Page 11 of Devil in the Details (Vegas Slayers #2)

On the other hand, anyone competing in one of these tournaments knew there could be only one winner. The odds of Jeff Kosky making it all the way to even the final round, let alone winning, probably weren’t all that great.

The other two players arrived then, an older, dignified Black women, Nita Street, whose air of brisk confidence told Caleb she might be the one to look out for, and another man in his thirties, with dark hair pulled back into a ponytail and the kind of easygoing, almost Zen manner that made him seem an unlikely candidate to be playing in a poker competition.

Or maybe the guy — who introduced himself as Ty Carter — had only adapted that kind of attitude to lull the other players into a false sense of security.

After they’d all greeted each other, they lapsed into an awkward silence…one that didn’t last very long, as a middle-aged man Caleb didn’t recognize approached a podium placed near the table where the final round would be held and spoke into the microphone.

“Welcome to the sixth annual Desert Paradise poker tournament,” he said.

“I’m Lew Phipps, the general manager here at the casino.

I just wanted to welcome all our participants, whether they’re new or coming back for another chance this year.

Today we’ll be playing three rounds, with the winner from each table moving on to play against the other winners until we’ve narrowed things down to thirty-two.

Those winners will advance to the quarterfinals next Thursday. ”

This was all information Caleb already knew, since it was in the brochure he’d been given, but hearing the details spoken out loud just made him that much more determined to get past this round.

The last thing he wanted was to tell Delia he’d been forced to slink home in ignominy after not even being able to make it to the quarterfinals.

If that happened, then he’d know for sure that his demon powers had been the only thing propping him up, and he might as well stay far away from any casinos unless he was going there to see a show or maybe stuff himself at a buffet.

He couldn’t exactly be the new Caleb Lockwood if he kept trotting out the same old tricks.

Men and women wearing white shirts, black bow ties, and black pants began fanning out to the various tables.

Obviously, they were the dealers, here to play a double role of dealing out cards and keeping an eye on everything to make sure there weren’t any shenanigans.

No doubt, closed-circuit cameras were also monitoring the tournament, but Caleb couldn’t let himself worry about that too much.

Everywhere you went in Las Vegas, you were being recorded.

It was fine…as long as none of that footage was being broadcast.

Everyone at his table wished the other players good luck, and he murmured the empty words as well. Or maybe they weren’t that empty. Nothing wrong with everyone having good luck…just as long as it wasn’t better than his.

Their dealer — a Latino woman who looked around Caleb’s age, maybe a little older — broke the seal on her deck of cards and began expertly shuffling them, fingers almost a blur.

She wasn’t wearing any rings except a gold band with a thin line of diamonds set into the center, a ring that he guessed was deliberately low profile so it wouldn’t get in the way as she worked.

He already knew the preferred game for the tournament was Texas Hold ’Em, so he had his chips ready since he was seated immediately to the left of the dealer and therefore would be the first to put in his “blind,” or the small bet necessary to get the pot going.

Except the tournament had already begun, and the blinds were set at twenty-five and fifty dollars for this first level.

The dealer button was positioned so that Caleb found himself in the small blind, which meant he had to put in twenty-five dollars before seeing his cards.

Nita, sitting to his left in the big blind position, posted fifty dollars.

The tournament structure was beyond his control now — no more choosing his own stakes like he could in cash games.

“Hole cards,” the dealer said briefly, and dealt everyone their designated two.

Caleb looked down at his hand and schooled himself not to respond.

A four and an eight. Both spades, true, but there wasn’t much he could do with that unless he got really lucky.

Naturally lucky, not the kind of luck influenced by his demon powers.

The action started with Jeff, who was sitting to Nita’s left in the under-the-gun position. He had the choice of folding, calling the fifty-dollar big blind, or raising to at least one hundred dollars.

“Call,” Jeff said, matching the big blind.

Ty was next. “Raise to one-fifty,” he said smoothly, pushing his chips forward.

When it came around to Caleb in the small blind, he had to decide whether to fold, call the one-fifty, or raise to at least three hundred.

With a four and an eight of spades, he had next to nothing — but then again, that was exactly the kind of hand where his demonic abilities would have come in handy in the past.

But no. He’d made a promise to himself, and he was going to keep those powers out of this even if he crashed and burned.

“Call,” he said, adding another $125 to match Ty’s raise. Nita called as well, and Jeff folded rather than put in an additional hundred.

The dealer’s fingers flew as she laid out the flop: king of hearts, seven of spades, two of diamonds.

Now Caleb was first to act, since the small blind acted first on all betting rounds after the initial one.

For a fraction of a second, he could have sworn he saw Ty’s cards shimmer, like heat waves rising off hot asphalt.

He blinked hard. When he looked again, everything seemed normal, but there was something about the way Ty’s mouth quirked at one corner that made him uneasy.

“Check,” Caleb said, tapping the table.

Nita checked as well, but Ty didn’t hesitate. “Bet two hundred,” he said, that same knowing smile playing at the edges of his mouth.

Caleb had nothing but a flush draw, and he knew the smart play would be to fold. But there was something about the way the cards seemed to dance at the edges of his vision, something that made his quarter-demon blood sing with recognition. He called. Nita folded with a shake of her head.

The turn brought the jack of spades.

Three spades. One card away from a flush. Caleb’s heart quickened — not because of supernatural intervention this time, but from genuine excitement. This was what he’d wanted: the pure thrill of the game.

“Check,” Caleb said.

Ty’s cards flickered again, and this time Caleb was sure he wasn’t imagining that odd shimmer. There was some kind of magic at work here, subtle but present nonetheless.

The kind of magic that wouldn’t show up on security cameras...but which any supernatural creature worth their salt would recognize.

“Bet five hundred,” Ty said.

Caleb studied the other man carefully. If Ty was using magic, he wasn’t doing it the way Caleb would have in the past — no blunt force making the right cards appear at the right time, just a slight edge, a whisper of insight into his opponents’ hands.

The kind of thing that would be nearly impossible to prove.

The responsible thing would be to report it.

But then Caleb would have to explain how he knew the other man’s playing wasn’t on the up and up, and that would lead to questions he couldn’t answer.

Besides, wasn’t this exactly the kind of challenge he’d been looking for?

Beating someone who was cheating by doing it fair and square?

“Call,” Caleb said. He had position on Ty — if the river brought another spade, he could make his move then. If not, well, he still had enough chips to recover.

The dealer burned a card and turned over the river: the queen of spades.

The flush was complete.

“Check,” Caleb said, wanting to see what Ty would do.

Ty’s cards shimmered one final time, and Caleb caught the briefest glimpse of what looked like two pair — kings and jacks. Good, but not good enough.

“All in,” Ty said smoothly, pushing his remaining chips forward — about six hundred dollars.

It was decision time. Caleb had the flush, but there was still a chance Ty might have a higher spade hand. The old him would have known for certain. The new him had to trust his instincts — his human instincts.

“Call,” he said as he pushed his chips forward.

Ty revealed his cards first: king-jack off-suit for two pair. He looked expectantly at Caleb.

With deliberate slowness, Caleb turned over his four and eight of spades. “Flush,” he said quietly.

The dealer gave a single nod. “Flush wins.”

As Caleb raked in the chips, he caught Ty’s eye. The other man’s easy smile had faltered slightly, replaced by something sharper, more calculating. It was a look that said he knew Caleb had seen something he shouldn’t have, even though he wasn’t quite sure what to do about it.

Ty pushed his chair back from the table with a sigh. “Well played,” he said, though there was an edge to his voice.

“Still plenty of tournament left,” Caleb said, trying to sound reassuring, but his attention remained on Ty, who was now gathering his things. Their eyes met again, and this time there was a silent understanding between them.

They both had secrets...and they both knew it.

The dealer began shuffling for the next hand. Caleb’s stomach butterflies had transformed into something else entirely — the pure, clean excitement of competition. No powers, no shortcuts, just his wits against the other players...even if some of them weren’t playing entirely fair.

He could win this thing. More importantly, he could win it right.