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Chapter 1: The Mother's Approval Trials
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          EVERY TIME I look back at it, I wonder how I even survived to tell the tale. The whole idea was simple yet batshit crazy, and it didn't sound any better coming from my mouth.

"Hey, Ma. For summer break, I am thinking of being a part-time groundskeeper and courier at a cemetery."

I was greeted with silence, but that didn't surprise me. That wasn't exactly a high-in-demand job among other college students my age.

Well, it wasn't popular among the normal ones to be more specific.

At some point, the quiet got too loud, and awkwardness scratched my brain raw. I gulped down my anxiety and then found the courage to go on in front of my dead audience. "Anyway, that's the post I got from Demon Deliveries, so yeah, and it has good pay — in case you were wondering."

This was true for both the human world and the Underworld. However, I knew facts like that were better left unsaid to maximize my probability of seeing my first delicious cheque.

With her long curtain of ginger braids swaying either side of her model-like face, a towering dark-skinned woman — like myself — in the pristine snow-white dress and matching apron stared at me for what felt like a lifetime. She finally stopped lagging when the kettle beside her screamed louder than the unlucky mountain lion club that my grandfather and I ran over a few weeks back before gloriously hanging on our annoying-ass-of-a-neighbor's porch for some shits and giggles.

As my mother turned the stove off and poured herself her twelfth cup of coffee for the day, a smile bloomed over my lips at the beautiful memory of Dr. Herald yelling his head off after discovering our gift. His wife's sobbing, along with his threats to call the cops to take whoever pulled my stunt to jail, were convincing enough to make flat-earthers invest in a globe collection. However, it wasn't until a strong gust snatched his bird-nest-looking wig and crashed it into his equally-irritating woman's face that the old man and I were close to pissing on ourselves from laughing so hard.

"Hmm. I see..." hummed the lady, lifting a brow.

Clasping a bloodied knife and a greasy spatula in one hand and a gigantic pink girly flask printed with 'I NEED THIS TO NOT MURDER MY FAMILY' in the other, she studied my face for the four longest seconds of my life. As if God had read my mind, she sighed and turned away from me to drop the utensils into the sink with the other mountain of dishes.

After my silent plea to the heavens that this idea doesn't get my ass whooped, Mom turned back to me, pushing one of the three fancy China plates of steak and green salad my way with a curious and seemingly-innocent "And why would you want to do such, sweetheart?"

"Um. I just said it," I reminded her with a squint, wondering if I was better off taking this conversation to a brick wall. "It has great pay."

Mom gave me a distasteful glare. "I heard that perfectly clear the first time, Jazlin Rue Fordsman. However, as your mother who brought you into this world, raised you with blood and sweat — and has the potential to do the very opposite, I have every right to ask why you find that job necessary to take when there are over a hundred other jobs here in a city like Great Lonn? No."

"Ma, come on now. It's just a delivery and maintenance gig —"

"Jazlin, they deliver to the Underworld!" she cried, cutting me off. Though croaky, her voice was loud and firm as she covered her face and whispered, "You don't know anyone there..."

That was a lie. And we both knew it.

My eyes narrowed. "Dad's down there, but with all the secrets you guys keep from me, I can't say your statement is wrong."

She flinched. Hard. With a shake of her head, she took a seat. "Honey, I didn't mean it like that. So, please don't do this to me tonight..."

"Then when, Ma? You know how hard it is for me to do anything around here, especially since the dreams and symptoms started; I was already a freak before then, too." I bit my lip.

"You're not a freak, sweetheart. Please don't say that. You're special, really, really special—"

"No," I cut her off, shrugging, then, with inhumane speed, I took a blinding swipe of a lonely green string bean, straying at the edge of my plate, and murmured, "No matter how much you deny it. I'm not exactly normal, Ma."

Her sigh carried the weight of every burdened parent as she said, "I know that, sweetheart, and no one's trying to deny what you are," before crossing her arms and adding, "But the other side is a whole different universe, and I'm worried you might knock at the wrong door. If that were to happen without me there or your father present, I don't know what I'd do..."

My father always went on excursions for work. However, this was the longest stretch my mother and I had to go without him. It was seven months and counting at that time, so my desperation thought taking this job, I had a better chance of bumping into him.

Yes. I want to check on him for a bit, but most importantly...

"Mum, hear me out for a second." I reached out to hold her trembling hands with a smile that felt as tender as a beloved's whisper and said, "Like our mother-daughter trip to Madagascar last year to you and the surprise Olympic tickets we have in the safe to dad, seeing the underworld has always been a dream of mine. And remember both of you promised me I could visit when I turned eighteen..." I squeezed her hands, but with minimal strength to not break her fingers, and gestured to my twentieth birthday card on the fridge. " ... We can't keep doing this. Please understand."

Those were the kind of discussions a hybrid child had with their parents when one of them was a demon and the other a human-ish.

Not a completely ordinary Homo sapiens, Mom had a few tweaks in her biological systems too. However, all I managed to bribe out of Dad was that she had some serious ghost-hunting experience under her belt and stole my father's heart during a secret collaborative mission that I'd failed to get any information about.

A noisy clearing of the throat had the both of us snap our heads to a rough-looking grey-bearded man sitting on the opposing end of our kitchen island. Although he appeared out of nowhere, Ma and I were disturbed and impressed at how he somehow stuffed his large build into Dad's favorite letterman jacket.

Nonchalant as ever, the old geezer peeked up from behind his newspaper and said to me, "Does that mean you're going to stay with my shit of my son?"

"Grandpa Moe, don't be that way. There's nothing wrong with Zachery." Mom groaned, standing up to dish out some food. Handing Gramps his plate, she looked at me and said, "Jazzy, honey, I know you want to visit your father and see the Great Below, but couldn't you do something less risky like your college friends? Ruka said that Aiko is a popular waitress at one of her older brother's restaurants, and I heard they have openings during the break and she always comes back with a solid wallet."

Aiko Saido was the closest thing to an acquaintance I had since Ruka was my mother's best friend. So, our association was purely on forced interactions and keeping the peace so that our parents would leave us the hell alone for the most part.

"Mom, it's a maid café," I deadpanned.

Still hiding behind the paper, Grampa Moe added his two cents. "They make the best matcha boba tea in the city."

Mom seemed impressed by his minimal attempt at persuasion as she cheered, "See, even Grampa thinks it's a nice place. And the outfits are so kawaii. You'd look cute in them!"

A part of my soul died hearing her speak Japanese. However, her last statement vaporized my faith in my mother's fashion sense.

Cute was only applicable to women like Aiko. Bless her, but my forced acquaintance was flatter than that Ouija board her father got me for Christmas, and looked like a freshman in high school. That was why she could pull it off.

"Kawaii, my ass." I snorted. Dropping my head on my hand, I set fire to a passing fly that got too close to my juicy piece of smoked rump for comfort. The small ball of orange sizzled out into a wisp of grey smoke that vanished as soon as it came as I mumbled, "You'll catch me dead before I wear a Japanese school uniform that barely covers my ass and transforms my body into a curvy coke bottle from the 90s for some perverts' tips."

"Pfft." Gramps flipped a page with a chuckle. "I'll get your coffin ready, Zizi."

Mom shot Gramps a dirty eye before trying to convince me again, "Fine. What about a retailer at that big grocery store down the road? A carwash girl? You are part human, too. Don't forget that! And just a friendly reminder, you know your dad isn't fond of surprise visits because --"

"Because of his last job. Yeah, I remember." I couldn't stop myself from grumbling, "I know, alright."

The loud and disgusting grunt that followed dropped my Gramps's jaw and intensified my mother's scowl. 

There were two reasons for the awful sound. The first was I knew where this conversation was going, and nothing bothered me more than being told the same excuse a gazillion times, and the second was because Dad never told me what happened that retreat. It was another damn secret between him and Mom.

However, to no one's knowledge, it was one I would never know until later when it was too late.

Grandpa Moe sensed the tension in the room and tried diluting it with a cough. However, once he noticed his throat roar didn't do anything, he spoke up with a slam of newspaper on the dining table. "Alright! I can feel the discomfort building between the two of you, and I don't need my powers of intuition for that! Your energy is rotting my lettuce, so cut it out before I vaporize you both!"

No one liked Grandpa mad. So, like a switch, the negative energy lifted a little. Satisfied, he looked my way and asked, "Look Zizi, which cemetery did you say you got that job at?"

Drained from this conversation, I dryly answered, "Uh, St Mary's."

"Well, I be damned!" Grandpa Moe raised the two grey caterpillars above his vibrant emerald eyes faster than a bullet. "I know the old fart that works there: Scrawny Smit! It's been forever since I have seen him. Maybe I should give him a visit."

"You know him?" Mom asked with wide hazel eyes. "You have friends?"

"I'm old, not a hermit for Christ's sake, Darlene," scoffed Gramps before continuing, "He and I go long back."

Stuffing myself with some meat, I lifted a brow and my fork and quipped, "How long back? Did you have dinosaurs as pets at the time? Or was it that annoying period when you had to wear a mask during the Black Death?"

Grandpa flicked me off, earning Mom's gasp.

However, I just shrugged and reminded him. "What? Did you not say you're old?"

"There's a stark difference between being old enough to be part of America's Declaration of Independence and watching the Roman Empire collapse, you mouthy smartass."

'Still sounds like you're a few years from becoming dust to me,' is what I planned to jeer after a good snort. However, a nudge and a zip-it-or-your-body-will-end-up-in-a-bag stare from my mother silenced my soul in a small shudder quicker than the speed of light.

Annoyed, Mom crossed her long legs and gestured for Moe the Mediaeval Mammoth to go on, "You were saying Grandpa?"

"Uh, yes. We used to be in this old motorbike gang before he moved to the human world. A good demonic fella that old bloke is. I didn't know he still ran that human-underworld delivery service."

"That's good to hear. I've never met him," I admitted, "Just saw a sign up at the dollar store that read 'Demon Deliveries' was hiring and thought it had to be better than being a pizza girl or some Uber driver. So, I made a call and, after some in-depth background checks, was instantly offered a position."

Mom looked skeptical. "Hmmm. I don't know..."

"Ma, please --" That was when it hit me like a supersonic brick. "I have an idea! I don't start working until next week, so what if I go with Gramps tomorrow to see how everything goes down."

"Sounds solid to me," Grandpa added. "And I highly doubt anything will go down, and if it does, I can take care of it since little missy here still can't fully control her powers."

"And you can do everything, yeah?"

He nodded. "Naturally."

Dropping my fork, I scoffed, "That's a lot of confidence from someone who holds his granddaughter hostage when he needs a selfie sent to some unfortunate old hag blinded by your looks."

"Don't forget my looks are the only reason you exist, you ungrateful twat. And at least I can attract something, unlike some people still in singleton in this thread!"

I stuck my tongue out at him, and he returned the gesture. Mom rolled her big brown eyes to the back of her skull and back. "Fine. Just make sure you're both home before eight for dinner."

I jumped off my seat and wrapped my dearest mother in the tightest hug I could give her without crushing her organs and cooed, "Mom, did I ever tell you how much I love you?"

"Yeah, every time you get something you want," retorted the number one woman in my life, even though sometimes she drove me nuts.

The rest of dinner was spent somewhat peacefully. It mainly revolved around Grandpa complaining about his salad not having enough tomatoes -- and that Mother and I conspired against him. The highlight was when Mom joked about how if he were pregnant that would probably be all he would eat because of his odd cravings for them.

We were a pretty normal-looking family from the outside. However, unlike most, we had some serious tricks up our sleeves, and 'Demon Delivery' would be the gateway to showing them.

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