Cozy Cryptid

The phone on the nightstand lights up and bzzzts, blaring ‘Bloodletting’ by Concrete Blonde.

Sid’s idea of a joke he never reprogrammed.

With a groan, Jed reaches over and swipes it silent. It’s 2 a.m. Time to get ready for work.

He slips into his sweatpants and pads into the kitchen where he opens the fridge on rows and rows of bloodbags with DONOR in big, bold letters printed on the front. He nabs one at random, pokes it open with a metal straw, and sips it in four quick glugs on his way to the bathroom. He brushes his teeth, files them down until they’re omnivore straightedge, then covers his teeth with Invisalign. Tames his dark locks with water from the sink tap. Stares at what Sid calls his ‘death pall’ all grumbly until he opts for makeup to soften the rigor-mortis purple under his eyes and add some color to his cheekbones. Then he slathers himself in SPF 100 sunscreen, dresses in normcore black and is out on the Manhattan sidewalk in a buffalo-check coat he doesn’t need even though it’s February by 2:17.

The city that never sleeps.

Jed’s the least conspicuous in his baseball cap pulled low over his shades. Only the prostitutes bat their eyes and wave with, hey babys.

He walks on long legs with his shoulders hunched in a subconscious effort to make himself smaller, an ink stain amid the brown snow piles pushed to the sides of the sidewalk. Wedged between a tattoo parlor and a microbrewery is a squat brick building that has a bit of egg on the windowledge he didn’t properly wash clean in the immediate aftermath of the ‘egging incident,’ and now it’s properly stained. He tries not to look at it (and fails). Just like he tries to ignore the increasing gaggle of protesters that have been milling about on their lunch breaks with signs that read: ‘Repeal the Creature Equality Act!’ and ‘Know Your Fangers’! and ‘Vampires Suck!’ (and fails).

Nearly a year in business and all it took was one viral post on TikTok to get the wrong kind of crowd flocking to the bakery.

The neon sign above the rosewood door is lit and reads Copy Cryptid in violet script.

Sid’s already in then.

His scolding must have finally cracked open that thick noggin of hers. But he walks in on the smell of something burning and the sight of Sid folded into an armchair in the lounge. Asleep. At the peel of the bell above the door, she shoots up with drool on her chin and utters “Well, shit” at the sight of him.

Jed stands there. Sid blinks at him.

“I think something’s burning, Sid,” he drawls.

“Well, shit,” she says and takes off for the back in a whorl of red curls and a violet apron.

He sighs as he watches her pull a coal-black batch of smoking croissants out of the oven. “I should’ve known better.”

“You’re early.” She waves a towel to disperse the smoke.

“No, I’m on time. And good thing, too, or you would’ve burned the whole place to the ground.” Jed walks around and opens the windows. Then he sheds his coat, puts on an apron, and gets to work on a new batch of croissants.

They finish up the bakes for the display case and the spares they keep in the back by 8:49. Eleven minutes to spare for a smoke break. He taps his carton and steps out onto the sidewalk. Leaning back against the building, he inhales a deep and luxurious breath of nicotine. His eyes are heavy in his skull and maybe he’s beginning to fall asleep, because he doesn’t notice the woman at his side until she speaks: “You shouldn’t do that.”

He starts. Big black hair in thick chords that end at her waist. Big green eyes distinctly doe-like. A face full of freckles. And undoubtedly human. The thought tickles him and he begins to chuckle but the smoke’s in his throat and he coughs, apologizes. Only then as she stares expectantly up at him does he realize she’d said something.

“Sorry, what was that?”

She points at the cigarette, all but forgotten, a sprinkle of ash on his shirt. “You shouldn’t smoke. It’s bad for you.”

He stares, unable to tell if she’s joking. “Uh. I can’t–” Jed clears his throat, decides against an explanation, and drops the cigarette to the sidewalk where he crushes it under his boot. “I’ll take it under advisement.”

“Are you open?”

Still half asleep and disarmed by the situation, he says, “Hm?”

She points at the sign above their heads after a quick glance at his apron. “The bakery.”

“Oh, yes,” he says, checking his bare wrist, his watch no doubt still on his nightstand, “We’re open.” He holds the door open for her.

Sid greets her from behind the counter with a toothy grin.

It’s 12:23 when Sid leans over and whispers, “That girl’s still here.”

Jed glances up. Sure enough, Freckles is still sat at a round table pushed up against the window, nursing her third maple latte.

“Think she’s here to fuck?”

Jed chokes. “What?”

Sid shrugs. Gives him a suggestive look. “That TikTok didn’t attract only protesters, ya know, there’ve been a few opportunists, too.” She wiggles her eyebrows for dramatic effect.

“Please don’t fuck the customers.” It occurs to him belatedly to add: “No feeding on them, either.”

With a benign smile on her face that tells him nothing, she twirls away, a wet towel in her hand to go wipe down tables.

“Sid,” he hisses.

“I have a confession to make.”

Again, Jed startles. Freckles. How does she do that?

“I’m a journalism student at NYU, and I was hoping to do a think piece on you.”

“On me?”

“Well, the bakery, Cozy Cryptid. You know, what with all the headlines swarming around about the Creatures Equality Act and the egging incident.”

“Ah.”

“No one’s gotten your side of the story.”

A couple walks in and Jed glances at the door, looking for an out, he realizes, as Sid waves him off and hops back behind the counter to take their order.

“I’d let you read it before I publish anything.”

“I don’t know.”

Her lips purse thoughtfully. “What if I don’t write anything down? Just record you and let you hold the recorder? Let you delete it in the end if you don’t like the direction the interview took?”

Do it, Sid whispers at an octave only the vampires in the room can hear. A number of customers’ heads turn around the room.

Jed clears his throat. “Sure. Uh, let me grab a coffee.”

A gigawatt smile lays claim to her face so hopeful that Jed takes a halting step back.

“OK, great! I’m just over there,” she points like she hasn’t been sitting there for three hours.

Jed gives her a wavering smile then steps quickly behind the counter to a bouncy Sid.

“It’s a terrible idea,” Jed grouses.

“Don’t be such a nervous nessy,” Sid pouts. “We’ve already gotten the bad publicity, what more could a student do? Besides, did you see the way her face lit up?” Sid elbows him. “She thinks you’re cute.”

“Don’t be crude,” Jed says, even as he turns to look at the woman whose name he realizes he hasn’t gotten. Freckles smiles and waves and if he could blush, he fears he would.

“No, seriously, I overheard her on the phone with a friend,” Sid whispers conspiratorially.

Jed stares at her, unsure if he’s being mocked; he never can tell.

“But you’ve gotta,” Sid looks him up and down, lip curled in admonishment, gesturing broadly at him, “you know.”

“No. No, I don’t know, Sid. What?”

“You can keep the makeup but ditch the invisalign."

Fuck. He’d forgotten about the invisalign. He flicks his tongue against his incisors already protruding against the plastic. Usually, he has to file them back down again during his lunch break to keep them consistent throughout the workday.

“I mean it, if you’re gonna represent this place, represent us, you gotta do it right.”

Jed stands in front of the bathroom mirror staring at the parts of him he tries to hide; an impossible feat when the world already knows what he is just by looking at him. Too tall. Too pale. Eyes too red. Never aging. Owner of a bakery baldly named Cozy Cryptid (Sid’s idea).

Jed moseys back over to Freckle’s table, more self-conscious of his half-pointed teeth than he would be if they were filed entirely or not at all. It’s only after he’s taken a seat that he realizes he didn’t bring the coffee he said he was getting.

“So,” she says, then says nothing at all.

“I’m Jed Atwater by the way.”

“Oh god, I’m so sorry, I never introduced myself. My name’s Rebecca Roan,” she says and outstretches her hand Jed gingerly takes in his. Rebecca holds on a little too long and continues with a piqued eyebrow: “Is it rude to ask how old you are?”

“Yes,” he lies.

“Oh.” She’s horrified.

“I’m joking,” he deadpans. “Four hundred and thirty-nine.”

“Jesus fuck,” she blurts then covers her mouth. “Sorry.”

He chuckles. “Don’t be.”

“OK,” she says with a healthy flush burgeoning on her cheeks while she pushes her notebook to the side, presses play on the recorder and hands it to him. “Let’s get started.”

Jed puts the recorder down on the table and pushes it back toward her. “Gladly.”

“You got rid of the Invisalign.”

“Uh. Yes,” he says, excessively aware of his every molecule that makes up his very being all over again. “Will this be in the article?”

“Do you not want it to be in the article?”

Jed sneaks a glance over his shoulder at Sid behind the counter, watching. She beams and gives him a thumbs up.

Rebecca laughs. “She’s cute.”

Jed says, “She’s something.”

Rebecca watches him. “I won’t put it in the article. I was only curious.” Sensing his reticence, Rebecca continues: “It’s not exactly a secret, you being a vampire. I mean, you’re the owner of an establishment called Cozy Cryptid. Love the name by the way.”

“Thanks.” I didn’t pick it, he nearly says. Instead: “It’s not what I want to be known for. I don’t want to be a vampire who bakes, I want to be a baker who also happens to be a vampire.” That makes no goddamn sense, he chastises himself, but she’s nodding like she understands.

“Why a bakery?”

The protesters have arrived. They chant: Down with the cryptids! And he tries not to laugh. Through the angry throng, more customers enter the bakery. A group bundled up in winter wear. Humans. Because along with the bad publicity, more people simply in search of good food have found Cozy Cryptid, too.

“What I remember best about food isn’t how it tasted,” Jed says, “but how it brought people together.” I want to feed people.

Rebecca says, “Everyone’s gotta eat.”

“Exactly.”