Drusilla bounded toward the slayer, wrapping her hands in the slayer’s blond hair. Dru’s fangs gleamed in the candlelight, poised to strike the girl’s neck. The slayer bashed her skull against Drusilla’s. Spinning around with the staff, she struck Dru’s chin with the Marnoxon gem, sending her flying against the wall.

Spike cracked his neck from side to side, bouncing on the toes of his motorcycle boots. “Ready to dance, Slayer?” he asked.

“Sure,” she said. “But I should warn you: I like to lead.”

She gripped him by the wrist and twirled him hard. There was a popping sound, and Spike hissed in pain. When he got his arm out of the slayer’s hold, his leather jacket didn’t look right. His formerly square shoulders now had a slope, his hand hanging lower on one side than the other.

Behind the headboard, Jonathan ripped open the blue backpack, relieved to find all the items he’d packed for the Ascension’s security table. Except for the crossbow, which was languishing wherever the slayer had dropped it. Probably for the best. Jonathan wasn’t entirely sure he could shoot the girl with a stake, even if it would stop her from setting off the apocalypse. She was so obviously human—albeit a human with an advanced black belt and the power to destroy existence. There were only so many murders Jonathan could have on his conscience.

“It’s all here,” he told Andrew. “Now what do we do with it?”

Andrew’s knee started to bounce against the floor. Warren had hated that nervous tic. When Andrew got anxious during board games at the lair and his leg shook, Warren would threaten to make Andrew roll his dice in another room. The knee bounce had never bothered Jonathan before—but right now it felt like an earthquake that could alert the many threats in the room to their location.

“There has to be something we could use to stop the slayer,” Andrew said, peering into the bag while his knee continued to flop against the ground. “We could blow the Ram’s Horn horn and flood this place with evil livestock!”

“That sounds more like us getting trampled by poisonous sheep than us saving the world,” Anya protested. Seething, she folded her knees to her chest. “I can’t believe Willow didn’t get us the gem. I was very clear that the gem was the only thing that mattered. If I had my magic, I could wish all of us to a beach resort where they’d take my demon face as ID.”

“Then why don’t you go fight the slayer for it?” Jonathan asked.

“And get stabbed when no one could even wish me back to health?” she asked. “No way.”