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When Caleb entered the tournament area, he sensed it almost immediately — a subtle vibration in the air, like static electricity but somehow more alive.

To most people, the vibe would have been imperceptible, but, thanks to his particular talents, Caleb didn’t have a problem detecting the energy as it seemed to build all around them.

“I need to get to my seat,” he told Delia. “Find a spot where you can watch without being too conspicuous. And keep that holy water handy.”

She gave him an uncertain smile…and surprised him by reaching out to give his hand a quick squeeze before she, too, disappeared into the crowd.

He hoped Ty would keep an eye on her, wherever he was.

His table during this semifinal bout included three players he’d observed during the previous round: Steve Wilson, who was somewhere in his forties, with cool gray eyes and the sort of craggy features that looked as if they never smiled; a former World Series of Poker champion named Jackson Palmer; and the sole woman of the group, Michelle Keegan, who sported a dyed black bob and who’d had an impressive run so far.

As they took their seats, Caleb studied each of them carefully.

Steve looked different today — his normally tanned complexion seemed pale, and dark circles shadowed his eyes as if he hadn’t slept.

From his position at the table, Caleb was just barely able to make out Aaron Sanchez observing the competitors as he sat in the VIP section.

Maybe he was only imagining things, thanks to the warnings Ty had given him a few moments earlier, but Caleb thought there did seem to be something off about the way Aaron watched the people at the table — too still, too focused.

As play began, Caleb did his best to split his attention between the cards and the odd energy patterns in the room.

Every time chips moved across the table, he could see faint traces of energy following them, spiraling toward collection points he hadn’t noticed before — small, unobtrusive objects set strategically around the tournament area, disguised as everyday items…

an ice bucket, a fake palm placed up against the velvet rope, one of the stanchions that held up the aforementioned rope.

After three hours of grueling play, both Michelle and Jackson were eliminated, leaving just Caleb and Steve at the table.

And that was when Caleb noticed the pattern forming.

The energy wasn’t random — it was being channeled into a specific configuration that reminded him of the ritual diagrams he’d seen in occult books.

Although in general he’d tried to ignore that side of himself as much as possible, back when he was in high school, he’d gone through a phase when he’d tried to learn a few things about demonology and the supernatural, and although he’d never practiced any of those rituals, some of those patterns remained engraved in his brain.

Whatever was going on, Steve was clearly part of it. Every time he won a hand, Caleb could see energy draining from the chips and flowing into a sigil that was partially visible under his watchband — similar to the one he’d seen on Paul Reeves but more complex.

When they took a short break, Caleb found Delia waiting for him near the restrooms, her gaze expectant.

“They’re channeling energy through the game itself,” he said in an undertone. “Every bet, every win or loss — it’s all feeding something. And I think I figured out Steve’s secret.”

“What is it?”

“He’s been drawing power from his opponents. That’s why everyone who’s played against him has made unusual mistakes. He’s literally been draining their focus and decision-making abilities.”

Alarm flared in Delia’s blue-gray eyes. “Can he do that to you?”

Caleb smiled grimly. “He can try.”

She didn’t seem too reassured, but because they were already being called back to their seats, there wasn’t much he could do except flash her a smile and hope she understood that he had this.

At least, he hoped he did.

As play resumed, Caleb decided he should probably adjust his strategy.

Instead of fighting Steve’s energy drain head-on, he created a circular energy flow within himself — a technique he’d learned years ago when he was messing around with his demonic gifts and figuring out what they could and couldn’t do.

The energy shift was so subtle that Steve shouldn’t immediately notice…

but effective enough to neutralize his advantage.

The final hour of play became a psychological battle as much as a card game, with Caleb manipulating his personal energy as needed to prevent his opponent from gaining an advantage.

Throughout, Steve grew visibly frustrated, his usual tactics continuing to fail as they encountered the defenses Caleb had put in place.

The decisive hand came when Steve overcommitted on a flush draw that didn’t materialize. Caleb called his bluff, and Steve’s last chips slid across the table.

“Good game,” Caleb said, extending his hand.

Steve stared at him for a moment before reaching out and grudgingly giving one brief pump. As their hands touched, a jolt shocked its way through Caleb’s body — Steve trying one last desperate energy pull.

Nice try, buddy, Caleb thought, and allowed a flicker of red to show in his eyes as he held Steve’s gaze.

The other man’s eyes widened. “What the hell are you?”

“Just another player,” Caleb replied, holding back a grin. “For now.”

As the tournament officials announced Caleb’s advancement to the final round, he noticed Aaron Sanchez approaching from the spectator area.

The other man extended his hand, even as he wore a smile that didn’t quite fit his face, almost as if he was unfamiliar with using that particular set of muscles.

“Congratulations, Mr. Lowe. That was quite impressive.”

As they shook hands, Caleb caught a glimpse of Sanchez’s eyes — and for a split-second, so fast that Caleb wasn’t sure he hadn’t imagined it, they flashed completely black.

Shit. The guy wasn’t just influenced by one the way Paul Reeves had been, but fully possessed.

“We’re looking forward to an exciting final tomorrow,” not-quite-Aaron continued, his grip a fraction too tight. “Aegis Holdings has high expectations for this competition.”

Caleb wouldn’t allow a single muscle in his face to twitch. “I’m surprised the tournament sponsors are taking such a personal interest in me.”

“Oh, they take a very personal interest in you, Mr. Lowe,” Aaron said, still wearing a smile that wasn’t much more than a baring of teeth. “More than you know.”

Before Caleb could respond, Aaron had turned and walked away, moving with an unnatural smoothness that sent chills down Caleb’s spine.

He doubted the real man had ever walked like that.

Delia approached him as the crowd began dispersing, her lovely face glowing with pride. “You did it,” she said. “That was amazing.”

“Yeah,” Caleb replied as he continued to watch Aaron’s retreating form. “But we’ve got bigger problems now. Aaron Sanchez has been possessed — completely taken over. And whatever Aegis is planning, it’s happening tomorrow during the final round.”

The cheerful flush in her cheeks abruptly disappeared. “What are we going to do?”

Caleb had already gathered his chips, and he waited now as a tournament official came to count them.

With the man standing right there, he couldn’t answer Delia’s question but had to wait until they were alone again.

Once the chips were counted and the official had moved on to the next table, Caleb said in an undertone, “We’re going to need more holy water.

A lot more. And I need to talk to Ty again. ”

“About what?”

“About disrupting ritual energy patterns,” Caleb said grimly. “I’m still not entirely sure of Aegis’s end game, but no matter what, we have to be ready to stop it — without getting ourselves killed in the process.”

Although she still looked pale, Delia managed to quip, “Oh, is that all?”

He grinned. “So far.”

As they headed outside, Caleb could still sense the energy in the casino building, throbbing like a heartbeat, preparing for something momentous. Tomorrow would bring either triumph or disaster — and he wasn’t sure which one he was betting on yet.