New Orleans, French Quarter
1992
Everyone knows the Devil of New Orleans. No one knows where he came from, but what we do know is that he’s not leaving anytime soon. He frequents places that proper gentlemen rarely set foot in: bars, gambling dens, and most commonly, nests of thieves, for that is what he is: a genius thief.
He’s good at staying unnoticed. If you were to peer into a busy crowd, your eyes would skip right over him. Attention slips off him like water off a duck. When you’re face-to-face, though, he’s unmistakable. Red eyes. A smile that would make any lady’s knees go weak. A long coat that flows around him like magic. If that doesn’t let you know, the noticeable lightness to your pockets and purse after he bumps into you will. Then he’s gone, like he never existed.
There are whispers that he’s not human. It would make sense, if you believe that sort of stuff– what man would have eyes that blood-red, a smirk that disarming? I’m not convinced. I know he’s just a man. A human man. I’m going to prove it.
It’s almost easy to find the Devil, if you’re familiar with the French Quarter and you know what you’re looking for. All you have to do is find the places in town with the most criminals and gamblers and untrustworthy men. You’re bound to find him, then– but you should be warned: if you do, you might regret it.
—
I pushed open the door, hood over my head as I peered into the bar. It wasn’t that I was forbidden from being here, I just preferred for people to not know the identity of the girl searching for the Devil.
I glanced around the room before remembering: that’s not the way I’d find him. I’d likely have to play the long game, sitting and waiting, before he would reveal himself. Luckily, there was plenty to keep a woman occupied in the form of a myriad of stories all around, coming from every other patron, it seemed.
Words filled my ears as I sat and listened. Some told of fights, others of financial hardship, others of triumph.
A loud crack and a shout drew my attention– as well as that of others. Many of us glanced towards the back corner, expecting a fight– no, just a billiards table and a man who’d made an excellent shot.
I was about to return to my waiting when I found myself glancing around the billiards table once again. There was something of import there, but I couldn’t figure out what– ah.
The low lamp over the table had been partially obscuring him, and the shadows had hidden most of his face, but there he was: the Devil, red eyes and all.
I watched as he stepped forward to the felted table, wielding his cue not unlike a weapon. His every pore oozed confidence. He promised the triumphant man in a rich, accented voice that his pride wouldn’t be for long. I’ll admit, I’m not very familiar with the game of billiards, but I knew that the move he executed next was nothing short of masterful. The other man’s mouth dropped open in pure surprise, and he frowned, before handing over a wad of cash.
Evidently, in only a single move, the Devil had won.
The Devil tucked the cash into the inside of his jacket, wearing a grin that could only be described as, well, devilish. He shook the loser’s hand with both his own, before the loser slunk away with his tail between his legs.
Another man came forward to challenge him. I wanted to warn him away from the Devil but to do so, I’d have to reveal myself. Not ideal.
Before I knew it, the other man had lost money too, perhaps even more. I watched, again and again, as man challenged the Devil and the Devil won.
Naturally, few took it well. One man grew angry and tried to strike him. The Devil didn’t return the anger, didn’t flinch, didn’t fight back. He simply smiled.
Then I watched him change. Right then, right there. It wasn’t obvious or groundshaking. The rest of the bar didn’t even notice. His eyes. The white parts turned black like ink, and the red of his irises shifted from a dark wine-red to a bright, cherry scarlet as if the fires of Hell danced in his optic nerves.
That is truly no man, I realized with a shiver, my stomach dropping as the angry man dashed away while stumbling over his own feet. I crept out after him, hoping the Devil would not take notice.
A hand touched my shoulder. “Bonjour, cherie,” the Devil said. “You been watchin’ me. Come to gamble your soul in a game of pool?”