Page 18 of My Roommate Is a Vampire

It was still creepy as hell.

I glanced at the front door, hoping my manager Katie was on her way.

After another few moments the guy nodded as if he’d come to a decision. “I don’t know what he was so worried about. You should do fine.”

The job interview apparently over, he turned his full attention back to his phone.

Gossamer’s sometimes got perverts at night. Just part of working at a coffee shop. My typical approach was not to engage with them and just let my manager handle it if things got too weird. But at that moment I was exhausted from my move and too unnerved by this bizarre interaction to wait for Katie.

Against my better judgment, I engaged.

“What did you just say?”

“Isaidyou should do fine,” he replied without looking up from his phone, sounding annoyed at the interruption.

“What do you mean,I should do fine?”

“Just exactly that.” He glanced at me, smirking. He pushed back from his chair and stood up. I noticed, for the first time, that he was wearing a floor-length navy-blue trench coat that clashed horribly with his black fedora. Underneath it was a bright red T-shirt that saidOf course I’m right. I’m Todd!

Probably not a pervert, then. Just a garden variety weirdo. We got those sometimes, too.

“I’ll be going now,” he said, importantly but unnecessarily. “I must meet a friend in need at Crate & Barrel.”

When I looked up again he was gone. The only sign he’d even been there was the mug of still-steamingWe Are Legionhe’d left behind. The most expensive cappuccino drink we made. It was completely untouched.

Of course it was.

God. Customers who ordered expensive coffee they didn’t even drink were so annoying and wasteful. I brought “Todd’s” mug to the blue plastic tub where we bussed the dishes, scowling and irritated.

There weren’t many of us scheduled to work that night. Loading the dishwasher would probably end up being my job. But I could do that later. I still had a few minutes before my shift started, and my hummus and red pepper sandwich wasn’t going to eat itself.

Thankfully, Katie showed up a few minutes after “Todd” left, and then Jocelyn—another barista—showed up at seven-thirty. With the three of us working it ended up being aslow night. A few more customers trickled in, mostly students looking for a relatively quiet spot to study and socialize over homework and lattes. Thankfully, there were no more leering oddballs in trench coats and fedoras.

Shortly after Jocelyn showed up, I was wiping down a table that had just been vacated when my phone buzzed in my pocket with a new text.

I pulled it out and glanced down at the screen.

Hello Cassie. This is Frederick.

I have a question for you.

I looked over my shoulder to where Katie was waiting on a customer and Jocelyn was making a drink behind the counter. They seemed to have things well enough in hand that I could reply to him now.

Sure! I’m at work but I have a minute.

What’s up?

Do you eat sauce?

I stared at my phone.Sauce?

Yes. Do you enjoy eating it?

Why

I am presently at a store that sells cooking implements. An entire section of the store is dedicated to “saucepans.”

Other customers seem quite enamored with them but before I purchase one for the apartment I wanted to confirm that sauce is something you eat.

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