I feel the stone pathway solidify under my feet. If I am being technical, my feet were solidifying on it after I had been unceremoniously yanked from my kitchen thousands of miles and a dimension or two away from here. I glare bitterly at the jam covered knife in my hand; my sandwich had not made the journey. It would surely be soggy by the time I make it home.

With one last thought for my ruined lunch, I whirl around to see who had brought me and I bellow, “Who dares disturb me?”

Humans. Maybe a dozen. The tallest of their group barely reaches my knee, and yet they brandish their weapons at me. As if they could do damage. Most of them stare transfixed at my jam knife. I suppose to them, it could be a massive sword. In the low light, the strawberry goop does look somewhat threatening. None of that explains how they brought me here. I look around the group and my eyes settle near the middle. Her. She is kneeling between two tall men, each with a sword at her throat. When we make eye contact, she shrugs. I knew I would regret my pledge to keep her alive.

“What is the meaning of this?” I lurch towards the group and wave my knife in a dramatic arc. A large dallop of strawberry jam flings from it and flies towards the nearest humans. They dive out of the way with a scream. That’s dramatic; it’s only strawberry.

The first handful of humans runs down the corridor out of sight. I raise my arms above my head and yell, “Roar,” at a few more. They flee, dropping their weapons as they run. Now, only the two with swords remain.

One lifts his sword from her neck and points it at me. “We do not fear you, devil. We will never relinquish the Horn of Arth’ron to your hellish minion!”

They always go to devil. I mean, sure, I have red skin, horns, and cloven hooves, but really? That’s like calling all vampires ‘Dracula’. It’s just ignorant and rude and I have no tolerance for bigotry. I lean over, close to his face and whisper, “Boo!”

Both men drop their swords and sprint out of sight. I roll my eyes and look to the woman who is getting to her feet. “Really, Rebecca?”

“Sorry, Uncle Darkilith, but I heard I rumor about the Horn, and who am I to resist?” She was already behind me, opening an ornate box on an altar. “Besides, you promised.”

“When I married your aunt and said I would protect her family as if it was my own, I did not mean scaring humans so that her niece could rob them.”

“Right, I said sorry.” Becca wasn’t listening. She had the horn, ivory and covered in gems, and was already scoping her path out. “I thought I could get in and out without them noticing, but mortal danger summons you and all that. Tell Aunt Robin I said ‘Hi’.” She scaled the wall, waving as she disappeared through a high window.

With a final glare at the window, I pull my bathrobe around myself before materializing home.