Stop! Pajama time

Cassandra pushed open the door to Joey’s apartment and stepped inside.

She paused almost immediately, taking it in.

It was… nicer than she expected.

There were obvious signs of Joey’s personality—movie posters lining the walls, a few action figures displayed with surprising care, a gaming system tucked neatly beneath the TV—but the rest of the space told a different story. The furniture was solid, well-kept. Everything was clean. Organized. It even smelled good.

Cassandra turned back toward him, a slow smile forming.

“Well, burger nerd,” she said, “I’m impressed.”

Joey ran a hand through his hair, a little unsure how to take that. “Uh… thanks? I think?”

She gave a soft, amused huff. “I’m teasing you, Joey. This is actually very nice. Better than most places I’ve been.” She drifted further inside, trailing her fingers lightly along the back of the couch. “Let’s just say… men living alone tend to make easy prey. And their homes usually reflect that.”

She wrinkled her nose slightly.

“Often in ways that are… unforgettable.”

Joey laughed under his breath. “Yeah, well… my mom made sure that wouldn’t happen.” There was a touch of pride in his voice. “She used to turn cleaning into a game when I was a kid. Kinda stuck with me.”

His expression softened.

“I miss her,” he added quietly. “But she taught me a lot. How to take care of things… how to not be a complete mess of a person.”

Cassandra watched him for a moment, something gentler flickering across her face.

“I think she did a very good job,” she said. “You’re not what I expected.” A faint smile. “That usually works in your favor.”

Joey glanced at her, a little caught off guard—but smiling.

“Well,” he said, gesturing toward a Victorian-style armchair in the corner, “best seat in the house.”

She lowered herself into it with effortless grace, like it had been made for her.

“I’m not sure what to offer you,” Joey added, hovering awkwardly.

Cassandra waved a hand. “Don’t worry about me. Go make yourself something to eat.” She leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. “Then come sit. We’ll talk.”

There was something almost domestic about the moment.

Which, given everything, felt… strange.

Joey nodded and headed into the kitchen. A few minutes later, he returned with a bowl of mac and cheese, settling onto the couch across from her.

He took a bite, then glanced up. “So… I’ve got a few more questions, if that’s okay?”

Cassandra tilted her head, pretending to consider.

“I’ll make you a deal,” she said. “You can ask questions until you finish that.” She nodded toward his bowl. “Then it’s straight to bed.”

Joey blinked. “You’re serious?”

“Very,” she said, a hint of amusement tugging at her lips.

“…Okay,” he said slowly. “First question. How do you actually turn someone into a vampire if it’s not just… you know…” He made a vague gesture with his hand. “The usual version.”

Cassandra’s expression shifted—less playful now, more matter-of-fact.

“It’s not pleasant,” she said. “First, the person is drained completely.” She held his gaze. “Every drop.”

Joey’s fork paused halfway to his mouth.

“Then they’re buried. Twenty-four hours. Doesn’t matter where—coffin, dirt, whatever’s available.” She spoke calmly, like she was describing a recipe. “After that, the one turning them feeds them their own blood back. Enough to restart what’s left.”

Joey swallowed.

“And then?” he asked.

“They wake up,” she said. “And they feed. That’s what finishes it.”

There was a quiet beat.

“…Wow,” Joey muttered. “That is… not romantic at all.”

Cassandra smirked faintly. “No. It isn’t.”

“Also kind of horrifying.”

“Yes.”

“And definitely gross.”

She shrugged. “If it were easy—or pretty—you’d have a lot more of us.”

“Fair point,” Joey admitted, taking another bite just to have something to do.

He chewed, swallowed, then pointed his fork at her. “Okay. Next question.”

“Shooting them out faster now,” she noted. “Good. You’re learning.”

Joey grinned. “I try.”

He leaned forward slightly. “That rhyme. The one that bound you to me… it’s so random. Is there actually a story behind that?”

He shifted mid-sentence, and a couple noodles fell from his mouth onto his shirt.

He froze.

Cassandra raised an eyebrow.

“…Continue,” she said, clearly entertained.

Joey cleared his throat, trying to recover.

She leaned back, considering. “…Alright. That one’s fair.”

Her expression shifted—something between annoyance and **** amusement.

“That binding only works on me,” she said. “About six hundred years ago, I had… a disagreement with someone.”

Joey nodded slowly. “That sounds like a loaded sentence.”

“It was,” she said dryly. “A witch doctor. Very talented. Very strange man.” She paused. “…He also had an unfortunate fascination with feet.”

Joey blinked. “Oh.”

“Yes,” she said flatly. “Oh.”

She crossed her arms.

“Things escalated. There was a fight. I broke one of my fangs on his silver staff…” She exhaled through her nose. “And in retaliation, he decided to turn that broken fang into a binding anchor. Tied to a nursery rhyme.”

Joey stared at her.

“That is… insane.”

“Yes,” she said. “It is.”

He smiled—then immediately realized he still had noodles stuck in his teeth.

Cassandra pointed lazily at his mouth. “Case in point.”

He wiped at it, a little embarrassed.

“Alright,” she said after a moment, nodding toward his now-empty bowl. “You’re done. Time for bed.”

Joey looked down.

“…You were serious about that.”

“I usually am,” she said.

He stood, stretching slightly. “Yeah, okay. I am pretty tired.” He hesitated. “Uh… should I take the couch? I might have a sleeping bag somewhere—”

Cassandra laughed softly.

“You really don’t understand your situation yet, do you?” she said.

Joey frowned. “What do you mean?”

She stood, stepping closer—close enough that he could feel her presence again, that same mix of warmth and something more dangerous beneath it.

“Do you have anything I can wear?” she asked. “I didn’t exactly plan for comfort tonight.”

“Oh—yeah, sure,” Joey said quickly, retreating toward his bedroom. “I’ve got something.”

He disappeared inside, opening drawers until he found an oversized shirt and a pair of basketball shorts he never wore.

“Okay, I think this’ll—”

He turned around.

And stopped.

Cassandra stood behind him.

Completely still.

Completely—

His brain short-circuited.

For a moment, there were no thoughts. No words. Just the overwhelming realization that she had crossed the space between rooms without him hearing a thing… and that she was very, very close.

Her eyes met his.

There was the faintest hint of a smile.

“I’ll take those,” she said softly.

Joey handed them over without speaking.

She slipped past him, movements unhurried, and by the time his brain caught back up, she was already dressed—more or less—and climbing into his bed like she belonged there.

She glanced over her shoulder and patted the empty space beside her.

“Your turn,” she said.

Joey stood frozen for a second longer.

Then swallowed.

Hard.