Obie promptly steals his seat, raising his eyebrows at Sasha. “So how’s the grad program?”
Sasha pouts down at the empty fry container. “It’s going okay. Rampantly disorganized with too much busywork. You know how it is.”
“I do, indeed.” Obie has a variety of master’s degrees and Ph.D.s from the past several centuries, although not all of them are still recognized—especially not the medical degree from 1796, becausethat’sa field that has changed a lot since he graduated. “Just let me know if you need any help, okay? My master’s in mathematics is from a few decades ago, but most of the principles are probably the same.”
Sasha beams. “Thanks, Smitty. You’re the man,” she says, standing up to stretch as Trevor drags his feet back towards them, his pins as upright as ever. “Unlikethisbum over here.”
“What? Like you can do any better!”
The two of them continue bickering while Sasha saunters over to the approach. Obie takes the reprieve to let his gaze drift around the alley, checking on all the people he knows.
And he knows pretty much everyone. He’s been coming to Redwater Bowl ever since it first opened sixty-odd years ago, and at this point, he’s bowling with the grandchildren of some of his original teammates. Not many people from the old guard are left.
Except for Nack Bar George. Nack Bar George started frying everyone’s greasy snacks as a pimply teenager, and he’s still frying away as a wrinkled senior citizen. Even though he’s well aware that Obie is a demon, he still often asks him to “drop that skincare routine, Smitty; you don’t look a day over twenty-five.”
If Obie had the opportunity to make one human immortal, it would honestly be George. RIP to JJ and Roma and all that.
The rest of the night passes in its usual blur of Obie missing every shot he takes, making his rounds to chat with everyone, and listening to Trevor and Sasha argue about whetherWater Warscan be considered a cult classic. By the time nine-thirty p.m. rolls around, most of his fellow bowlers have already left for the night, leaving him and Maggie to stroll out to the empty parking lot side by side. “So do you think you’ll be able to make it to nationals next year?” he asks. “It’ll be in Vegas. We can teach the twins how to count cards and get kicked out of every casino.”
“I’m shocked they haven’t all blacklisted you already.”
“I glamour myself differently every year.”
Maggie’s lips twitch. “I’ll try. But with everything going on in Redwater right now…” She trails off. “Might not be the smartest idea for me to leave. Not without someone else to keep an eye on the Chain.”
Obie winces. “Look, I appreciate that you’re taking this so seriously,” he says quietly, “but don’t let it stop you from living, okay? You know as well as I do that revolutions don’t happen overnight. Taking a week off won’t set us back.”
“Maybe,” Maggie concedes. “And I guess I could always bribe Gregorio into glamouring himself as me. I doubt anyone would notice the difference.”
Obie grins. “That’s the spirit. Just make sure to let Trevor know one way or another—he’s handling all the travel logistics. And get home safe, yeah?”
Maggie shoots him an amused smile. “Will do,” she says, and she peels open a rift to the home in question, steps through it, and waves goodbye before snapping it shut.
Obie is just about to follow her lead when a voice behind him—specifically, anamebehind him—makes his blood run cold.
“Nostringvadha.”
Smith stops dead. Slowly, he turns around to face Chester, his eyebrows raised innocently. “Nostringvadha… what?”
Chester scowls. “What do you mean, ‘what’?”
“Well, ‘Nostringvadha’ isn’t a sentence on its own, you see.” Smith’s voice is patiently patronizing, like he’s talking to a very small child, and Chester grits his teeth. “It’s usually used as part of a saying. ‘Nostringvadha alive,’ ‘Nostringvadha forbid’…” He leans forward, smiling with all his teeth. “‘Nostringvadha have mercy.’”
Chester ignores the silky threat behind the words. Even though this parking lot is nearly abandoned, he scoped out the property earlier, and they’re directly in the line of the security cameras. Smith won’t risk making a scene here.
Also, a bowling alley? Really? Chester wasn’t aware that demons bowl, but he learns something new every day, he figures.
Before Chester can argue that he was clearly addressing Smith by name, the demon breezily continues, “But, now that we’ve cleared that up, I’ll be leaving. It’ll be bad for my reputation if I’m seen consorting with hunters.”
Chester arches an eyebrow. “Really? Because there sure seems to be a lot of ‘consorting’ on your end lately—JJ, Roma, Sawyer, Naomi?—”
The last of Smith’s mocking affability fades. He crosses his arms over his chest, eyes narrowing. “Why are you here? If you want to join a bowling league, you’ll have to take it up with Harper at the front desk. They have purple hair and gauges; you can’t miss them.”
“Iwantmy friends back,” Chester snaps, stepping forward. “I want to know where they are—and what you did to them.”
Smith slowly looks Chester up and down, and Chester fights backa shiver. Partly because he knows Smith is analyzing him for weapons, for weaknesses, for vulnerabilities?—
And partly because Chester unfortunately wasn’t lying about Smith being attractive.
