The door hidden in the wall led to a rickety wooden staircase descending into inky blackness. In the dark, Anya’s imagination taunted her with visions of what could be lurking beyond her perception. Quicksand. A giant swinging blade that sliced and diced anyone the Master found annoying. Disgusting fluffy bunnies with their razor-sharp teeth and long flopsy ears, just waiting to spring at her with their all-too-powerful back legs. . .

Ahead, hinges creaked. Picturing the bunny cages being opened, Anya screamed. Which made Andrew scream. Which then made Jonathan scream. Drusilla joined in, possibly just for fun.

At the bottom of the stairs, Darla and the Master paused inside an open doorway leading to a well-lit room. They looked questioningly up the stairs at Anya, who struggled to swallow and said, “Sorry. I thought I heard bunnies.”

Darla shook her head in disgust, which Anya took as a sign of anti-Leporidae solidarity.

“Bunnies?” Angelus asked softly as they continued the rest of the way down the stairs. His voice made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. He moved so soundlessly in the dark, it was easy to forget that he was behind her. He must have been such an effective predator. “Is that what strikes fear into the hearts of vengeance demons?”

“I don’t know about all vengeance demons,” Anya said. “But this one, yes.”

“You mean like Peter Cottontail and the Easter Bunny?” Angelus said. Even without seeing him, she could hear the mocking smile in his tone. “Cute little herbivores who couldn’t hurt a fly?”

“Obviously you’ve never seen Watership Down,” Jonathan said with an impressive amount of venom for a boy chock-full of chocolate and fear. “That cartoon gave me nightmares for years. I’m with Anya. Bunnies are gross.”

“Thank you, Jonathan!” Anya said, feeling, for the first time, a small amount of warmth for the human and not just for his money. She set a hand on his shoulder. “If you want, when I have my powers back, I could send you to a dimension where there are no bunnies.”

“Oh, um, that’s nice of you to offer,” Jonathan said, squirming at her touch. “But I think I’d still rather just have Warren back.”

“Right, of course,” Anya said. She took her hand back. “You’re living with the gnawing guilt of murdering your best friend. I get it.”

They passed through the door at the bottom of the stairs and entered an antechamber. The stone walls were damp, a reminder that they were underground. An oddly ornate chandelier hung from the ceiling, illuminating the humans that decorated the walls like living statues.