The Devil immediately breaks into a broad grin.
"No, no. I'm the one who invited you. So we play by my rules."
"No."
For the first time, my voice takes on a harder edge.
"The least you can do is give me that much."
I look him straight in the eye.
"After all, it's my existence we're talking about."
For a brief moment, silence fills the room.
The Devil studies me carefully. Almost surprised.
Death nods and looks at the Devil.
"Well..." His deep whisper sounds rough, like dry paper. "He does have a point."
The Devil rolls his eyes in irritation.
"Oh, all right," he mutters, patting Death on the shoulder. "But only because it's you."
I begin to relax. Some of the tension eases.
I have a real chance. That's what I cling to.
One step at a time.
The Devil rolls a die between his fingers once more. He leans back in his chair with exaggerated nonchalance.
"Very well, let's hear these rules of yours," he says magnanimously.
I slowly exhale.
"First: We play until exactly three o'clock. Not one second longer."
"Agreed."
"Second: If I lose, I want my death to be quick. Let's say within the following fifteen minutes."
Now even Death raises his head slightly.
"So no later than 3:15 a.m. ... and if not?" the Devil asks, sounding both intrigued and suspicious.
"Then the game is null and void."
I hold his gaze.
"And I get to live. Those are the rules."
The black dice come to an abrupt stop in his hand.
For a moment, nobody says a word.
Then the Devil slowly begins to smile. A greedy glint enters his eyes.
"Since I'm going to win anyway, that's perfectly fine with me."
"Third," I continue calmly, "we play poker."
The Devil leans back, delighted.
"Ooooh, now we're finally talking like civilized beings. Deal!"
Death lets out a quiet sigh beside me.
I glance from one to the other.
I'm tempted to shake my head at myself.
What on earth have I just done?
I've actually made a deal with the Devil. If I ever tell anyone about this and word gets around, nobody will believe it.
Death slowly reaches for the deck of cards.
For a brief moment, I could swear I see stardust sparkling between his long fingers.
"I'll shuffle," he says calmly.
The Devil takes a leisurely sip of whiskey, savoring every drop. The smile that follows could almost pass for innocent...
If you didn't know better.
"See? Now you've practically got the power to decide who lives and who dies."
Death says nothing. He begins shuffling calmly. Slowly. Precisely. The cards glide soundlessly through his impossibly long fingers.
The Devil watches him, amused.
"Make sure you do it properly," he says with a sneer, nearly choking on his whiskey. "After all, who would dare peek at Death’s cards?"
His mustache twitches.
"Am I right?"
Death picks up the deck. For a brief instant, the atmosphere in the bar changes. Not visibly. It's more like a barely perceptible pressure in the air. Even the red lamps above us seem to dim.
Calmly, Death lets the cards slide through his long fingers. Soundless. Precise. Almost reverent. No human being could shuffle cards like that. Not even a professional gambler.
It looks less like a game of chance and more like an ancient ritual, older than any casino in the world.
I watch his hands, and a disturbing thought suddenly occurs to me.
This isn't Death's first time doing this.
So you really can play poker with Death for your own existence.
Interesting theory.
Slowly, he deals the cards.
One for the Devil.
One for me.
One for himself.
Round and round.
No hurry. No unnecessary movement.
Only the quiet slide of cards across the dark wood.
When my last card lands in front of me, I look down.
King of spades. King of hearts. Queen of diamonds. Ten of hearts. Jack of clubs. Not an entirely hopeless hand, but a long way from a miracle.
The Devil studies his cards and pulls a theatrically disappointed face.
"Death, you old shadow, what kind of cards are these? You're taking all the fun out of it."
"I thought the fun for you was being so sure you're going to win," I reply dryly, examining my hand again.
His grin widens.
"I'm really starting to like you."
"We could play for your life instead," I suggest calmly.
The Devil immediately breaks into a broad grin.
"Oh, please." He waves the idea away, amused. "Death would never come for me."
Death slowly looks up from his cards.
"I've watched kings die who believed they were immortal."
For a brief moment, silence falls.
The Devil gives him a sideways look.
"You wouldn't like my home. Trust me."
His gold signet ring flashes.
"I have extremely particular tastes, and I have no intention of changing them."
He takes a sip of whiskey.
"Ask my tenants. They'll tell you all about it."
"Speaking of questions," I say calmly, spreading my cards a little. Not a good hand. Not disastrous, but dangerously mediocre.
The Devil raises an interested eyebrow.
"Oooh, what's coming now?"
"Each of us gets to ask exactly one question," I say. "And nobody is allowed to lie."
For a moment, the table falls silent.
Death slowly raises his head.
The Devil, on the other hand, grimaces.
"That takes away an awful lot of creative possibilities."
"That's the point."
He sighs theatrically and raises his whiskey glass.
"Very well."
I push the cocktail a little farther away.
"And now I'd like a beer."
The Devil stares at me as if I'd just suggested restoring the Mona Lisa with crayons.
"A beer?"
"Cold. No fruit. No colors. No clouds of dry ice."
The Devil slowly shakes his head.
"I really thought you had more refined tastes."
Before I can answer, the bartender suddenly reappears behind the counter.
I could have sworn he'd vanished a moment ago.