The Devil

XV

The Devil... the Axeman himself emerges from the shadows of our city's darkest chapter.

Look at him there—a figure without a face, without identity, yet instantly recognizable by what he carries and the fear he sowed. Standing among our cities of the dead, our above-ground tombs where generations rest. The Axeman—who sent letters to the newspapers, who promised to spare only those homes where jazz played loudly on that terrible night in March 1919.

The Devil is always about bondage, about the chains we forge ourselves, about the fears that bind us. But our Axeman reveals something more specific—the terror that can be unleashed when darkness is given free rein, when we surrender to our most primal impulses.

New Orleans remembers him still—the killer who was never caught, who claimed to be a demon from hell, who made an entire city tremble behind locked doors. For sixteen months, he moved through the night, selecting his victims seemingly at random, striking with methodical violence.

When The Devil appears in this form, he speaks of shadowy temptations, of destructive patterns, of the parts of ourselves we prefer not to acknowledge. The Axeman represents our capacity for rationalization—how easily we can justify our darkest actions, how convincingly we can write our own permission slips for behavior we would condemn in others.

There's something holding you in its grip—a pattern, a relationship, a habit, a belief—something that you know does you harm, yet you return to it again and again. Like our city on that night when jazz poured from every window, you've found ways to temporarily appease what threatens you rather than truly breaking free.

The tombs behind him remind us of consequences, of legacies, of what remains after we're gone. What mark are your choices leaving? What will be written about the path you're currently walking?

But understand this: The Devil card always contains the key to its own undoing. Look closely at traditional depictions—the chains that bind the figures are loose enough to slip off, if only they would notice. The Axeman, for all his terror, was still just a man, not the demon he claimed to be.

What illusion of powerlessness keeps you tethered? What freedom might you claim if you recognized that the door to your cell has been unlocked all along?

New Orleans survived the Axeman. We played our jazz, we recovered from our fear, we reclaimed our nights. The Devil's power is terrifying but not absolute. His time is limited. His control is an illusion sustained by our belief in it.

The cemetery setting is no accident. Tombs represent not just endings but boundaries—clear demarcations between worlds. What boundaries have you allowed to be violated? What lines must you redraw?

This card doesn't come to condemn you. It comes as a mirror, reflecting what may be difficult to face—but face it we must, if we're to break these particular chains.

The night that holds the Axeman also holds the stars. Remember that.