The next couple of days were super chill. I wasn’t about to complain either. I had friends, a place to live, a friggin’ car, and a job. I even treated myself a little when I did another grocery run for Dante. I didn’t want to tell him, but he was really packing it on. It wasn’t healthy, but he was living in his own personal Hell, so who was I to stop him?

  He was like those kids who never got to eat sugar or play games. They grow up and go overboard. Kinda like they’re playing catch-up for all the lost time.

  I drove a little further south to see if I couldn’t find a store that wasn’t populated with demons. No dice. They seemed to be everywhere. I could have sworn, only a few weeks before, they were few and far between.

  Then again, I never was great with details.

  Damn, I was stupid. I really let my heart brain do all the thinking for me. Which is fine, mostly, but it’s a good idea to use with your head brain. That’s where critical thinking happens. Something I practiced very little.

  I dropped off the goods with Dante and went home with my loot. It was a new TV, a little forty-two incher, and some of my favorite movies.

  It had been four days since I died in that pool. Me and Orson were up to our eyeballs in peak cinema when there was a knock at the door.

  “Yeah?” I said, pausing Gremlins.

  “Hey, it’s me, Doug. Wanna invite me in?”

  “Yeah, come on in,” Orson replied. I gave him a look like this, because he had just invited a vampire inside, who we know nothing about.

  Doug walked right on in.

  “What’s up?” I asked, acting nonchalant, even though, internally, I was ready to throw down. But then I realized I didn’t have a single vampire killing tool at my disposal. My internal tough guy said, “Psh, he ain’t worth it,” and walked off, leaving only my anxiety to deal with it.

  My heart was racing.

  Doug could sense it.

  He eats blood, of course he could.

  “Relax,” he said, “I’m not going to eat you. I just came over to invite the two of you to my poker game tonight.”

  “Who’s gonna be there?” Orson asked.

  “Me, Bill, and Mammon, if you believe it,” Doug said with a certain degree of pride and excitement.

  “Pass,” Orson said. “I’m not a big Bill fan.”

  “Oh, you know Bill? What’s wrong with Bill?” Doug looked a little heartbroken.

  “Number one, he thinks Bill is short for Billiam,” Orson explained. “And number two, when he gets excited, he starts breathing with his mouth. I can’t stand it.”

  “He’s a werewolf,” Doug argued. “What do you want from the guy?”

  “Pass,” Orson said flatly.

  “Amir?” Doug said, turning to me.

  “Um, won’t Mammon try and kill me?” I asked. “If I remember right, he’s a high demon, isn’t he?”

  “Yeah, but he’s cool,” Doug said. “Besides, he’s not allowed to kill humans. Not outright. Now, he might try to buy your soul, which would allow him to claim your life whenever, but otherwise he just likes to gamble. Just don’t sell him your soul and you’ll be fine.”

  “Um, sure,” I said. “Count me in.”

  “Great! Swing by around ten and bring some cash.” Doug shot me a finger gun, then left. Me and Orson went back to watching Gremlins. And as we watched those adorable, little abominations try to have a civilized game of poker, Orson looked at me and said, “You better not lose our rent.”

  “No worries,” I replied. “I’m not a big gambler anyway.”

  “Yeah, well, just try and keep your head on straight. Mammon has a way of encouraging big bets.” That was the last thing Orson said to me on the matter.

  Around nine, I got ready for a night of fun. Got ready is kind of a loaded phrase. Really, I just put on some extra deodorant, got my hands wet and ran them through my hair, then put on a clean shirt. Once I had my cash—three of the five hundred—I made my way over to Doug’s.

  “Where ya goin?” Calista asked. She was sitting out front wearing her hoodie and had a blanket on her lap. It was ninety-two degrees outside, and she managed to look cozy, cold even.

  I stopped, then walked over.

  “Hey,” I said as I approached, “just headin’ over to Doug’s for poker night.”

  “I was afraid of that,” Calista said with a knowing nod.

  “What are you doing out in this heat?” I asked.

  “Just watching for you,” she said.

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  “For me? Why?”

  “Look, Amir,” she said, leaning forward, “Mammon is in there. I don’t think you should go.”

  “Oh, I know, but Doug said he can’t kill me. I should be alright.”

  “Yeah, he can’t kill you, but he’s strong and smart. Try not to fall for his tricks, okay? I don’t want to see you losing all your money.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I assured her, literally waving away her concerns. “I’m immune to supernatural shit, remember?”

  “I do,” she said, leaning back again. “Just don’t underestimate how clever or powerful he is, okay? Pay attention and be careful.”

  “Aren’t I always?” I asked.

  She shook her head but said nothing. She looked annoyed, which I took offense to.

  I heard laughter inside Doug’s, so I let myself in. I realized that it was probably rude by the way the laughter stopped, and everyone stared at me.

  “Hey, here for some poker?” I said in the form of a question, because by the time I’d reached the end of the sentence, I wasn’t sure I was supposed to be there. Even with the three of them holding cards and sitting at a table with chips on it, I wasn’t sure this was the poker night I was supposed to be at.

  “Who is this puny mortal?!” a large demon, who could only be Mammon, asked angrily. He was fat, red, had what I would call medium-sized horns on his head, capped with golden tips. He wore loads of gold jewelry. I’m talkin’ enough bracelets to give Criss Angel a run for his money, and enough necklaces to reduce Mr. T to tears. Also, his nips were pierced. Gold, of course.

  I’ll admit it, I took a step back.

  “He’s messing with you,” Doug said with a laugh. The other dude, who I guessed was Bill, laughed along. Mammon took a moment longer, still locking eyes with me.

  I was frozen.

  “Just f**k’n with ya, bro,” Mammon finally said. “Have a seat, my guy.”

  I’m not sure Mammon always talks that way, because it made him seem like a real chill guy, but I can’t imagine he does. I mean, maybe that’s how he gets people to relax around him so he can swoop in and trick them into selling their souls? I don’t know, but it wasn’t gonna work on me. My soul was staying where it was. Some unknown place inside my meaty bod.

  I took a seat at the table.

  Bill wasn’t what I expected. Based on what Orson had said, I assumed he would have doglike features; you know? Like, real hairy at least. He was just like Doug. Looked like a regular dude. Well, his eyes were a golden brown, but not to a point that you’d look at him and go, “I bet he’s a werewolf.”

  “Hey, I’m Billiam, but you can call me Bill,” Bill said while extending his hand. I took it and gave it a shake.

  Quick aside, shaking hands is weird, right? I never did much of it before because, as we’ve covered, no one acknowledged me. The more I’ve done it, the more ridiculous it seems. Like you meet someone and they are all, “Hey, let’s hold hands. But just for a little bit.” I don’t have to touch a person to meet them, but dudes always seem to want to hold my hand real hard.

  Strange.

  “The buy-in is a hundred,” Doug said.

  “Oh, yeah,” I pulled out my money and handed it over.

  “Oh, a high roller,” Mammon commented. “Three hundo? Watch out now!”

  I’m ninety percent sure he was mocking me, because when I got my pile of chips, it was about a quarter the size of his. Doug’s pile was stacked too. Bill’s was only a bit bigger than mine.

  Look at me, comparing sizes. But it’s not the size, it’s how you play with it.

  “Don’t worry,” Bill said, “these two are loaded. Regular guys like you and me? This is our chance to rob’em blind.” Then he winked.

  I smiled and said, with all the confidence of a man stepping into a casino for the first time, “Easy money.”

  “I like this guy!” Mammon slapped my back. It hurt. His hand was almost half the size of my torso.

  Doug dealt the cards.

  “Game’s Texas Hold’em,” he said. “We’ll start with a twenty-dollar blind.”

  I got two and a ten. Doug laid out the first three cards. There was an ace, a king, and a seven. I was screwed. I was planning on seeing it through, but Mammon raised it to fifty.

  “I’m out,” I folded, regretting having lost twenty bucks right out the gate. I sat back and watched the first hand play out.

  “You want a drink?” Bill asked after folding on the flop. He was out seventy.

  “Um, sure,” I said. Just to be clear, I was never a big drinker.

  Bill reached down and fished around before producing a cold can for me. I can’t remember the brand, but it tasted like beer.

  I’m not going to bore you with a play-by-play of poker because that would be about as fun as listening to someone tell you about that crazy dream they had, which turned out to be a pretty ordinary dream. Here’s the quick and dirty before the important bit.

  As the night went on, the drinks kept coming. I saw what Orson was talking about with Bill. Everyone knew when he had a good hand because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. He was practically panting. At one point, I was on a roll. Mammon was getting angry, and I had doubled my money.

  I didn’t notice at the time (I know, it’s a recurring theme in my life), but Mammon suddenly found the cool he had lost. Why he was angry to begin with? I’ll never understand. His pile of chips was still double mine. Anyway, he handed me what was probably my fifth beer. To some it may not seem like much, but after my second, my lips were already buzzing.

  I took the drink and thanked the demon for his kindness.

  “No problem, bro,” he said. “Say, you’re a good poker player. It’s not even about the money anymore, it’s just been a pleasure to watch you work.”

  “Thanks,” I replied, genuinely flattered.

  “That’s why I’m not even going to bother looking at my cards,” he continued. “Wouldn’t matter anyway, since you’re killing it. I’ll just bet whatever you bet and cross my fingers.”

  “Hey,” I said, words just sort of slipping out of my mouth with the finesse and ease wet fish through a lubed tube, “your fun’ral, bud.”

  Now, the important bit I mentioned.

  I lost everything.

  Yup.

  I thought, Hey, I got good cards, and this idiot has no clue.

  I went all in, naturally. With half his chips, Mammon called my bet.

  “Tough break, kid,” he said.

  I replied with a heartfelt, “Screw you.”

  “Whoa, bud. Where’s the anger comin’ from?” he asked with a smile.

  “You aren’t even s’posed ta be here,” I replied, a finger pointed directly at him. Mammon looked a little peeved about it. I continued, waving my arms around like a totally sane and sober person, “All these demons ’n shit erywhere. Psshhh. This is Earf, bruh. This is mah house!”

  “Hey,” Mammon shouted and stood up, “I own property here, so I have every right! As do my demon friends! And soon, we’ll own it all!” His breath was hot and very stinky. He continued, “So if you have a problem, bruh, take it up with God!”

  “Right, whatever,” ever the wordsmith, I bid the gang a goodnight. “I’m gettin’ tha f**k outta here!”

  I said that in a perfect New York accent and gave them the two most perfect thumbs up ever given. The Fonz would have been so proud.

  Well, probably not, because he seems like the type to NOT get sloppy drunk over a game of poker with a vampire, werewolf, and demon, and lose all his money.

  I am no Fonz.

  “Walk safe,” I heard Doug say as I stumbled down his two trailer steps. Yup, stumbled down all two of’em.

  “Looks like you had a rough night,” Calista said.

  “I did alright,” I said.

  “Is that how you really feel about demons?” she asked, looking a little sad. So sad, I wanted to burn down all of reality so I could build it back up just for her. Of course, I was plastered, so that sentiment came out: “I like you, you know that?”

  She shook her head, then went back to enjoying the heat. I just smiled, put a finger over my lips, and said, “Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh,” the whole way back to my trailer.

  I sank into my bed, shut my eyes, and didn’t wake up ‘til morning.

  It was a crap morning, as I’m sure you can imagine, but so much worse than you imagine.

  Amir gave me the look teens give their parents when their parents do something embarrassing.