From Skye Wolf:
Trader stood a full head taller than the closest man to him. In one hand was a black whip seething and hissing with the heads of a dozen snakes. In the other, he carried a large silver pistol that caught the sun, dazzling my eyes.
Despite the heat, his thick beaver fur coat whirled and blurred around him, everything in motion, seen, but not seen. He’d pulled his short top hat, also dyed black, low over one eye at a jaunty angle. It elongated his tall form still further. This was no ethereal shade. This man was a powerful Trickster demon, and as solid as I.