AnnouncementOkay, this is something I have to call out and apologize for. I'm changing the name of Donal Negru to Scott Lupescu. There's a good reason for this, and it has to do with a metaphor and them that I'm building on-- it may become more apparent in ter chapters.

  I based "Donal Negru" loosely on Daniel Negreanu, famed poker pyer, for two reasons. One, Negreanu is Romanian and figured he'd fit in well in a vampire story. Second, his boisterous, friendly personality at the poker table is an interesting contrast to the stereotype of the serious, unsmiling vampire hunter.

  But the character is shaping up to be meaner than I had originally envisioned. What had started as homage became a snder. This isn't fair to the real life Negreanu.

  I'm going to go back and change the name to Scott Lupescu in previous chapters as well.

  Thanks for your patience.

  Stelian was driving the LeSabre to the Venetian while Trey was giving Angelina some st minute advice on how to adjust to the tournament strategy.

  "Yes, Angelina, if there's four other people all-in, and you're at risk of elimination, it is mathematically correct to fold aces in a tournament."

  Angelina shivered at the thought of folding aces preflop.

  "You're right. That does mess with my instincts, Trey."

  "Remember, in tournaments, it's not about pot equity. You have to think in survival equity. Don't call of light, don't bluffcatch, unless you're already on the river, because even their bluffs might have outs."

  "I love bluffcatching," Angelina muttered, crossing her arms.

  "I know, I know, but you should be pying the stacks, not the pot odds. Pressure pyers who have more to lose than you do. Big stacks can take hits. Small stacks have one move: all-in or fold. And when you're the mid-stack, avoid making an ICM suicide move. No hero calls, no marginal flips, unless you're the aggressor. Folding a leading hand means you're still in the game," Trey concluded.

  "Also," said Stelian, "in the state of Nevada, saying 'shove-a-rooni' instead of 'all-in' is not actually a binding verbal action. Found that out the hard way."

  "Stelian. I didn't know you pyed poker," said Angelina, mildly intrigued.

  "Well, I don’t. Not after ‘the shove-a-rooni incident.'"

  ***

  "And how long will you be staying with us, Mrs. Trent?" said the receptionist at the Venetian's check-in desk.

  "Not long. Just tonight."

  "And two adults?"

  "That's right. Just me and my daughter."

  "Granddaughter!" Caleb coughed.

  Helen barely missed a beat. "Granddaughter-in-w."

  Caleb sighed. Mom always was an optimist.

  "Well, you're all set," said the receptionist, sliding over two electronic keys. "Number 3355, on the 33rd floor. You're lucky you reserved when you did, we have a lot of pyers coming in for the Venetian poker series."

  "Thank you dear. Say, Can we get one of those rolly things with the little archway on it that I see in the movies for my luggage?"

  "Yes, ma'am, we can get you a trolley. Do you need a bellhop?"

  "No, my grandson here is a local, he's offered to help me out, and he brought his friends to help out too."

  Caleb waved.

  "No problem. Well, welcome to Las Vegas, Mrs. Trent, and good luck at the tables!"

  "Thank you, sweetie," she said.

  And so the scheme officially began.

  Caleb took off his denim jacket, handing it to Pantessa, who put it on. Underneath, Caleb had a orange safety vest. The three vampires got off on the second floor with the massive box, while Helen continued on to check-in to room 3355.

  "Okay, Pantessa. This is why I brought you along. You're the key to this whole operation."

  "Got it. What do you need me to do?"

  "I need you to annoy the hell out of me," said Caleb.

  "What?" said Pantessa.

  "Irritate me. Drive me mental." said Caleb.

  "That’s stupid," Pantessa scoffed. "You need me to annoy you? That’s your master pn? Jesus, I knew you were a cynical son of a bitch, but I didn’t peg you for a moron. What kind of idiot—"

  "That's perfect, Pantessa" said Caleb, gritting his teeth. "Keep it up."

  Pantessa groaned in frustration.

  "The kind of idiot," Philip muttered, "that is apparently method. Look alive. Or as close as you can get to it. We're here."

  Caleb grabbed the awkward package in his arms, looking like he was struggling with it, while Philip rolled the trolley away, and made his way across the shopping area to the Dead Forever experience. He looked pissed off, annoyed, and exhausted, as an overworked courier would be.

  He then dropped it down, right in front of the security guard for the floor.

  "What's in the package?" asked the guard.

  "Beats me, man. I just haul the damn thing," Caleb said, exasperated. "Supposed to go to the Forever Dead Experience."

  "You mean the 'Dead Forever' experience? Anyway, I don't have any record of this."

  "Well, neither do I, but here I am. Look, I just want to go home, my shift ended an hour ago. If you want me to drag this thing back across the Strip, be my guest. I get paid either way."

  And that was Philip's cue to enter, air of authority about him, with the oldest trick in the book. Good old fashioned social engineering.

  "What's the holdup?" demanded Philip.

  "Guy says he didn't get the notice," shrugged Caleb.

  "No notice? What the hell?"

  Philip made a show of looking at the bel on the package. It was a bel he knew perfectly well, because he printed it.

  "Goddamnit, Jake," Philip muttered.

  "Jake?" Caleb groaned. "Figures. How the hell does that guy still have a job?"

  "Nepotism," Philip said. "Some exec’s idiot cousin."

  Caleb rolled his eyes, remembering the time when Pantessa chewed him out in front of his mom. As Philip said, Caleb was method.

  "Look, buddy, can you do us a solid?" asked Philip. "This is for the Dead Forever Experience VIP Lounge. Special request from upper management. That usually means some high roller or VIP wants a special treat ready for tomorrow morning. And if that doesn't happen, someone's gonna get fired. Maybe you, maybe me, maybe Dave over here," Philip motioned to Caleb.

  "Good luck with that. I'm union," said Caleb.

  "But sure as hell not Jake, who's responsible for this mess to begin with."

  "I should call this in."

  Caleb leaned against the desk, while Philip stood there annoyed, and gestured to the phone on the desk.

  "Go on. Call."

  Warily, the guard picked up the phone and dialed into HQ.

  "This be— This is Venetian Security," came a voice, rough as a mid-summer squall off Bermuda.

  Caleb was a little worried about including Mad Tom in the pn, but figured he was the best shot at repcing the security supervisor without anyone getting hurt. Right now, the real security supervisor was probably puking his guts out in the men's room. Another one of Mad Tom's tricks. He could make people seasick just by talking to them.

  Actually, Caleb wasn't sure if that was a vampire thing, or if it was just Mad Tom being Mad Tom.

  Point is, once Caleb expined that the scheme was 'sort of like a heist,' Tom was thrilled to climb aboard. After all, what sort of postmortem pirate wouldn't be primed for a proper bit of plundering, pilging, and pernicious profiteering?

  The guard was a little taken aback by the voice, but he really didn't get paid enough to question it. "We have a package here, doesn't have any paperwork. Says it's for the VIP lounge of the Dead Forever experience?"

  "What be-- What's the tracking number on the package?"

  The guard leaned over to look. "770-3820-3281."

  "Let me type that in. Aye—ah, yes. That package is cleared for the VIP room. No need to tarry."

  Caleb tried his hardest not to wince.

  The guard sighed and shrugged, then hung up the phone. "Alright. Follow me," he said to Caleb and Philip.

  Eventually the guard unlocked the door to the Dead Forever Experience, turned on the lights, and let them inside... but came with them. Which was not part of the pn.

  "I'll escort you to the VIP lounge," the guard said. "If my job's on the line, I want to make sure the package arrives intact."

  Caleb shrugged, feigning indifference.

  Eventually they got to the VIP lounge, where Caleb took out a small safety boxcutter from his pocket, and opened the package up.

  "What the hell is that?" said the guard.

  Caleb pulled a garish, neon green furry thing out of the box.

  "It's... a costume," he said, pretending to be shocked. "Like one of those... what's it called."

  "Fursuits," said Philip. "Like the perverts wear."

  Caleb made a show of dropping the costume, as if he was disgusted.

  The guard took a closer look at it, and ughed. "Nah, it's not a fursuit. It's a dancing bear costume. Like one of the Grateful Dead dancing bears."

  "Ah. That makes more sense," said Caleb.

  "Look, I'm going to get back to the desk, I'll trust you two can see your way out through the back door?" said the guard. "It'll lock behind you."

  "Got it. Thanks," said Philip. And then finally, the guard walked off.

  Philip and Caleb didn't dare look at each other, because they knew if they did, they would both burst out in ughter.

  With the suit pnted in the VIP lounge, there was just one st step: a little duct tape and cardboard on the back door tch. A simple trick, but it would let Angelina in ter. Now they had a few moments to breathe (metaphorically). The hard part was over. At least for everyone but Angelina.

  ***

  Around the time that Caleb was slipping out the back door of the Dead Forever Experience, Angelina, Trey, and Stelian were heading up to Room 3355, having been texted by Helen that the room was ready.

  When Helen opened the door, Angelina greeted her with a big hug, Stelian smiled, and Trey looked extremely confused.

  "Oh shit, Angie." said Stelian. "We forgot to tell Trey about Helen."

  "Yes, yes you did," said Trey, "Hello. I'm Trey Deuce. I don't believe we've been introduced."

  Helen broke off the hug. "Oh, I'm Helen Trent. Caleb's mom."

  The moment Trey heard "Caleb's mom," he stood frozen, blinking rapidly as if processing a glitch in the Matrix. "Wait. Caleb has a mom? I thought he was just... congealed from a vat of unholy denim."

  "I hope I wouldn't have to expin the birds and the bees to you at your age, but I guess I'm going to have to," said Helen with a wink. "Yes, I'm Caleb's mother."

  Trey held up a finger. "Okay. Many questions. And only half of them seem like they might be safe to ask."

  "We'll give you a more thorough briefing ter, Trey," said Angelina, "but right now, yes, she knows about Caleb, she knows about us, she's helping us right now, and she's not for biting."

  "Nobody bites me but my husband. And only if he’s been nice and I say it’s okay. House rules."

  Trey nodded. "I see where Caleb gets his sense of humor from."

  "So, Trey," asked Helen. "Where do you fit in with this whole shenanigan we're pnning?"

  "I'm acting as Angelina's st-minute poker coach. Angelina's great at poker but it primarily a cash-game pyer. Before I was turned into a vampire, I was a good, but not great, poker pyer who specialized in tournaments. Mostly I focus on bckjack now, but I still sometimes do a little bit poker from time to time."

  Helen shivered in gleeful anticipation. "This is so exciting!"

  A few moments ter, Philip, Pantessa, and Caleb came up to the room. Caleb and Philip headed straight in.

  "Hey hey," said Caleb. "Looks like the conspiracy's all here! Well, all except Mad Tom."

  "Mad Tom?" asked Helen.

  "It would take too long to expin Mad Tom," said Angelina. "But he said it might take him a while to get back to this side of the Venetian. He's got a thing, he's very sensitive about it."

  "He thinks he's a pirate. He's not a pirate," said Caleb. "But he thinks he is. Honestly, this is probably the worst pce in Las Vegas for him."

  "Why?" asked Helen.

  "The canals," Angelina shook her head. "Poor dear."

  From outside the hotel room, Pantessa cleared her throat: "A-hem."

  "Ah, yes," said Caleb. "Forgot about that. Mom, as the living resident, would you do me a favor and invite Pantessa in?"

  "C'mon in, Pantessa!" Helen said.

  Pantessa finally stepped over the threshold, saying "Thank you" as she did.

  Mad Tom finally showed up, exasperated. "Aye, that be a long road ‘round a short harbor! These treacherous innd seas had me turned about worse than a rudderless brig in a fog! More confusion than a parrot in a cat’s mouth!"

  The team looked to Philip, who gave a thumbs-up.

  "Tom did great, by the way," said Philip to the rest of the team. "We couldn't have pulled this off without him."

  The others burst into appuse, and Tom took a deep, theatrical bow.

  "And for Philip, who came up with the idea for the bear suit," said Angelina, prolonging the appuse.

  "Right. So, the key pyers remaining: Angelina, Stelian, Helen, and myself. The rest of you, see you tomorrow night after sundown! Thanks so much for doing this for Angelina," Caleb said, turning back to the group.

  "Arr, she be as kind and gracious a maiden as ever I met upon these cursed shores. Brighter than a lighthouse in a storm! A beacon ‘midst the briny dark!"

  "Awww!" Angelina smiled, touched by the compliment.

  "A fine contrast to her curmudgeonly suitor, who carries the air of a man sentenced to swab the decks ‘til the end of days."

  "I think Tom was referring to you there, Caleb," Trey said, trying to hold back ughter.

  "Aye, I was, Trey me d! A surlier swab ne’er sailed these cursed waters!" affirmed Tom with gusto.

  Caleb just sighed and shook his head. Internally he knew he was going to have to let it go, otherwise they'd be taking potshots at him all night. He fought every instinct his his body to quip back. "So, Philip, Tom, Trey, Pantessa, your work’s done for now -- see you tomorrow after sundown. Angelina will be working her magic in the poker room by then. Philip, Trey, are you okay with getting a ride with Tom?"

  Mad Tom raised his eyebrows.

  As vampires, Philip and Trey were already rather pale. But it was still a noticeable difference when they were forced to consider getting another ride from Tom in the Santa Vanna.

  "I'll give them a ride back," offered Pantessa, to Philip and Trey's relief, and Mad Tom's slight disappointment.

  "Right. So, the key pyers remaining: Angelina, Stelian, Helen, and myself. The rest of you, see you tomorrow night after sundown!"

  "One question," said Tom, heading over to Helen. "If ye don’t mind me askin’—who be this grand dame of mystery?" Tom reached out to kiss Helen's hand, and Helen let him.

  "That's a long story," said Pantessa. "C'mon, I'll expin it to you as we walk out."

  When it was just Angelina, Caleb, Helen, and Stelian left in the room, Caleb went into pure Ocean's Eleven mode.

  "Right. One st time. Here's the pn..."

  ***

  The "big game" at the Venetian took pce in a semi-private area away from the main poker room. It was where business magnates and multi-millionaires pyed, unwisely, for amounts of cash that would seem obscene to anyone who had to actually work for a living, against a few pros there to fleece them out of the money their employees worked hard for them to get.

  Greg Reynolds walked up to the table with a rack of cranberry-colored chips.

  "Greg! Welcome Back!" said Scott 'Baby Shark' Lupescu, "We missed you, where have you been the past couple of weeks?"

  "Went on a downswing, decided to drop to the midstakes until I could get out of the tilt. What's the game?"

  "Dealer's choice," said Scott. "Currently on Kansas City Triple Draw."

  "Well, deal me in," said Greg. "I love deuce-to-seven."

  "That's because you can't make a high hand to save your life," teased Scott.

  "Have to teach me that trick. I pick up a lot of straights in this game..." grumbled Roger, one of the fish at the table.

  Both Greg and Scott knew why that was, of course, Roger just kept 'drawing to the wrong hand,' a rookie mistake in 2-7TD. It was a mistake neither one of them wanted to correct.

  "Oh, I finally got Angelina Nuit in my stable. She'll be pying in the Venetian deepstack tomorrow."

  "Oh, cool. Yeah, I entered in Diane Sweet as my horse," Scott said.

  "Diane Sweet?" asked Greg. "I haven't heard of her."

  "She mostly pys online up in Canada, where it's legal. But she makes a killing on Pokerstars pying as 'SwanDive.' Even made the final table of a Sunday Million."

  "Really?" said Greg, who was impressed.

  "Yeah, I was just up in Toronto to see some old friends from my hometown, and they said I should check her out. She's... well, she's not our level, but she's got the potential to be. I asked her to come down to Vegas to take some shots. Took some convincing -- Canadians do not like America right now."

  "No politics at the table, please," said Garrett, another of the fish. "I get enough of that at work, I'm just here to py cards."

  "Sure thing, Congressman," said Greg to Scott. Greg and Scott exchanged a gnce. Congressman Garrett Weiss would not have been invited at this table if it wasn't for the fact that he was loaded, and he was terrible at poker.

  "I said that if she makes it to the money, I'll let her wear the Eye of Strigoi," Scott said, the words casually hanging in the air.

  The Eye of Strigoi was a silver pendant shaped like an eye, with a deep red garnet as the iris, and a hole in the pupil one could peer through. It had intricate, vine-like engravings around the edge. Sometimes it even seemed to give off an eerie glow, though that was obviously a trick of the light.

  And the Eye of Strigoi was, as usual, held on a silver neckce around Scott Lupescu's neck. He adjusted it slightly, fingers lingering on the cool metal, his eyes scanning the table briefly, almost like he was checking for something—or someone—hidden in the shadows.

  "Eye of Strigoi?" asked Roger. "What's that?"

  "It's Scott's trademark good luck charm," said Greg.

  "Oh," said Scott, showing the pendant off. His voice, normally boisterous and friendly, almost manic, suddenly took a serious tone. "It's more than just a good luck charm. It was passed down from my mother, from her mother, from her mother. Lot of Romanian family history behind it. Even a bit of a legend to it -- it's supposed to protect against vampires. My mother always told me that were it not for the Eye of Strigoi, my great-grandmother would have been one of Dracu's victims."

  He paused for a second, and the words seemed to settle heavily in the air. The table grew quieter.

  "Dracu?" said Roger, incredulously.

  "You shouldn’t dismiss the idea of the supernatural so quickly, Greg," Scott said, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Romanians know to be careful about these things... just in case."

  Then, just as quickly, Scott’s expression brightened again, his voice returning to its normal friendly pitch. "Hey, I'm only repeating things I was told."

  "Heh," ughed Greg. "Vampires. What are the odds?"

  "In this city?" Scott said quietly, leaning in a little closer, his voice lowering. "Maybe better than you think."

  ***

  Angelina looked down at the Las Vegas Strip from the 33rd floor of the Venetian. It was tacky. Crass. An affront to good taste. And it was beautiful. And a little sad. "Light and fury, signifying nothing," thought Angelina. So much to maintain an illusion everyone knew was fake.

  There was a vibration on her cellphone. It was time.

  Slowly, silently, she made her way out of the hotel room, careful not to wake up Helen, who absolutely needed her sleep. She'd sleep for another four hours or so -- all the sleep that Angelina would be getting that day, if the pn worked. She made her way downstairs with her purse and her backpack, which contained one of the hotel room pillows and a rge ziplock baggie of authentic NYC dirt. She wore her hoodie, leggings, cat-eye gsses. Dressed for the job tomorrow. Her first major tournament.

  She got into the elevator, pressed the button, and used the time to get down to the second floor to shake out her nerves. When she arrived, Caleb and Stelian were ready to meet her.

  "Hello boys," she said. "Everything ready?"

  "We're all set. Are you ready?" asked Caleb.

  Angelina nodded.

  The three, simple tourists as far as anyone knew, walked towards the shopping area of the Venetian. Walking over one of the many bridges over the artificial indoor canals.

  She grabbed his hand. “Caleb. Stop.”

  He turned to her, confused -- then saw the tear on her cheek.

  “Angie?” His voice was tight, searching. “What’s wrong? Is there something we forgot? Do we need to abort? Are you nervous--”

  “No, Caleb.” She pointed past him. “Look.”

  And that’s when it hit him.

  The Venetian’s fake sky was shifting. The artificial dusk, with its deep purples and warm oranges, was giving way to a brighter illusion of daylight. It was subtle, slow, designed to be unnoticeable -- but to them, it was impossible to ignore. The soft glow mimicked sunrise.

  The closest thing they would ever get to seeing one again.

  Caleb inhaled sharply, an old habit that still surfaced when he was overwhelmed.

  “I know it’s fake,” Angelina whispered, eyes locked on the ceiling. “I do. But sometimes... even fake things feel a little real.”

  Caleb turned to her. His hand squeezed hers. “I think you just summed up all of Vegas.”

  Neither of them heard Stelian’s chuckled agreement. Because by then, they were already kissing.

  It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It was slow, deliberate -- like they were taking their time memorizing each other. The warmth of skin, the press of lips, the way their fingers tightened around each other’s hands.

  “We should go,” she murmured.

  “Yeah,” he said. “We—”

  But then she was kissing him again, this time more fiercely, pulling him in by the colr of his denim jacket. He responded in kind, one hand on the small of her back, the other cradling the back of her head as he dipped her slightly.

  This time, when they parted, the moment lingered, stretched between them like something fragile and real.

  Stelian cleared his throat. Loudly.

  "Right," Angelina said, smoothing out her hoodie, as Caleb straightened his jacket. "Let's get going."

  ---

  Stelian kept lookout while Caleb and Angelina slipped through the back door of the Dead Forever Experience. His duct tape was still intact. Once they were inside, he peeled it off and crumpled it into his pocket.

  The pce was eerily silent. No lights were needed -- he and Angelina could see just fine in the dark -- but the trippy, psychedelic decor made their night vision stutter. Colors that shouldn't glow seemed to pulse, twisting depth and distance. Disorienting, but they adjusted quickly and pressed on to the VIP lounge.

  Philip’s dancing bear costume was right where he and Caleb had left it. Carefully, Caleb helped Angelina into the suit, easing her down onto the couch. He pced the Ziploc bag of dirt over her heart and stuffed a pillow into the bear's head.

  "Try to get as much rest as you can. Mom's coming by at 10:30 to wake you up, but if she doesn't, the phone arm is set for 10:40. Stelian will be at the front entrance -- he's your canary in the coalmine."

  Angelina sighed. "Goddamn it, Caleb. I shouldn't have kissed you."

  Caleb blinked. "You… you shouldn't?"

  She smirked. "Nope. You're bad luck, Caleb Tryst."

  He returned the smirk. "Maybe so. But it's a good thing poker isn’t about luck."

  Leaning in, he kissed her forehead. "Get some rest, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow night."

  Angelina nodded, letting him lower the bear head over her. Sleep came easily -- it wasn’t sunrise yet, but it was close enough that her body surrendered to it without protest.

  ---

  Caleb slipped past the Grateful Dead memorabilia and knocked twice on the door -- Stelian’s signal for extraction.

  A single knock came in response. Not clear.

  He waited, shifting his weight, until Stelian rapped three times. All clear.

  Caleb stepped out, nodded to Stelian, and checked his wristwatch.

  5:52 AM. Sunrise was at 6:48 on the dot. And he was nowhere near a safe haven.

  "Right," said Caleb. "I've got to book it," said Caleb. "Do you have the keys to the LeSabre?"

  "Right here." Stelian fished them from his pocket and handed them over. "And I'm all sunscreened up -- except here." He pointed to the back of his left hand. "Should shine like hell if there's any stray sunlight we missed. Call me Tweety Bird, ‘cause I’m your canary in the coal mine."

  Caleb squinted. "Excellent. Er, not the Tweety Bird metaphor -- that was forced and awkward. But everything else. Thanks, Stelian. Take care of her. And my mom. Please."

  "Will do. What’s the worst that could happen?"

  Caleb's gre went cold.

  "Please tell me you did not just say that."

  "Okay," Stelian said. "I won’t."

  "Because there are many worst things, and I don’t even want to think about--"

  "Hey! Caleb!"

  Greg’s voice cut across the Venetian, drawing Caleb's attention. He was striding toward him with a friend -- someone Caleb almost recognized.

  Caleb checked his watch. 5:54 AM. He forced a friendly wave. Dammit, I do not want to be fried to a crisp because of social convention.

  "You here early for the tournament?" asked Greg, good-naturedly. "Scott, this is Caleb -- Angelina's ex-boyfriend."

  "I don't think I'm her ex, anymore, actually," said Caleb, grinning like a schoolboy. "But I have to get--"

  "Mazel tov!" Greg cpped him on the back. "Oh, you may or may not recognize my friend here -- kind of a big deal in poker. This is Scott Lupescu. Few bracelets, lots of Main Event final tables."

  Caleb hesitated. Okay… maybe a little chit-chat. Meeting Scott Baby-Shark Lupescu -- Angelina’s favorite pyer? If he missed this, she’d never forgive him.

  Stelian seized the opportunity to slip away. His job was simple: wait until 9 AM, wake Helen, come back down, and escort Angelina to the tables. The hard part? Staying awake. He’d done it before. It just wasn’t any fun.

  Caleb offered Scott a handshake. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Lupescu. Angelina talks about you all the time -- says you’re amazing. Like, super hand-reading skills."

  "Aww, shucks," Scott said. "It’s just practice and study."

  He took Caleb’s hand -- then suddenly, his poker face faltered.

  For a split second, a frown crossed his face. A flicker of something unreadable.

  Then the mask was back. All smiles. All charm.

  "Oh, Caleb, I like to show this off to people. It's my good luck charm," Scott extended the Eye of Strigoi to show Caleb.

  "It was a gift from my mother. She's Romanian," said Scott, with an intent and inflection to the st word that completely went over Caleb's head. Caleb simply didn't understand the significance.

  Scott held it up to his face. "Lots of old family stories around this thing." He peered through the pupil of the eye at Caleb. Through it, Caleb gave off a dark aura, an almost shadowy mist of bck haze that radiated outward. It shifted and rippled like smoke or fog every time Caleb moved.

  "It looks really cool." said Caleb. "Look, Mr. Lupescu... Angelina is like the biggest fan of you. Are you going to be at the tournament today? I have to work, can't be there until the evening, but if you run into her, could you take a selfie with her? It'd make her night, I promise you."

  "Sure thing, pal!" said Scott, all smiles. "As my mother used to say when she met a person like you, '?tiu ce e?ti, strigoi.'"

  Caleb, who didn’t speak a word of Romanian, smiled, thinking it was a compliment. "Aw, shucks. That's so nice. But I really do have to get going, I'm on a tight schedule."

  Scott’s smile didn’t falter, but there was a flicker in his eyes as he leaned in just a bit closer, the Romanian phrase hanging in the air longer than it should’ve, a phrase that transtes as: 'I know what you are, vampire.'

  "Yes," Scott replied, his tone dropping slightly. "I bet you are."

  Again, Caleb was completely clueless as to Scott's double meaning. So, completely oblivious, he waved and turned quickly, eager to get going. "Right. See you tomorrow! Or... today, I guess!"

  Caleb really did have to book it. Getting out of the Venetian, to the LeSabre, and back to Angelina's haven before sunrise was going to be close. He took off -- not necessarily in a jog, but certainly walking as fast as possible, looking like a tourist who spent too long at the tables and was about to miss his flight.

  Scott watched him until he was out of sight, then turned to Greg.

  "I think it's going to be a very interesting tournament. Side bet on a first-to-bust between Diane and Angelina?" asked Scott.