I thought about whether my decision to have my dad help me with the new kid my mom was giving birth to soon was a good idea. I mean, there were several complications. There was a chance that the kid would be a full demon, in which case The Law of Vedesi would be incurred, which would involve me fighting the other heir to the throne for supremacy. Unfortunately, the loser would be stripped of their rights as a demon and be sent to the deepest circle of Hell to be my dad's new plaything. In the case that the kid was full angel, I'd have to kill it as soon as it's born so that the throne doesn't become the property of the infidels. 'But in the case that the child is both demon and angel, what should I do?' I thought.

I walked into the living room to grab my schedule for tomorrow. I found it on the table next to the 32'' flat-screen television that we had gotten as a housewarming gift. The table was made of human bones with all sorts of jewels embedded inside of them. I picked it up, walked back into my room, and looked it over. Seems like I had three basic classes: English, PE, and Algebra 2. The other three classes looked to be ones that I would pick when I went there tomorrow. My dad had walked out of the room and went to the gateway to Hell to resolve some pay issues with the demons of Envy. I flopped on my bed, and picked up a book called Mnemniotica Easuba. It was supposed to be some book that was cursed by some old English dude in the 13th that was imprisoned for absolutely no reason. Some of the guards snuck him blank pieces of paper, thinking that he would write his will and confession to a crime he didn't commit. Instead, he wrote this thirty page book and did a ritual that would make any person that was associated with the guys that imprisoned him instantly die from contact.

When that guy got out three years later, he self-published the book and made the cover out of freshly bled goat skin. Then he hid it away in a safe below his house, where it wasn't discovered until three years ago by my dad. What should I do? I wondered as I read the book. I was still in denial of the fact that my mom got knocked up by an angel. How did this happen? I looked at the clock on the left wall. It was 4:45, which is usually when my mom gets back from her shift. I heard a door opening and closing downstairs, so I jumped up from my bed, walked downstairs, and saw my mom in the kitchen smoking a cigarette. My mom had a cigarette addiction, and even if she goes to some 12-step program (which she has. Multiple times.) She'll come back, light up a fresh one, and smile because she played the 12-step people like fiddles.

"Hey Damian. How long have you been here?" She said in that voice that sounded like a siren calling to me.

"Since about..." I checked my phone. "1:30."

"Wow. Did you eat something?" She asked.

"No. You know I can't cook for shit." I answered.

She took a puff of the cig, then sighed. I knew what that meant all too well: some prick decided to try and bite off more than he could chew with my mom, and ended up getting his face broken beyond repair.

"True. Alright, I'll make something." She checked the fridge and beckoned me to come over. "We have some leftover taco meat from last week, and we also have some tortillas. I think you know where this is going, right?"

I looked at her from the corner of my eye. "Leftovers?"

"Leftovers." She said, closing the fridge door. "It'll be ready in about half an hour. Any special ingredients?"

I picked up the hot sauce, which we had gotten from Louisiana, and tossed it to her. My mom caught it and placed it on the counter. I then chucked three ghost peppers, a cucumber, and a knife, all of which she caught without even looking at where they were coming from. I guess my mom was either a ninja, or she just had those kind of reflexes that automatically make a person think about whether going to talk to her was a good idea.

I walked to the couch, laid on it, and turned on the television. I tuned it to CNN and listened as the anchorman was talking about some new terror front that spawned here in the USA. It amazed me that I'd never heard that there were some news stations that can actually pull this kind of crap from their one collective brain cell and make it to be 'the scoop of the century'.

"Damian, where's your dad?" My mom asked.

"He's burning in Hell." I answered, still watching the TV.

My mom laughed, which was a rare occurence in our "family". She only did that either because she just heard something hilarious come from me, or because she just saw someone do something incredibly stupid.

The day continued like this for a few hours, I had finished eating and was washing the dishes, while my mom was watching some reality TV show and eating.

"I can tell something's bugging you, Damian. Let's hear it." My mom said, when the commercials came on.

"Give me a moment." I placed the last dish in the rack and walked to the couch, where I sat down nonchalantly. "Mom, did you get knocked up by an angel?" I asked.

"Yup. I loved every moment, too." She answered.

"...You're such a skank, you know." I said.

"I know. But that's the price you pay for having a bountiful body like mine, and being able to keep your figure after having a kid." She said, smiling.

I shook my head and chuckled. My mom was more of the cynical, yet very easy-going person. She didn't really mind what anyone called her, including her own son.

"So, is the baby an angel or a demon?" I asked, curious.

"Both." She said, looking at the TV.

I looked at her, my mouth gaping. "Oh shit."

"Yup. Seems like the craziness is just beginning." She replied.