Goddamnit!

  No vampire powers. Trapped on a roof. With a guy who thought he was pure evil and was doing the world a favor by killing him. A guy with a dagger and a stake.

  Caleb didn’t know whether a stake to the heart would actually kill a vampire. He was very sure this wasn’t how he wanted to find out. He backed away, but Scott kept advancing -- practiced, deliberate -- herding him toward the edge.

  His body felt wrong, like it wouldn't obey him. He reached for abilities that weren’t there. It was like being crammed into a suit that didn’t fit, like waking up in someone else’s skin. That damn amulet!

  "Scott... put down the knife," Caleb said. "Someone could get hurt!"

  "Yes, that's the point," Scott said, stepping forward.

  Caleb moved to dodge, but was too slow. Pain nced through his shoulder. Then-- the smell. His own blood. It shouldn’t have shocked him, but it did. He was bleeding. He hadn’t bled in years. Usually, cuts sealed themselves before he could even register them.

  "Shit!" Right. Can’t run. Can’t talk his way out of this. God help him, he was actually going to have to fight. And without his vampire powers, he had all the martial prowess of a w school dropout.

  He needed an opening. When Scott swung, there’d be a moment -- just a moment -- where he overextended. If Caleb could duck under his arm, get in close... sure, Scott had a knife and a stake, but Caleb had two very pointy weapons of his own.

  Scott moved with the grace of a trained hunter. Caleb ducked, tried to bance on the balls of his feet, but his body felt wrong again-- off-kilter, unstable. He lunged anyway. Nerdy, desperate, undignified. A middle-school football tackle at best.

  But it worked.

  He sank his fangs into Scott’s arm. Scott yelped, the dagger cttering to the rooftop. Caleb barely had a second to register the small victory before Scott yanked free and smmed the blunt end of the stake into his ribs.

  Okay. Not great. But at least he’d evened the odds just enough to--

  Pain. Blinding, skull-splitting pain. A sharp crack-- then the world lurched, his vision doubling as he hit the ground. The fucker had headbutted him. And instead of shaking it off like he should have, he just… y there. Dizzy. Stunned.

  Like he was human again. He barely remembered how being a human worked.

  Scott was already getting up. Caleb reached for his leg, but his movements were sluggish, his body wrong. Scott twisted away easily. Now Caleb was on the ground, Scott had his knife again, and--

  Caleb's hand hit open air. Vertigo crashed over him. He risked a gnce back.

  Thirty-five floors of neon-lit death.

  Thirty five and a half, if you count the mezzanine.

  Scott exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders. "You don't have to make this harder than it already is." His grip on the dagger tightened, but his expression was almost... regretful. "I'm giving you a clean end. Better than you deserve."

  "Time out!" said Caleb. "Mercy! I need to confess before you kill me!"

  "I'm pretty sure this is a trick," said Scott, but he was no longer advancing.

  It was. Just not a very good one. Caleb was just pying for time.

  "Look, don't hurt Angelina. Please."

  "She's a vampire," Scott said. "But I'll tell her your st thoughts were of her."

  "We just got back together. The timing sucks." Caleb said, forcing a resigned ugh.

  "That is unlucky," said Scott. "I'm sorry."

  "That's so Canadian," said Caleb, again forcing a smile. He could have a poker face too. "Apologizing to the person you're about to murder."

  "It is, isn't it?" smiled Scott back. "Look, I have to get into game face, but really it's a kindness. Really. I'm not just avenging all the people you've killed, I'm saving the lives of everyone you'd go on to kill."

  Boy, did that line sound familiar.

  "I cannot fault that logic," said Caleb. "But I try... I am trying, to save lives too, in my own way. I mean it when I said it was a long story, so..."

  "Save it," said Scott. "You'd say anything to save your butt right now, and you know it."

  Scott was right. Caleb couldn't argue with that. He'd say anything -- hell, he'd even start a book club if it meant buying him a few more minutes. He could taste the blood on his lips, feel his pulse -- his heart -- pounding in a way that was somehow both familiar and alien. Just a few more minutes, please, to think of something. That stupid amulet! Even his thoughts were slowing. He needed to get away from it. Far, far away!

  Caleb forced himself to look Scott in the eye. "I didn't want this, you know. Being a vampire, it's not something anyone would ever willingly choose. But sometimes you don't get to choose who you are. It's not an excuse -- we both know that. But it's the truth. I’m still trying... still trying to be better. But I have to be me too."

  "You don't, Caleb." said Scott. "Not anymore. Close your eyes. I'll make this quick, okay?"

  Caleb's pulse hammered in his ears, louder than the noise of the Strip below. This was it. If he couldn't buy more time, he was dead. Either with a stake through the heart or falling a long way down to the Strip below.

  Then it hit him.

  A long way down.

  A long way down... meant a long way away. It hit him like a jolt. The amulet, the one thing blocking his powers. If he got far enough away from it -- just far enough -- he could get his flight back.

  But only if he got it back before he hit the ground.

  Otherwise he'd make the biggest smash hit in Vegas since the Blue Man Group. And probably make just as much mess.

  Caleb's human instincts fought against the idea. The endless drop, the chaos of neon stretching below him filling his mind with vertigo, that instinctual human knowledge that falling was a bad thing. It was insane.

  But it was his only out. When Scott lunged with the stake, he rolled out of the way, off of the rooftop of the Venetian.

  His body was a ragdoll, limbs filing like a puppet with its strings cut, searching for anything -- anything -- to slow his descent. His fingers swiped the air desperately, but there was nothing.

  The Strip was getting way too close, the neon lights blurring into a mess of color as the ground rushed toward him like an oncoming train.

  And as the concrete rushed closer, something -- an instinct? -- told him to angle his body, and try to steer his descent.

  And then--

  A jolt.

  A shift.

  But he was still falling too fast. He was going to hit the ground unless...

  Unless he hit the Venetian's canal. Sure, every science text book will tell you that falling onto water is like falling onto concrete, but if he could slow his descent just enough, hit at the right angle, and aim for something that had even a little bit of give...

  Spsh.

  Pain racked every bit of Caleb's body. But it was starting to feel like his body again. It started to float to the surface of it's own accord, Caleb too exhausted to do anything else.

  And then, finally, at the surface, he looked around. Tourists gawking, unable to believe what they saw.

  "Uh..." Caleb panted, still floating in the water, too disoriented to be coherent. But his sarcastic instinct kicked in. "Don't try that at home, I'm a trained stunt magician. Welcome to Las Vegas."

  The tourists all appuded, as Caleb climbed out of the water. He took a quick bow, half-heartedly acknowledging the tourists, then immediately scanned the area. His heart still pounded in his chest, but now it was driven by something other than human adrenaline. He needed to warn Angelina. He couldn't afford to waste another second.

  ***

  Scott Lupescu was impressed and terrified in equal measure.

  Impressed because -- let’s be honest -- vampire or not, that dive off the roof and into the water at the st second was sick as hell. So sick.

  Terrified because he’d just lost the element of surprise. He’d shown his cards too early, and now Caleb knew what to look out for. Worse, he’d made an enemy of a vampire. The Eye of Strigoi would protect him from a lot of things, but it wouldn’t do shit against, say, Caleb coming after him with a sniper rifle from a mile away.

  He had to get to the poker room before Caleb did. He didn’t have much of a pn beyond maybe taking Angelina hostage.

  Not a great pn. Hell, not even a pn he was particurly comfortable with. Taking hostages? Kind of cowardly, no?

  Whatever. He had thirty-three flights of stairs to come up with something better.

  God, he was stupid. No matter how good you think your hand is, you should always have a pn if you get check-raised.

  ***

  Caleb was sopping wet. That was a problem. Casinos didn't look kindly on dripping patrons.

  “Ah, ye’ve been baptized by the briny deep, I see! Fear not, d, for many a sailor has found wisdom in Poseidon’s grasp-- ye’ve merely borrowed a sip!”

  Caleb never thought he’d be so happy to hear that ridiculous pirate accent. "Tom!" he cried, turning to see the nautical Nosferatu himself. "Angelina's in danger. No time to expin. How fast can you get to the poker room and warn her?"

  "Not very fast, Caleb. The Venetian be a cruel mistress, her cursed canals blockin’ me path at every turn. I’ll find a way, but it shan’t be swift."

  Caleb looked at the Venetian entryway. "Damn. I don't even think they'll let me in, dripping wet like this and--"

  He turned back to find that Tom had already stripped down to the waist.

  "--Tom?" he asked.

  "Hesitation be for ndlubbers and lords with too much silver weighin' down their britches! Ye either strike first or be stricken, mate, and if Angelina be in peril, ye be her best shot at salvation. Now quit gawkin’ and put me bloody clothes on!"

  ***

  It was just after the dinner break, py had resumed. Down to 17 pyers... two tables, two from the money bubble. Both Angelina and Diane were still in-- one at each table.

  Scott arrived, out of breath, taken aback by the man he’d just tried to kill... now staring him down.

  "Ahem."

  And... wearing a very puffy shirt.

  "Caleb."

  "Scott."

  "You're dressed like a pirate."

  "I know."

  “Why?”

  “Well, if you talked to a vampire, you’d know we give each other the shirts off our backs.”

  “Must be nice to have friends like that.”

  “It is. But it’s not just friendship. It’s survival. The only way we survive. And not just because of people like you. This world’s set up to make us fail.”

  The two sized each other up, tension thick. They couldn’t afford another confrontation here-- not in front of all the Venetian security.

  There was an announcement on the loudspeakers. "Ladies and Gentlemen, we have sixteen pyers, we are now in hand-for-hand py."

  Caleb broke the silence between them.

  “You don’t have a pn, do you?”

  “Nah, but neither do you,” Scott replied. “What happens now?”

  Caleb sighed. “I don’t know. But I’m trying to stay calm, even though I have every right to be cranky.”

  Jack and Trey passed by.

  "Hey, Caleb!" said Jack.

  "Oh my god. You're Scott Lupescu!" Trey excimed. "You're a legend."

  Scott fshed a grin. "Aw, shucks. Thanks."

  "I'm Trey Deuce... used to be a pro at poker, now I dabble in bckjack. Never forget the basics. I helped Angelina -- she’s the dy in the cat-eye gsses -- some st-minute coaching..." Trey paused. "Oh my god, I’m fanboying, aren't I?"

  "Yeah. Yeah, you are," said Jack.

  "It’s okay," Scott replied with a chuckle.

  "I mean, Caleb, you’re friends with Scott Lupescu?" Trey said, eyes wide.

  Caleb snickered. “I wouldn’t say friends, exactly. But yeah, we know each other. Actually, we need to talk. You here to see Angie win the tournament?”

  “Of course,” said Jack.

  Jack gnced Caleb up and down. “Okay, that sort of expins why Mad Tom was standing outside the Venetian in nothing but long johns. Doesn’t expin why you’re wearing his clothes, though.”

  "Right, uh, Jack, it's a bit of a story. I’ve got some stuff to discuss with Scott. Where’s Angelina’s cheering section?" Caleb scanned the room. "Ah, there they are."

  And it was shaping up to be one hell of a cheering section. Most of the Vegas vampire community had turned out. Stelian and Pantessa fnked Caleb's mom, Philip, Elvis, even Cardi—though she was squeezing her eyes shut, hands cmped over her ears to block the sound of chips shuffling. Greg Reynolds, the only one who didn’t know Angelina was undead, stood beside Cardi, offering comfort.

  Several members of the glittergang Stelian had invited were scattered around.

  Angelina really did have a lot of friends. Even after everything he'd been through, Caleb had to smile.

  He gestured to Jack and Trey. "Go on. I’ll catch up in a bit. Scott and I need to talk."

  "Is it about that... thing you were working on, Caleb?" Trey asked.

  "It might be," Caleb said with a nod.

  "Then best of luck. We really want to see you take down that bastard," Jack added.

  "You and me both."

  As Jack and Trey moved toward the cheering section, Caleb turned back to Scott.

  "Ladies and gentlemen, we are down to fifteen pyers. Congratutions for making it to the money," the tournament director announced over the loudspeaker. "Normal py resumes."

  A cheer went up from the pyers and their cheering sections, all except the one unlucky man who went out on the bubble.

  "Looks like your girl made it to the money," said Scott.

  "Yeah," said Caleb, "She's good, isn't she?"

  Scott nodded. "She could be one of the greats," he admitted. "If she wasn’t..."

  "If she wasn’t a vampire. I know," Caleb cut in. "Scott, I know you just tried to kill me. But you know what? This is Vegas. A city built on long odds that sometimes pay off. I’m asking for your help."

  "What?"

  "I mean it," Caleb said, locking eyes with Scott. "We both know what this is. We know each other. We could live the rest of our lives watching our backs, always expecting the other to make the next move. Or... we can move on from this. Learn from it. I don’t think we’ll ever be friends, but the idea of being mortal enemies doesn’t appeal to me."

  "So, what, you're saying we should just live and let live? Or... whatever?"

  "Not exactly. Remember that 'long story' I kept begging you to hear? Well, we’ve got time now. You just... before you say no, and because I’m still a little pissed off after the attempted murder... Do you still have your magic eye thingy?"

  It was rhetorical. Caleb could already see the Eye of Strigoi dangling from Scott’s neck.

  "I do."

  "It can show you who's a vampire?"

  "It can."

  "Then take a look around the room."

  Scott lifted the Eye of Strigoi to his eye and scanned the room. He already knew Angelina was a vampire, but--

  Oh.

  Oh, my.

  His breath caught in his chest. His eyes widened. Disbelief flickered over his face. "That’s... that’s a shit-ton of vampires."

  "I guess it is," Caleb replied, his voice cool. "Ready to hear the long story?"

  "Yeah, but first... there’s something I’ve got to do."

  "Oh?"

  Scott walked over to the second table, the one where Diane Sweet was pying.

  "Scott! I made the money!" she called out.

  "That’s great, Diane. And as promised..." Scott removed the Eye of Strigoi from around his neck and handed it to her. "Promise me you’ll keep it safe, alright? That charm’s been in my family for generations."

  "I will, you don’t need to worry," Diane said, slipping it around her neck, blissfully unaware of its significance. "Gd you convinced me to come down to Vegas for one st trip."

  Scott smiled. "It won’t be your st. I’m sure the Americans will come to their senses eventually."

  "Elbows up!" Diane said, and they both threw up the Gordie Howe gesture like they were reciting the Canadian national anthem.

  Caleb and Scott then walked back across the room, positioning themselves close enough to see the action, far enough to talk without being overheard.

  "For what it’s worth," Caleb said, gncing at Scott, "I think Trump’s a moron too. I wish I could’ve voted against him."

  "Why not? Convicted felon?" Scott asked, half-sarcastic.

  "Legally dead," Caleb replied, his tone so ft it almost sounded like a punchline.

  ---

  By the time Caleb had finished expining everything -- Renfield, the history of the Stalkers, his encounter with Dracu, the leads they were working with, and how he wasn’t kidding when he said he was trying to save more lives than he was taking -- the pyers had reached the final table. Both Angelina and Diane were still in it, in the 2 and 8 seats, facing each other across the table.

  "I don’t get it," Scott said, furrowing his brow.

  "What part?"

  "How we met, actually. Angelina’s been pying in this tournament since 11 a.m."

  "Oh yeah, and that took some doing. Like, eight of us working together to make sure she had a pce to sleep until the tournament started, and to wake her up on time. My mom helped with the 'energy snacks--'"

  "That’s your actual mother?" Scott interrupted.

  "Well, obviously, we don’t go telling our families that we're vampires all willy-nilly. I resigned myself to never talking to her again, but the bloodline curse affected Dad, so she had to be brought into it. I promised her that after I take down Renfield -- if I survive -- I’m going straight up to Reno with her to visit Dad." Caleb's voice softened, and he got a little gssy-eyed. "I haven’t left Vegas in over thirty years. I’ve never been to Reno."

  "It’s nice," Scott said, nodding. "But yeah, you were saying it took like eight people working together?"

  "She can’t go out into the sunlight. So, we had to find a pce close enough to the poker room without her ever stepping outside. We ended up putting her in a dancing bear costume and hiding her in the Dead Forever Experience."

  Scott's eyebrows shot up, and he chuckled at the sheer absurdity of it. "A Grateful Dead museum? You hid her in a Grateful Dead museum?"

  Caleb shrugged. "It worked. And she always did want to py in tournaments, really. For you, or Greg, or Diane, all you have to do is walk up to the counter. For her, it took all of that. But it was worth it."

  "Yeah," Scott said, nodding. "She’s got a real shot at winning this thing. I mean, I’m still rooting for Diane, but--"

  "No, no..." Caleb interrupted, his tone turning more serious. "That’s not it. Sure, that’s nice, but..." He gestured toward Angelina’s cheering section. "The real prize is that Angelina gets to see how many people care about her. How many people are cheering for her, who love her, who respect what she’s done for the community. That's why I did this. Why it was so important for me to do this for her. And a little for Pantessa too. To show her... life doesn't end at death."

  "Community," Scott said, still processing the idea. "It’s so mind-bending to hear you talk about vampires having a community, but... it's also starting to make sense."

  "I told you I was trying to be a better person," Caleb said, his voice quieter. "That’s part of it. I’ve gotten cynical over the years. Isoted myself. Got meaner. I didn’t like where I was headed. Pantessa, Stelian -- and especially Angelina -- helped pull me back. They’re family. Even Mom says so."

  Caleb sighed with guilt. "You know when you said that you were going to kill me to save the lives of all the people I'd kill in the future?"

  Scott shrugged. "I mean, you are turning out to be a little bit of a breakfast-cereal vampire, Caleb, but that's just friendly packaging over the same old fangs. Sweetened for public consumption, full of empty calories."

  "Possibly. When I turned Pantessa, I told her that I was just using her to track down Joshua. I was going to kill her to prevent her from killing others. Same exact reason you told me you were going to kill me."

  "Why didn't you?"

  "Because I don't have the right to make that choice for her. It took Angelina and Stelian to make me see that, and I'm ashamed that it did."

  Scott was quiet for a long moment, rolling a poker chip between his fingers. "Maybe, you saw yourself in her. And killing her would’ve been killing a part of yourself."

  Caleb hesitated. "...Maybe."

  Scott scoffed, shaking his head. "That’s the difference between us, then. I don’t see myself in you. I see the people you’ll kill. The people who won’t get a second chance because you exist."

  Caleb exhaled through his nose. "And if I don’t exist, who stops Renfield? Who stops the next one like him?"

  Scott hesitated. "I-- Maybe I will?"

  "Two hours ago on the rooftop, you were so busy killing me, you didn’t even know he existed. And even if you had? Scott, I have two and a half decades of vampire tricks, but I'm still basically a w school dropout and petty thief. And still, I managed to pull out a draw. Renfield has two hundred years on me. If I'm a breakfast-cereal vampire, he's a Michelin-star, eight-course, chef’s-tasting-menu motherfucker. I need every advantage I can get."

  Scott thought about that. "You got lucky, you know. Up on the roof."

  "We both got lucky. Because you went after me first. If you had gone after Angelina first, you'd be dead. She would have killed you."

  "I find that hard to believe."

  "She's a New Yorker."

  "I stand corrected."

  "Even if she wasn't, if you even tried to harm her? I would have killed you shortly after. And I try to be nice, but -- and I'm reiterating this only as a warning -- if you touch her, I will squeeze your Canadian skull until maple syrup comes out of your ears."

  "Yeesh."

  "Look, maybe in your worldview, I'm irredeemably evil. And I don't think I'm going to convince you otherwise. But you just see us only as enemies, only as monsters, and not as people. And that's why you were blind to the Renfield threat. You didn't know us. You didn't talk to us."

  "You think I should talk to vampires before I kill them?"

  "I think you should talk to vampires before you decide whether to kill them," said Caleb. "We're getting off topic. Renfield."

  "Okay. Tell me, why is Renfield so much worse than you are that I should let you live on the off chance you can take him down." said Scott.

  "Because just as I didn't have the right to make the choice for Pantessa whether she wanted to live as a vampire, Renfield took away Pantessa's choice to live as a human when he sent Joshua to kill her. He took away Joshua's choice not to kill her when he controlled his mind. And he's been doing it for the longest time. He took away my choice, when he controlled me. He took away my father's choice when he controlled him."

  Caleb's expression quickly darkened. "I've killed. I'll admit it. I've never done it on purpose, but I've killed. Scott, there's worse things than killers out there. This Renfield guy... he’s been toying with my family for generations. Both my biological family and my found family. I’m a killer, yeah. I try not to be. Renfield loves it. He gets off on making others kill. For him, the cruelty is the point."

  Caleb locked eyes with Scott. "That's why I'm talking to you now. You're in a position to help me take him down. Yeah, you just tried to kill me, but I’ll take all the help I can get."

  "Even..."

  "Even from a vampire hunter. Because, Scott, there’s no manual. There’s no Readme FAQ when you become a vampire. You probably know more about vampires than I do. I mean, I can find Renfield, maybe even beat him, but I don’t know how to end him. Hell, I wasn’t even sure staking a vampire would kill them until you attacked me with one."

  "Technically, the stake would only have stopped you from moving. I would have had to cut off your head. That’s what the dagger was for."

  Caleb slowly turned to Scott, narrowing his eyes.

  "You told me you were going to make it quick."

  "I was! For a vampire, that is quick."

  "Right. Tell me everything."

  ---

  Over at the poker table, Angelina was feeling pretty good. She'd already locked up 3,800 in cash if she went out now -- 1,500 to pay back Greg’s entry stake, and half of what was left meant she was already taking home 1,150. And she wasn’t even the short stack.

  Diane, though.

  Diane, the chip leader, sitting on about 60 big blinds, worried her.

  The tournament had reached the point where there were no more suckers at the table. And as the old poker adage goes, if you can’t spot the sucker in the first half hour, it’s you.

  Angelina was, by far, the least experienced in tournament py at this final table. ICM strategy, final table dynamics, shorthanded py-- she was weak on all of it.

  Which she knew going in. But she’d counted on her soul-reading skills to bridge the gap.

  And Diane? Diane was a void. No tells. No shifts in breathing. No changes in heartbeat rhythm to pick up on. The only thing Angelina could even try to read was Diane’s bet sizing, and even that was tough. She pyed aggressive smallball, picking her spots and leaning on pressure. By the time you thought you had a handle on her, she was already testing you for your tournament life.

  And worse-- there was just something about her.

  Every time Angelina tried to focus on her too hard, a strange pressure settled in her skull. A creeping, buzzing discomfort, like an old CRT television left on in another room.

  It reminded her of driving past the smelly parts of the New Jersey Turnpike.

  That feeling of something deeply wrong in the air.

  And yet… Diane had no problem reading her.

  It was unsettling. But also? The game was fun again.

  Diane opened for a min-raise from under the gun. Even though Angelina couldn’t read Diane’s soul, most recreational pyers knew ranges were tight from that position. Diane had a hand.

  Then the short stack in middle position shoved 11 big blinds over the top. Nice guy. If Diane busted him, Angelina would dder up, so she hoped Diane had a monster.

  Then the hijack re-shoved for 25 bigs.

  That? That was definitely a monster. No way was he bluffing here—you can’t bluff an all-in pyer. He had to have AA, KK, QQ, or AK suited.

  Angelina gnced down at her own cards.

  Just a formality. It was right to fold even kings in this spot.

  She squeezed the corners.

  Two bck aces.

  Shit.

  In a cash game, easy. Just 5-bet shove. In a tournament? She wasn’t sure. She counted her stack. 33 big blinds.

  If Diane folded and Angelina lost the hand, she’d be left with just 8 bigs. Nearly dead.

  If Diane called and won? She’d be out.

  Dammit. This was exactly the kind of situation Trey had warned her about.

  But that was four pyers all-in in front of her. Two short stacks… and Diane, who only might call?

  She gnced left.

  The blinds were practically begging to fold. But Diane? Completely unreadable.

  If Diane was folding, this was an easy call. If Diane was calling, it was an easy fold—at least one pyer would bust, and she’d dder up.

  But she had no idea which way it would go.

  The hijack called for a clock.

  Thirty seconds.

  Angelina took a breath.

  “All in,” she said.

  The blinds folded.

  Diane called.

  Shit.

  "On your backs," said the dealer.

  Angelina flipped over her bck aces.

  Diane flipped over her red aces.

  The short-stack turned over 6-5 of diamonds. Makes sense. A bluff, sure, but suited ace-crackers weren’t the worst gamble in a desperate spot.

  The middle-position pyer turned over kings and looked miserable.

  So was Angelina.

  She turned to Trey and Greg in the rail. They saw the cards. Shrugged.

  Even they didn’t know.

  This was gonna be a sweat.

  The dealer tallied the sidepots before dealing the flop.

  Jack of diamonds. Two of diamonds. Six of clubs.

  A miracle flop for the short stack, who now had a good chance of quadrupling up.

  The turn -- the nine of diamonds -- sealed Angelina’s fate. No way to win the main pot. No way to scoop the side pot. Best case scenario, she’d split it with Diane.

  And if a fourth diamond came on the river? That was it. Her game was over in seventh pce.

  She could swear she heard her heart beat, but she knew it was all in her head.

  Had to be, right?

  One st card.

  She caught a glimpse as the dealer turned it over.

  A red card.

  The four... of hearts.

  Angelina sighed with relief. The hijack with Kings knocked his hand on the table. “Good game,” he said, offering handshakes to Diane and Angelina, then walked off to collect his 4000 payday.

  When the pots were finally awarded, the former short-stack sat on 44 big blinds, and she and Diane tied for the side pot. Angelina now had twenty-nine big blinds.

  And she was one person closer to victory.

  All that mattered now was staying in the game.