’t gone out with anyone in Demondale. The only creature she’d even been tempted by since moving topside was Demon-Mike—but Best Pressed had something called a “fraternization policy” that had extinguished that daydream.

It had been years since she’d dallied with a vampire. There wasn’t much mixing between vamps and vengeance demons. Vampires could inflict their own vengeance just fine.

But something about Angelus made her tingle. Like her, he was a demon cursed to wear his human skinsuit around. He participated in human society while also preying upon it. And he was so delectably unpredictable, both man and beast. A business owner and a murderer.