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She tilted her head in acknowledgment and then closed the door, taking the hint that he wanted to be able to explore the house with only Delia as his company.

“Excited?” she asked.

Caleb had to think about that one for a second or two. “I suppose so,” he replied. “Or maybe it’s more that I’m just glad it’s done and I can let myself enjoy the place.”

A nod, but then Delia’s expression turned thoughtful. “And you’re really not worried about the history of the house?”

A valid question, he supposed, but he knew there was nothing to worry about here. “That ghost has been banished for months,” he said. “And I know the spirits of those women never lingered here. So I think the house is about as psychically neutral as it can be.”

Delia pursed her lips. No doubt she was thinking she’d be the judge of that, which he supposed was fair.

He might be a quarter demon and have some unique psychic abilities, but she was the one who was able to sense whether houses were haunted…

the one with a singular talent that allowed her to help any lingering spirits make their way to the next world.

“Come on,” he said. “I want to show you around.”

Delia was definitely appreciative of everything she saw, from the shining white oak floors that had been installed throughout the house to the bold black kitchen, which she’d been dubious about but now seemed to agree was perfect for the space.

They explored the downstairs and then the bedrooms on the upper level.

He had to admit it felt a little strange to have her in the master bedroom when he’d entertained a few fantasies about what it would be like to share the king-size bed with her, but she was all business, praising the millwork on the feature wall behind the bed and the sleek black standalone tub in the bath.

Yes, he’d had to pay a lot extra to get one that wasn’t white, and yet he was so pleased with the effect that he knew he probably wouldn’t have blinked at the cost even if it had been double.

After they were done with the tour, they headed back down to the kitchen, where she sat down on one of the barstools at the enormous nine-foot island of black soapstone, and he poured a cup of coffee for her.

Sure, it was late morning and she’d probably already had her coffee, but a little extra caffeine never hurt anyone.

“I can see why you would want to sell the other house,” she said. “This one is magnificent. And it’s very you.”

Caleb wondered if that remark meant he was magnificent as well, then decided it would probably be better not to ask.

Anyway, even though Delia had offered a lot of sound advice and had helped guide him to the best suppliers and contractors, he was the one who’d had the final word on the design decisions.

Maybe that was why he felt so invested in the house.

His current residence was also a flip, but one that had been designed by other people, and the whole time he’d lived there, he’d sort of felt as if he was camped out in someone else’s home or a fancy vacation rental rather than a place he actually owned.

Whereas this house?

He’d felt as if he’d come home the second he stepped into the living room. In fact, he felt much more at home here than he had in the house where he’d grown up. That grand edifice in Greencastle, Indiana, had been his mother’s pride and joy, and being there had been kind of like living in a museum.

“Also,” Delia went on, then sipped some more coffee, “the market’s a little better now than it was a few months ago, thanks to that recent drop in interest rates.

I think we should be able to get a good price for your current home.

” A pause, and her blue-gray eyes glinted at him.

“How soon do you want to put it on the market?”

“As soon as I’m fully moved in here,” Caleb replied. “The house is furnished, obviously, but I still have to get my stuff out of the other place. The movers are coming tomorrow.”

She shook her head. “Sounds like you didn’t want to waste a moment.”

“I don’t.”

And there really wasn’t much that needed to be moved — his wardrobe, which hadn’t expanded that much since he first got here, since clothes had never been his thing — a few odds and ends, the big TV that was currently hanging in the living room at the other house but would go in the rumpus room downstairs.

He hoped to sell that house fully furnished.

If not, though, he’d either put everything in storage or hire someone to sell it all off for him.

Either way, it would get handled, and he would have tied off one more loose end.

“I want to get situated as quickly as I can,” he went on, doing his best to sound nonchalant even though he wasn’t sure how successful he was. “I don’t want anything to interfere with the Desert Paradise poker tournament. It starts on Thursday.”

Delia stared at him as if he’d sprouted horns. Not that implausible for someone who was a quarter demon, he supposed, even though he knew he didn’t have enough demon blood in his veins for him to ever display that kind of outward show of his demonic heritage.

“‘Poker tournament’?” she repeated, as if she wasn’t quite sure she’d heard him correctly. Before he could reply, she added, “What happened to keeping a low profile?”

He only grinned back at her before swallowing some of his coffee. “I wouldn’t say that flipping a house like this is very low profile.”

“You’re not flipping it, though,” she pointed out. “You fixed it up so you could move in.”

“Still,” he said, “having dumpsters in the driveway and contractors coming and going for the last eight weeks kind of made me visible, you know? Anyway,” he went on before she could offer any further arguments, “this isn’t one of those big televised tournaments.

It’s just a smallish local competition. I’m not stupid enough to get involved in something that would attract a lot of attention. ”

Those words seemed to relieve her somewhat, since she shifted on the barstool so she was finally leaning against the backrest. “But why a poker tournament? Wouldn’t it make more sense to take up golf, considering where this house is located?”

Caleb supposed it probably would. Hell, he could probably throw a bag of golf clubs over the back wall of his property and have at it if he wanted to.

Well, except for the part where it was a private course and the greenspeople might have a few words to say about that kind of trespassing.

He actually had considered getting a membership, but something inside had made him balk.

If he’d really wanted to analyze his reaction to taking up golf, he probably would have realized that his antipathy to the game was mostly because of the way his father and the other half demons back in Greencastle had played on the weekends whenever the weather allowed that kind of activity.

Not because they actually enjoyed the game, but because as the pillars of the community they were pretending to be — bank presidents, high school principals, lawyers — it was the sort of pastime they were expected to indulge in.

“I thought about it,” he said vaguely, then went on, “but I like the idea of poker more.”

Delia tapped her fingers on the black counter in front of her. As always, her nails had a coating of clear polish and were kept fairly short, a contrast to some of the talons he’d seen women around town sporting. “But won’t you have an unfair advantage? I mean, with your powers….”

The words trailed off, but she’d already made her point.

When he’d first arrived in Vegas last November and for the several months that followed, he’d accumulated the cash required to buy property and a car and any other necessities of life by using his demonic gifts to influence the cards at the poker tables or the ball on the roulette wheel…

or the dice at the craps table. Poker wasn’t necessarily a game of skill for him.

But he wanted it to be. He wanted to prove to himself — and to Delia, to be perfectly honest — that he could win a bunch of money using only his brains and his instincts, and nothing more.

“I want to do it the old-fashioned way,” he said, a comment that made her brows lift again. “I’ve been practicing, and I’ve won a decent chunk without using any of my powers. So I thought it would be a good idea to join a low-stakes tournament to test my skills.”

“How ‘low stakes’?” she asked, that hint of a smile playing around her mouth again.

“The purse is only fifty grand,” he replied.

Now she grinned outright. “Oh, is that all?”

“Well, you know I won a lot more back when I was using my powers.”

Millions, to be accurate. Only about three or four million, just enough to get him started, but it had been sufficient to make the casino owners suspicious…

and for casino executive Robert Hendricks to set his demon minions after Caleb.

Of course, back then neither he nor Delia — whom Hendricks had hired to see if she could track down the person involved in winning such riches — had realized the man was a little more than he seemed.

And they still had no real idea as to precisely when Calach had taken over Robert Hendricks’ body, or why the demon had made the man his target.

There seemed to be some ties to an outfit in California called the Styx Group, but even Delia’s private detective friend Prudence Nelson hadn’t been able to dig up very much about the company.

Maybe it was all a red herring. Then again, Caleb couldn’t deny that he’d been attacked by minion-level demons multiple times, which meant that someone had clearly thought he was a threat.

“So, you want to play in this tournament to prove that you can be a winner even without using your powers,” Delia said, and he nodded.

“That’s kind of a bald way of putting it, but sure. If I fold early on, then I’ll know I can’t hang up my demon powers just yet.”

“I think that might be a good thing,” she said, giving him a meaningful look.

She might be right. If it hadn’t been for his ability to shapeshift and teleport, a few of the confrontations he’d had with Hendricks’ demons might have turned out very differently.

All the same, he didn’t like to use those powers any more than he had to.

Sure, Calach had been banished, and Caleb didn’t think he’d picked up on any signs of other demons lurking around the greater Las Vegas area since then, but still, there was always the chance that he might be giving away more than he intended every time he needed to make a demonic flex.

“But I promise I’ll do everything I can to not stand out,” he said. “Well, except not try to win. There’s a big chance I’ll wash out in the first round, though.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” she replied, then set down her coffee cup. It was black, too, although with a glaze that had certain washes of beige, the perfect complement to the black soapstone counters with their veining of pale tan.

“I’m not sure I’m capable of that,” he said with a grin. “Anyway, are you available to walk the other house today? I know it’s Saturday, but — ”

“It’s fine,” she broke in, her smile mirroring his. “I didn’t have any big plans today anyway. And I understand you wanting to get the place on the market as quickly as possible.”

The words ended on a slight upward inflection, almost as if she was trying to figure out whether the cost of the remodel had turned out to be more than he’d planned. As with any other project of that scope, it had gone over budget, but not by too much, only around $20K or so.

And that hadn’t been enough to put even a dent in the money he had stashed in various banks and credit unions around town, especially now that he had a financial advisor who handled his stock portfolio and had already earned him more than double that, thanks to some very wise investments.

“I do like to keep as much liquid as possible,” he said, and her eyes danced, telling him she’d noted the evasion but wasn’t about to call him on it.

Instead, she asked, “Do you have a spare set of keys to the other house?”

At once, Caleb pulled out the little envelope with the keys he’d had made at Lowe’s just two days earlier, when he’d finally admitted to himself that he wanted to keep the Pueblo Street house and dispose of the other one.

“It’s ready and waiting for you,” he said.

“The house cleaners were there yesterday, and it’s in great shape.

I’ll disable the security system from my phone so you won’t have any trouble getting in. ”

“Perfect,” Delia replied. “I’ve got my camera in the car, so I’ll just go ahead and shoot the photos while I’m walking the place. That’ll speed up the process.”

Because Delia, unlike quite a few other real estate agents, didn’t rely on her iPhone to take pictures of her listings. No, she had a big professional Nikon and made sure to massage everything in Photoshop before she posted it, so Caleb knew the other house would get the best possible presentation.

They chatted a little bit about the current real estate market, but then she excused herself, telling him that if she went and took the photos now, she should be able to get the listing up by the end of the day.

“And with any luck, someone will snatch it right up,” she said as he walked her to the door.

“With interest rates down, most properties are moving pretty fast, and there isn’t a lot of inventory.

And I know the house having been featured on a cable show back in the day will probably help, too, if only because people will probably look up some of the video clips online. That’ll make my job a little easier.”

“I’m sure your excellent photos would be enough,” he said, and she only shrugged.

“Maybe. But it never hurts to have a secret weapon.” A pause as she shifted her purse strap on her shoulder. “Anyway, once I have the listing put together, I’ll email you the password so you can take a look at it before it goes live. That way, you can fix any mistakes.”

“I doubt there’ll be any,” he said with a smile, and she only shrugged again.

“Oh, you’d be surprised. Little things tend to slip through even when you’ve read something over a dozen times.”

He supposed that was true, or else he wouldn’t have caught the typos that had popped up in some of the books he’d read in college, books he assumed had been vetted by multiple editors.

“Sounds like a plan,” he said.

Delia gave him a wave and then headed down the front path to her car. As she went, her bright hair blazed in the sun, bouncing against her back.

Damn, she was beautiful.

Too bad he’d probably never have the guts to tell her.