There is nothing hellish about the world of the Sh’ree demons. If humans could get past their understandable aversion to seven-foot tall, blue-skinned, yellow-eyed demons, the Sh’ree homeland might easily bypass Hawaii in tourism. The summers are hot, but no hotter than Phoenix, Arizona. With its mild winter, and a spring and fall best described as idyllic, the Sh’ree plane has the added potential to attract retirees in droves.

Of course, most humans have no idea such a place exists, and the Sh’ree aren’t about to start passing out travel brochures.

Humans are banned from the Sh’ree plane.

Given that I owed half my existence to a human mother, I should have been honored by my admittance to the Sh’ree world and the finest magic school in all the known planes—the Sh’ree College of the Arcane. I should have been on-my-knees-grateful, because what I really deserved was the type of institution whose name included the words “School for Incorrigible Girls.”

I was not honored and, in fact, was rather peeved by what I felt was an egregious miscarriage of justice. This particular day, I was four hours into an adolescent snit.

I couldn’t have picked a nicer day to be miserable.

The sun and breeze had reached that perfect state of balance, each politely deferring to the other, neither taking the lead. The result was the kind of day that drives everyone out into the fresh air.

I had the picnic table to myself, a consequence of the ambiance created by an abundance of sulky energy. Little angry doodles—stick figures with either pointed ears or sharp fangs—covered the piece of parchment before me. As soon as I finished a figure, I would obliterate it with a dense weaving of sharp, crosshatched lines.

I was completing another drawing, the toothy variety, when a long shadow fell across my work. I dipped the pen in an inkwell and started to annihilate the stick-figure vampire. The shadow shrank as its caster sat down across from me.

After a minute, Talis, the shadow’s owner, spoke. “The elves, I understand.” He pointed at one of the stick elves. “But vampires? Why are you so angry with vampires?”

I looked up at the brave soul who had dared the displeasure of my company. Imagine the stereotypical elf, tall, blond and blue-eyed, and then stuff that image into a toaster with the setting on “dark.” What pops out would look a lot like Talis. He had skin the color of a Hershey bar. His straight black hair was short, scruffy and uneven, bangs falling over canted pale blue eyes.

Talis, like myself, wasn’t a native of the Sh’ree plane. He hailed from the Fey plane, a place where you are nothing if you are not an elf, and less than nothing if you are a dark elf. Talis didn’t venture home too often.

In lieu of an explanation, I drew another elf, this one with its skinny arm held straight out to the side. The next figure had no fangs or ears, and I drew it lying at the elf’s feet. I added a handful of drops that fell from the elf’s arm and down to the human stick figure’s mouth.

“There was an elf.” I pointed at the drawing. “This elf came across a dying human. The elf thought he might save the human by giving him Blood Gift.” I turned the human’s eyes into little Xs. “But it didn’t work. The human died and his soul went...wherever souls go when they escape their earthly bonds.” I sketched a vampire. “Except, with all that magical elf blood in his system, the human didn’t take dying lying down.” I drew an arrow from the dead human to the vampire. “He became a vampire.”

Talis, who knew the story already, listened with indulgent patience.

I drew a second vampire. “And, the first vampire created another vampire.” I drew the new vampire’s mouth so that he appeared to be smirking.

“If it weren’t for that elf and the vampire he created, I’d have never met this vampire.” I jabbed the pen in the approximate location of the vampire’s heart.