I flicked out the cards as immaculate nails caressed the table, the players choosing to acknowledge me as mostly invisible as clever language in sibilant Necrus filled the air.

I’d made it absolutely plain that I could totally understand what they were saying by addressing them in the language, so they hadn’t tried any snide tests to see if I could.

The vampire lords of New York City and New Jersey were playing at cards as an excuse to wheel and deal, disguising how intently they were taking the match with how casually they won and lost thousands, then tens of thousands of dollars. It was down to actual play instead of cheating after several bloody noses erupted from casual and sly magic use to track the cards or change them resulted in exposure and lost hands, and new decks were made.

The Mountain loomed over in the corner. He’d restricted his killing activities to werewolves for just this reason, as weres didn’t hash their differences out over baccarat, blackjack, and poker. The vampire lords were studiously ignoring him, and their bodyguards were trying to. One of them was a flesh golem, which I imagined they thought might even be able to slow him down for a few seconds if needed.

Also, he was here basically as my bodyguard, not the casino’s muscle. Normal people were conspicuously absent for these meetings, with any here normally being Drinkers of the vampires. For the more public tournaments with the living, Mr. Hill was representing the casino.

Mr. Hill’s personal life was busy. Were-hunting, popping to and fro, watching over stuff at the casino, breaking the legs of deadbeat millionaires, occasionally running a job back West or overseas from those paying well, and getting good eats... it was all living high for him.

Three of the elder vampires were women, six were men. All of them were good-looking, none looked older than their early thirties, and they moved with the grace and control of many decades of experience and superhuman strength. Their cutting jibes, subtle challenges, clever comebacks, and vocal agreements were the reason why they were here.

The cards didn’t care about their politics, only their skill and luck. Having a neutral venue where one vampire didn’t hold an advantage in the event of betrayal appealed to them, and the vampires had begun using the game for meetings with other, outside powers.

They also paid a lot of money for extra amenities. Drug-free virgin blood was one such, but their main choice of tipple was drawn from wineskins woven from actual human arteries woven together alchemically to preserve that authentic taste. Acquiring said arteries wasn’t as hard as it seemed in a city this size, with so many accidental and violent deaths, and the vampire lords had taken a fancy to them, all wanting such a true bloodskin for themselves.

They weren’t that hard to make, all things considered, and they had no real benefits beyond preserving blood... except for macabre style and taste.

Visinotti, the Elder of Manhattan and a good chunk of Queens, was clearly the most dominant, two of the others being direct blood-children of his, and, if not Thralls, they clearly found it hard to resist his influence. Malachio, the Elder of Staten Island and Jersey, was his biggest rival, while Uhafu ran Harlem and the surrounding various ethnic neighborhoods, the only non-Caucasian vampire there, and the only one not in a faction. Ghundberg was based out of the Bronx and rounded out the major factions as the only female Elder, and generally the one most ganged-up on, which she responded to with droll mercilessness and an intelligence network the others could not match.

She hadn’t won any of their gaming nights yet, but she had performed the best of the Elders overall. Interestingly enough, tonight she was well ahead, and so was going to be the victor in more ways than one.

Four hands snapped up to their ears at the same time on different security teams. The other ten followed likewise.

There was no need for words or approaching their masters. Vampiric eyes flashed red at the notice of the attack on two of the vampires standing guard down in the casino proper.

“Dealer, it appears we will have to cut this game a bit short. An old friend has come to visit us, and we wouldn’t want to leave him alone for too long,” Visinotti purred, glancing around at his peers, who all nodded silent assent.

“Final bets and bids, final draws on consensus of the players,” I intoned calmly, as that had nothing to do with me.

Ghundberg was dealt an eight of clubs and walked off with three of a kind and over 100k in the pot, although nobody was cleaned out.

“If the players are in a rush, I will return your chips to your accounts myself,” I offered calmly, tapping a two of clubs to the table. The chips they were about to scoop up all arranged themselves neatly in tight piles and stacks, while the final deck of cards sprayed in a flaming stream toward the trash basin, only the third one of the evening.

Several of them smiled at the courtesy, inclining their heads. With poise and speed, they swept out of the room in silence, deadly intent starting to swirl about them.

Mr. Hill had gotten word, too, and was grunting acknowledgements to O’Bannon in his ear.

I swept the chips over onto my Disk in their discreet piles, and just to make sure there were no mistakes, put Holos over each of them to indicate whose was whose. The ones they’d set forward for me went into their own stack.

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“Get the cleaners in here,” Mr. Hill grunted into the mike, and the scrubbers were on their way. “All clean, girl?” he asked me, and I wove six cards into a Formation that pulsed magic through the room.

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Unfortunately, we on Royal Road can't call the cleaners...

If you're not reading this on Royal Road, you're helping pay a thief. Please read it in its original home, it's still free! You get the foreword and afterword, author comments, and comments from people with questions! I have not given permission for this story to be posted ANYWHERE ELSE.

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There were hisses and pops under two of the chairs. It was as likely as not their rivals bugged their chairs, so blaming anyone was useless, just a test to see if we were still watching.

An undead bug floated out of an air conditioning duct and was popped, and the last one was a bone construct scraped up out of the floor vent there.

Mr. Hill noted their destruction without judgement. Just part of the job.

“Ready to go.”

We stood aside as the cleaning crew came into the room. The vampires paid for the privilege, they received it. The next time the room was used, it would be as scentless as the first time.

“Couldn’t stay away, could they?” I grumbled under my breath.

“Well, wasn’t like you didn’t expect it,” Mr. Hill half-laughed. “It’s a convenient and predictable place to find vampires that isn’t one of their holes.”

“They can’t be stupid enough to just hit them on the casino grounds.”

“Naw, far too many civilians around to get in the way. They only aced four of them before the rest were under cover, and escalating would’ve gotten messy,” he said with experience. “I’m guessing they have a target, and are gonna hit him on the way home.”

“Didn’t tell you?” I asked archly.

“Can’t leak what I don’t know,” he replied, completely unconcerned. “And it’s my night off, anyways. Blade was getting irked with the werewolf hunts, although it was a good way to build up some team tactics. We only cleaned off some random vamps to keep it on the down-low.”

“Heard from Wong you got into a bit of a discussion about someone who wanted that other house over on Beeker Street.”

His neck popped as he stretched. “Yeah. It turns out Midas wanted to buy it.”

“Midas?” I shook my head. “What did you do?”

“I took a stroll through three office buildings and a warehouse owned by him, kinda ignoring his security shouting at me and trying to stop me from doing so.” I smirked at the image of some goons trying to taser him or slap him with billy-clubs. “Mighta put a couple of the clever ones in the hospital for trying to get inventive. Realtor backed off the next day. House is mine.”

I knew that sly look he was giving me. “Sure, sure, I’ll help fix it up.”

“Make sure you leave a room for yourself. And we’re gonna break it in nice tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“Hey, it’s a short night. I invited some guys over for poker.”

I rolled my eyes. “I guess my evening is still taken, then.”

------

“What kinda business?” Grimm asked, a bit suspiciously as he picked up his new hand, puffing on his cigar.

The cards were actually of a Water-alloy steel that was flexible if bent, and returned to true, as well as half-again the size of regular cards. Perfect for over-sized, super-strong fingers.

“Emergency reconstruction and foundation repair,” Mr. Hill replied promptly, signaling for a card as he dropped one. Wordlessly, I dealt one to him, and turned to Flint Marko, who dropped two and received two, grimacing at his hand.

“You two got history behind you. Why should I be working with you?” Grimm huffed, not accusingly, however. His gaze was mostly fixed on the Sandman, Flint Marko, who had quickly made a name for himself as a brute for hire. They’d crossed fists several times. Grimm reached for a glass of stuff that could have done a fine job as generator fuel, and took a loud and appreciative sip.

“I got a pair of sixes.” Marko laid down his cards. “Trying to do something straight that makes good money, Grimm,” he said roughly.

“Ace high,” shrugged Mr. Hill, while Master Wong, seated next to him, quietly folded, watching all this. On Mr. Hill’s other side sat a spaniel-mix, her tongue lolling, watching everything with great interest.

He wanted a new house, I’d brought him a pound rescue as a housewarming present. He was going to teach her to fetch Dealer’s Best beers for him. He’d named her Clover.

“How you plan on doing this?” Grimm asked, looking over the three of them skeptically. “I ain’t getting involved in nothing shady.”

“I want this totally above-board, and honest, too,” Mr. Hill agreed, picking up his own drink of volcano juice, “although I ain’t keeping my money here in the States in case they get mad at us and try to confiscate it. I figure Master Wong here can dry out and settle any concrete in minutes. I can temper it, and Marko can get huge amounts of raw material to the right places precise and quick-like, and lay’em down proper. We can get a week’s worth of work done in just a few hours, and during off-hours, t’boot.

“Just laying a road down is half a million a mile. If we’re fixing pipes and wires and things at the same time, it goes up rapidly after that.

“It’s good, clean money, and don’t require breaking no laws... just overcoming some established interests and some paperwork.”

“And you want me to vouch for you,” Grimm said, while I collected the cards and shuffled them with musical tinkles. He stopped to watch my fingers at work riffling the metal plates. “You got style, Dealer,” he grunted. “Saw a couple of the tournaments you were in.”

“Thank you, Mr. Grimm,” I responded politely. He had no idea I was Dynamo, of course.

“You have an unusual Casting style, Miss Dealer,” Wong spoke up curiously.

“Self-taught, Master Wong. As should be obvious to a Vishanti monk,” I chided him gently. “Mr. Grimm, I will be serving in the role of Shaper and Molder, getting everything into the proper form, especially the concrete. If your associate the Invisible Woman would like to serve as the Molder, that would probably increase our speed thirty percent or more. From all reports, the force fields she can manifest can extend over formidable distances and areas.

“We will naturally need help with debris removal and disposal of large pieces of same.” I finished shuffling and dealt out a new round of five cards deftly. “In addition, the land on Manhattan is expensive, and moving raw materials from across the rivers would be time-consuming. So, we will likely need to build storage facilities for emergency rebuilding adjacent to the city. The shore rights near the Baxter Building would be ideal for such purposes, or elsewhere, if you’ve a recommendation.”

“Huh.” Grimm’s bright blue eyes considered his cards as he anted up a ten-dollar chip, and everyone else followed suit. “You thought this through.”