Jonathan tottered out of the line of supplicants, his knees scraping against the red carpet. It seemed difficult for the boy to scoot, bow, and keep his grasp on the urn all at once. He settled for just lifting the urn over his head and staring at the goddess’s bare feet.

Glory raised the Urn of Fernda, staring directly into the screaming-faced stopper. “An old pot with an ugly plug?” she asked. She lifted the urn to her ear and screwed up her face in disgust. “That constantly screams? Why not just bring me a pile of pestilent seabirds to shit on the floor?”

With a careless toss, she pitched the urn back to Jonathan, who dove on top of it as though it were a live grenade.

“Now, your brilliance,” the Mayor said tremulously. “That’s not just any urn. That’s Hell’s Own—”

“Enough, Richie,” Glory said, reaching down and pinching his lips shut between her thumb and forefinger. “If you have to explain your gift, then it’s not good enough! Let me examine what else you’ve brought me.”

Releasing the Mayor’s face, the goddess waded through the group, toes splayed against the floor.

“So many vampires,” she noted. “It’s been my experience that a vampire only worships blood. These stink of it. Like a bunch of iron pills dressed in dead cow.” Bending down, she tapped on the top of Drusilla’s head. Drusilla’s eyes crossed as she tried to look at Glory’s hand. “And someone scrambled this one’s sense like an egg.”

Angelus raised a hand. “Guilty,” he said.

With a titter, Glory turned and booped Angelus on the nose. “You are cute for a bloodsucker,” she proclaimed. Then she saw Spike and wiggled the tip of his nose. “Cuter.” As she drew Andrew’s face up by the chin, the goddess’s teeth flashed in a devilish smile. “Cutest! Hello there. Finally a gift with some life in it.”

Andrew floundered in Glory’s grasp, unsure as to where to look or how tall to sit. Words fell out of his mouth in a slurry. “Oh, I don’t—I’m not—I mean I do have life, but I’m really not comfortable. . . .Hello, your, um, goddess-ness.”

Glory’s ghastly smile only increased in the face of Andrew’s fear. “Try something that ends in -ence,” she instructed, stroking the sides of his stammering mouth. “Like magnificence. Prominence. Iridescence.” Her lips puckered, blowing the susurrations at him.

“Of course, your, uh, opalescence?” Andrew’s face burned crimson, his embarrassment so clear that even Anya could read it. “But I feel like you should know—that is, I should probably tell you. . .” His eyes darted from side to side, like he was trying to shoo everyone else away with only the power of his discomfort. He gulped, the lump in his neck bobbing like a buoy in a storm. “I’m gay.”