It was definitely a strain to pull it off, but I managed to grab hold of both Jaelin’s hand and the edge of the crate and teleport the three of us to the shores of that sylvan lake.
It was night and it was bitterly cold. The cloudless sky was illuminated beautifully by a haunting crescent moon. It was probably about mid-March, but it felt like the perfect night to go trick-or-treating. Or maybe the perfect night to sneak around in the dark with a naked demon and about five hundred bloody knives.
“Welcome to the Realm of the Living,” I said reverently. I felt an odd sense of pride sharing my homeland with Jaelin--but not in a romantic way. I felt like I was pulling back the curtain and revealing to her a little bit of the mystery behind the man in charge. It was a snapshot in an A&E Biography that would be accompanied by a voice-over explaining how, during my childhood, notable aspects of my personality that would later serve me well as the sitting regent of Hell started to emerge. This was where a little light-haired boy began his perilous path to demonic dominance.
“This is weird,” Jaelin said flatly, looking around. “What is this?” It was clear she did not share the sense of significance that I ascribed to the scene before us. She shivered. “It’s freezing up here. You lived here?”
“Hey, it’s warmer during the day,” I said defensively.
Her eyebrows arched. “Oh,” she said with sudden realization. “I’ve heard about this. This is nighttime, isn’t it?” She pointed at the silver sliver in the sky. “So that must be that moon thing, then?”
Beyond the obvious, there were apparently some other pretty big differences between being raised on Earth and being raised in Hell.