His smile widens. "Forgive the circumstances. We've been discussing something all evening." He gestures toward the man in the hoodie.
"That's Death." He places his ring-covered hand against his chest. "And I'm the Devil."
I stare at them both. Death in a light blue hoodie and the Devil in a white pinstripe suit? I could certainly imagine more appropriate outfits for the two of them.
"So that's why it smells so strange in here. You two have been smoking something!"
I'm absolutely determined not to let them see how tense and agitated I am. I feel as though someone has dumped a bucket of ice cubes over me. It's not that I'm unfamiliar with danger, but right now I find myself in a situation that is anything but amusing.
The Devil grins at me, revealing a gold incisor.
"Not me," he says. "And not him, either."
Death, sitting beside me, remains silent but shakes his head.
I struggle to maintain my composure.
"Perhaps I should call my friends?"
My tongue feels strangely fuzzy. Surely I can come up with something better than that feeble remark. But somehow, I still haven't quite caught up with this unexpected situation.
Why on earth did I walk into this bar?
"Friends?" the Devil asks calmly. "Of course you can call them, but it won't make any difference. They can't help you, either."
"Actually, you should have been dead by now," the Devil suddenly says, pointing toward the silent man beside me. "He was supposed to collect you outside. That was his plan. Quick and painless. But he genuinely couldn't figure out how."
Death still doesn't move.
"But I," the Devil says with satisfaction, picking up several black dice from the table, "love games."
Only now do I notice the objects lying in front of them.
In front of Death lies an old deck of cards.
In front of the Devil, black dice marked with golden symbols.
So my earlier thought about a game of Skat wasn't entirely off the mark.
The Devil slowly rolls the dice between his fingers. Their soft clicking against the dark wooden table sounds unpleasantly loud in the silent bar.
I stare at the golden symbols, and for a moment something happens that I rarely experience: I'm surprised, and not in a particularly pleasant way.
At the same time, one thing becomes painfully clear.
Someone here is trying to do away with me.
I need to regain my composure. Collect myself, think, and draw their attention away from me.
My gaze returns to the man beside me.
Death.
I can still see little more than the light blue hoodie and the dark hood.
For the time being, I decide to ignore the subject of my impending demise.
"You're wearing blue?" I finally ask.
The Devil raises an eyebrow with interest.
I gesture toward the hoodie. "Well... I've always understood that Death dresses in black. A cloak. A scythe."
For the first time, the man beside me actually moves. Very slowly, he lifts his head just a little. His face remains hidden in the shadow of his hood.
"The Black Death. Yes, yes, I know. You're thinking of 1346," he says calmly. His words are little more than a deep whisper.
I look at him. "That's how people know you, at least."
A brief silence follows.
Then Death slowly raises one hand, his long, bony fingers pointing toward the Devil.
"That wasn't me. That was HIM!"
For a moment, absolute silence fills the room.
The Devil waves dismissively and wipes a hand across his mouth, grinning.
"Oh, come on," he says, amused. "I gave you an excellent job back then."
Death doesn't answer.
"All of Europe was talking about you," the Devil continues with satisfaction. "That's quite an achievement."
"Forty to fifty million dead," Death mutters dryly. "Yes, you gave me far more work than I ever wanted. I prefer a quieter approach. One life and me. That's all I need. Mass processing really isn't my thing."
The Devil grins broadly.
"Oh, I love the unrest, the chaos. That's my world," he gushes, his eyes sparkling as though he's enthusiastically describing his latest spectacular vacation.
Slowly, Death turns his head farther in my direction.
For the first time, I can see beneath his hood.
And I'm staring straight into the universe.
No eyes.
No face.
Stars. Nebulae. Galaxies.
Endless darkness filled with light.
For an instant, his gaze draws me into a whirlpool of emotions that couldn't be more contradictory.
Melancholy. Despair. Loneliness. Sorrow.
But at the same time, relief.
A deep, quiet sense of relief.
I take a deep breath.
Sitting across from me is indeed the Devil, without black wings, horns, or hooves.
And to my left sits Death. Not a skeleton, not carrying a scythe or wearing a black cape. Dressed like a young man, yet revealing his true face to me.
I'm almost inclined to feel a sense of awe.
If it weren't for one tiny little detail.