only appealing one in Vegas, even if it had been part of a more elaborate scheme.
Tiara soon became the least of our worries as her teammates took their turns. Strikes and spares all around, quickly surpassing our mix of erratic spares and . . . whatever it was Peter threw. As we moved further into the game, I glanced over at Jerome and saw that his smile had vanished, as had his cocky good mood. At least I could feel confident it had nothing to do with my contract.
V proved to be the most startling of the bowlers. Whenever his turn came, he walked up unhesitatingly, didn’t even pause or aim, and threw strikes every time.
“How is he doing that?” exclaimed Cody. He glanced at Carter, who was watching everything with quiet amusement. “Is he using some kind of power?”
“No illicit ones,” said Carter. “Just his own God-given . . . er, Hell-given abilities.”
I hadn’t really been worried about the other team cheating or Nanette helping them. I knew Jerome would keep her in check, and Carter’s angelic presence was kind of a safeguard against dishonest activity. But his words struck something within me.
“Of course,” I murmured. “He’s just using what he’s got: enhanced reflexes and senses. He’s a vampire. He’s physically better at everything.” No wonder it didn’t seem like he needed to aim. He probably was; he was just doing it really, really fast. I turned to Cody and Peter. “How come you guys can’t do that?”
Silence met me.
“Cody’s our best player,” pointed out Hugh.
“True,” I admitted. Cody had learned very quickly, and I supposed the difference in his and V’s abilities made sense simply because V had been playing a lot longer. “But how do you explain Peter?”
Nobody had an answer for that, least of all Peter.
Cody actually seemed to draw inspiration from V and the realization that being a vampire should provide some natural ability. Cody’s already solid performance soon improved, and I wished Roman could see him. Still, it wasn’t enough to save us in that first game. We lost pretty terribly. Since Jerome and Nanette had agreed to “best of three,” this meant we had two more chances for redemption. I had mixed feelings about this. Jerome’s face was growing stormier, so there was some comfort in thinking we might be able to head off his wrath.
On the other hand, I wouldn’t have minded ending this as quickly as possible. Maybe the Devil didn’t care, but I was growing increasingly sick of the other team. I was pretty sure Tiara’s outfit was getting increasingly tighter and more revealing. Although he never spoke, V’s smug expressions conveyed condescension levels that words never could.
And yet, neither of them was as bad as Roger the imp. Every time he got a strike or a spare, he trumpeted his victory with some sort of money-related expression, such as “Jackpot !” or “A penny saved is a penny earned!” Sometimes they didn’t even make any sense in the situation, like when he shouted, “It’s like throwing pearls before swine!” When he started inexplicably quoting lyrics to “Can’t Buy Me Love” at the start of the second game, I really thought I was going to lose it.
Cody nudged me. “He’s getting tired. So is Tiara.”
I glanced up at the scoreboard. It was a slight change, but those two were showing fewer strikes than spares and sometimes not even getting spares. Malachi remained consistently good, and V remained unstoppable. Over on our team, Peter and I hadn’t changed, but Cody had continued—and was succeeding—in trying to prove his vampire skills. Hugh was also improving slightly, a phenomenon we’d seen with Roman sometimes. It was as though the imp needed to warm up in order to remember how to avoid his arm’s tendency to throw curves.
I exchanged glances with Cody. “I don’t know that it’s enough.”
“You’ve done better than this in practice,” he told me gently. “I know you’ve got a bunch of stuff going on, but try to think if Roman was here. What he’d say. Then look at Jerome’s face and tell me you don’t want us to come out on top.”
I didn’t really care about Jerome keeping his pride around Nanette, but my friends’ well-being did concern me. I knew their happiness would be directly influenced by Jerome’s unhappiness. Sighing, I answered Cody with a resolute nod and tried to step up my game, racking my brains for all the words of wisdom that Roman had given me over the last couple of weeks. I admit, I hadn’t always been paying as much attention as I could have.
Nonetheless, something started clicking for me. I was a long way from being a pro anytime soon, but between me, Cody, and Hugh, we slowly began to keep up with Nanette’s team. It was so subtle and so gradual that when we won by two points, everyone—including my teammates and me—could hardly believe it had happened. We all stared at the scoreboard in stunned silence. Only Carter was able to get anything out.
“That,” he told Roger exuberantly, “is how a bird in the hand gets up before the early worm.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” said Roger.
Carter pointed at the scoreboard. “Neither does that, but there you have it.”
Nanette’s cool composure had vanished. I don’t know if beating Jerome meant that much to her or if people in Portland just took bowling really seriously, but she immediately demanded a five-minute break. We watched as she pulled her team to the far side of the alley and gave them a talk. Judging from her wild hand motions and occasional expletives, it didn’t sound like a very heartening talk. I glanced over at Jerome, who still kind of seemed to be in disbelief.
“Any words of wisdom for us, boss?” I asked.
He considered. “Yes. Don’t lose.”
Cody was already clinging to Peter’s arm. “You have to come through for us here. We barely beat them just now, and you know she’s putting the fear of God in them. That alone is going to give them some improvement. If you can just . . . I don’t know. Get fewer splits. Do something. We can win this, but we need you.”
Peter threw up his hands. “Don’t you think I would if I could?”
When Nanette and friends returned, they showed us that they were adding a new strategy to their repertoire: catcalling. Every time one of the Unholy Rollers went up to play, we were serenaded with insults about everything from our appearance to our abilities to our bowling shirts. That last one really set Peter on edge, and Tiara picked up on it quickly.
“Did you pick that up at a thrift store? Oh, wait, they screen their items first. They’d never take a piece of shit like that.”
“What’s with that color? It’s like a reject from a boy’s baby shower.”
“If your crappy shirts are going to say ‘Unholy Rollers,’ shouldn’t you at least be
Peter took it all in silence, but I could see him becoming increasingly agitated. Hugh grimaced and leaned toward me. “She’s really not that funny. I’d expect better from a succubus.”
“At least Peter isn’t doing any worse,” I said. “He’s just getting splits in new and interesting ways.”
“Which aren’t going to save us, though,” said Cody grimly.
It was true. We were staying even with them, but just barely. And when we were halfway through the game, it became clear we were slipping. Jerome was looking pissed off again, and Nanette’s confidence had returned.
“Come on, you guys,” said Carter, whom I hadn’t expected to become a cheerleader. “You can do this. You’re better than them.”
It wasn’t the angel’s enthusiasm that changed the course of the game, however. It was when V finally spoke. Peter had just thrown his ball and amazingly knocked down four pins, which left behind a kind of three-way split I’d never even known was possible. We were all taken back.
“You are the worst vampire I’ve ever seen,” said V, staring at the pins wide-eyed.
I don’t know what it was about those words that succeeded where our encouragement and Tiara’s bad fashion taunts had failed. But suddenly, Peter became a vampire. And not just any vampire. A vampire who could bowl.
From that point forward, everything he threw was a strike. And much like V, Peter didn’t even deliberate it. He just walked up and threw, letting his vampire reflexes do the work. He quickly surpassed everyone on our team in skill, even Cody. Really, the only person who could match him was V.
But it was enough, and somehow, against all odds, we won the third game. Hugh, Cody, and I erupted into cheers and traded high fives with Carter. Peter remained much more stoic, however, and regarded the other team coolly. “Don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched,” he told Roger. To Tiara, Peter said, “That shade of red
