“Exactly.” A small pause, and then Pru added, “Be careful. I still don’t know what we’re dealing with here, but it sure feels as if this was all planned well in advance of the competition.”

Most likely. And even though none of them had a very clear idea of what they were facing, Caleb doubted any of it would be good.

After Delia promised Pru they’d take every possible precaution and then ended the call, the two of them entered the casino and headed toward the tournament area. Caleb spotted Ty Carter near the entrance, looking tense and not at all Zen the way he usually did. The part angel…or whatever he was…obviously noticed him and Delia approaching, because he immediately made his way over to intercept them.

“I’ve been looking for you,” Ty said in a low voice, then sent a glance around their immediate area as if to make sure no one was listening. “Something feels especially off today. Multiple supernatural signatures are converging on this casino — more than I’ve ever felt in one place before.”

Well, that wasn’t good, even if his warning echoed what Pru had just told them. And while Caleb still wasn’t sure whether he could trust the guy, he also knew that Ty Carter was probably the closest thing to an ally that he and Delia had at the moment.

“Any idea what we’re dealing with?” he asked.

Ty shook his head. “Different kinds of energies. Some demonic, some…I’m not sure yet. The one thing I do know is that they’re all focused here, on this building. You’ll need to watch yourself in there.” He glanced toward the VIP viewing area, an accommodation that hadn’t existed during the earlier rounds of the competition, and then over at Delia, addressing her directly as he added, “Including your friend Aaron Sanchez in the spectator section.”

Delia frowned, her gaze tracking to the spot where Aaron sat among the high-roller spectators. He wore a black dress shirt and was chatting with the man sitting next to him, an individual with an impressively bald head and a large diamond stud in one ear. “What about him?” she asked. Although she looked calm enough, a certain edge to her voice told Caleb she wasn’t thrilled to see the guy making a return visit to the competition today.

Ty’s mouth tightened. “There’s something off about him. He feels like an entirely different person.”

Again, not the sort of news Caleb had really wanted to hear, although he supposed he should count himself lucky that Sanchez was only a spectator and not a fellow competitor.

“Anyone else I should keep an eye out for?”

Ty was silent for a moment. Although he didn’t move, Caleb got the impression that he was using his own special abilities…whatever they might be…to scan the crowd and see if he detected any anomalies.

Then he shook his head. “Hard to say. The energies in here are chaotic enough that I can’t get a clear impression from anyone else. But you obviously need to watch yourself.”

Something Caleb had already been planning on doing, so he wasn’t sure how helpful any of this had been.

Except, of course, to put him even more on edge.

“Well, thanks for the heads-up.” He looked over at Delia. “We should probably get moving.”

She gave a reluctant nod but didn’t protest, and Ty, seeming to sense he’d done what he could, melted away into the crowd.

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?”