Plum-colored lips split into a black-toothed grin, and the nude woman reached down and patted the Mayor on the top of the head. “Aww, Richie. I forgot what a prude you are. Here.” As she whirled around, her skin turned a pale human pink and her curls became as golden as the floor. A toga made of the same gossamer fabric as the walls and the dance ribbons wound around her nakedness. Her human disguise came complete with bright red lipstick and kohl-rimmed blue eyes. “Better?”

“You’re too kind, Magnificent One,” the Mayor said, dragging his eyes up to her face. “You know I’m an old man. My ticker can’t handle your radiance without a bit of a filter. The full force of your godlike beauty might just do what many before have tried and put me straight in the ground.”

Glory waggled her index finger in front of the Mayor’s nose. “Not godlike, Richie. Actually divine.”

Oh, Anya thought. A goddess. That made more sense. Hell dimensions were lousy with extra gods. Arashmaharr worshipped Niandeer, the goddess of wrath, and Twerfon, the god of cubicles. Anya wasn’t surprised that a goddess had found her way to Hell on Earth. Just like any demon or vampire looking for a safe place to live full of cheap food and upward mobility, an evil goddess in search of gullible followers could do a lot worse than Demondale.

“Of course,” the Mayor said, holding up his hands in surrender. “And, may I just say, your effulgence was utterly wasted underground.”

Spike made a face, his chin tucked back against his neck. Anya couldn’t tell if he was uncomfortable or irritated. It was, she supposed, possible to feel both in tandem.

“It’s true,” Glory said, tossing her newly yellow hair over her shoulder. “My curls love the sea air. Although I could do without the screaming white birds. The more I pull them out of the sky, the more take their place.”

“Ah, that explains the missing seagulls,” the Mayor said to himself. He looked back at Glory, simpering. “Not that they’re needed. They’re only good for defecating on tourists and eating garbage.”

“And we have demons for that.” Glory laughed for a moment before pausing to bark at the ribbon dancers. “Ha-ha!” she prompted, and the dancers burst into terrified laughter.

Anya felt her enjoyment of the goddess start to wane. Watching the Mayor feel both literally and figuratively small was satisfying, but not enough to cancel out casual demon prejudice. Most demons wouldn’t be caught dead eating garbage. Except for Muckers, but everybody knew they only ate trash for sexual gratification.

“Now, who are these ruffians tracking dirt into my temple?” Glory asked, taking notice of the kowtowing group.

The Mayor sat on his heels, his jittery hands fussing with his tie once again. “I come bearing new devotees to your divinity. And a gift!” He shoved Jonathan forward.