Jonathan scrubbed his hands over his face in disbelief. “Yeah, that sounds exactly like something we could do. Fight a legendary vampire hunter for a bag full of weapons. You want to do any other superhuman feats while we’re at it? Send the slayer to the Phantom Zone? Wield Mjolnir? Ask Cordelia Chase to prom?”

“Sunnydale High doesn’t exist anymore!” Andrew yelped.

“I was being sarcastic, moron!” Jonathan sneered back.

“Don’t call me moron!” Andrew said, his knife dangerously close to Jonathan’s nose. “That was Warren’s nickname for me, not yours!”

Anya frowned. “Moron isn’t a nickname, Andrew. It’s an insult. He was insulting you. Right, Jonathan?”

Jonathan blinked in surprise at being addressed. “Right.”

Anya looked pleased to have been proven right. “See, Andrew? Now, we need to get the gem and get out of here!”

Jonathan leaned around the headboard. The slayer’s fight with the newborns was in full swing. Dust littered the floor. Darla was still screaming, even as Drusilla tried to pull her to her feet. Angelus and Spike had the exit blocked—not that the slayer seemed interested in turning tail. She had abandoned the crossbow and was duel-wielding stakes, flinging herself from fledgling to fledgling. The newborn vampires fought in a clumsy mass, more menacing as a throng than individually. Jonathan thought about how Darla and the Master hadn’t taught any of them to hunt. Hand-to-hand combat might have been more integral to being undead than they’d assumed. The fledglings could only slow the slayer down so much, throwing their bodies in her way and making bumbling attempts to hit her. She dusted them as fast as they approached.

Willow stood just outside the fray, watching for an opening like she was trying to calculate the right moment to hop under a jump rope.

“Willow!” Jonathan whispered, hoping the vampire’s sensitive hearing would save him the trouble of yelling. When she didn’t respond, he tried again, slightly louder. “Psst! Hey, Willow!”

“What?” she snarled, spinning around. Her harsh yellow eyes pinned him to the spot, reminding him that this wasn’t the shy, good-natured girl who had helped him code a Stargate SG-1 fan page. This was one of many creatures that could kill him as easily as draining a juice box.

Once activated, Jonathan’s fight-or-flight instinct always chose flight. Reflexively, he wrenched himself back behind the bed. As he rested against the headboard, his heartbeat slammed in his temples and he had to choke down the urge to throw up.

Andrew crawled forward so that his head stuck out the side of the bed.

“Willow!” he said in a loud whisper, motioning with the tip of his knife. “Get the backpack!”

Anya popped out beside him. “And the green gem! Really just the gem would be fine!”

“I’m a little busy here, unhelpful mortals,” Willow said.