Out of the backpack, Jonathan gingerly withdrew the clay Urn of Fernda. It was shaped like a potbellied teardrop with curved handles on either side of its neck. The top was plugged with a ceramic screaming-faced stopper. Biting his lower lip, he looked from the urn to the fire-filled coffin.

“If the flag can burn in a sarcophagus, it should be able to live in this Adamantium jar, right?” he asked Andrew.

“You want to steal the flag of hell?” Andrew exclaimed.

“We can return it after the slayer leaves!” Jonathan said. “But if the vamps can’t beat her, we have to do something to stop her from putting the gem into the black flames!”

He thought about how many bullies had played keep-away with his stuff over the years. Lunch boxes, homework assignments, his gym clothes. They all made it look so easy. Just snatched things out from under Jonathan’s nose and held them where he couldn’t reach.

He might not have had the height to keep the flag away from the slayer, but he had something none of his bullies had ever had. Subtlety. He wouldn’t rub the slayer’s nose in the missing black fire, making her jump and beg like a dog to get it back. He could just steal it and slip away.

Digging his nails under the screaming stopper, he eased it out carefully. He let out a sigh of relief when he found that the slayer hadn’t filled it with anything since she’d stolen it from the security table. At the bottom of the jar, much farther down than should have been possible, was a single Ninja Turtle action figure. A Raphael, Warren’s favorite. Jonathan considered trying to shake it loose, but seeing the slayer kick Angelus in the side of the head changed his mind. They were running out of time.

Rocking onto his knees, he crawled toward the sarcophagus, making it only an inch before Andrew grabbed at his foot, whisper-screaming, “Didn’t you hear the Master? If you touch the flame, you’ll immediately lose your soul!”

Jonathan paused, momentarily frozen by this very good point. He glanced at Anya with a wince. “Um. Do vengeance demons have souls?”

“Well, that’s rude,” Anya said, sucking in an insulted breath. “Just because I don’t emote exactly like a human and have lived most of my life exacting reprisal justice against wrongdoers, you think I don’t have a soul?”

“Wait, does that mean you do?” Andrew asked.

Anya shrugged. “Maybe? They don’t make us give them up to grant Wishes, and I never officially died, so I think I’ve just got, like, a really vintagey one.”

Rummaging inside the blue backpack again, Jonathan found the giant metal glove and withdrew it. “Rayne said that this gauntlet could be something that shot lightning or hellfire. Maybe it can withstand the black flame?”