Even blood-sucking monsters of the night charged with corraling supernatural threats in a backwater of Brooklyn needed a hobby, and Cassandra’s was the arcade. There was nothing profound, nothing arcane, nothing soul-screechingly terrifying in the arcade. There were bright and mindless lights. Dozens of garish boxes lay before her and each contained a simple, frantic, mind-devouring challenge to complete. Her problems were quickly buried beneath mashing buttons and flashing lights.
Except one problem: That Kid.
The first time he sidled up to the second sets of buttons, she had politely permitted him to join – she’d seen the humans do the same many times. She hadn’t expected his savage desire to win completely. Her monstrous rage rising, she fought back, pressing buttons at a speed almost beyond human. The results of their battles were never decisive, never enough to convince either side to surrender.
So, whenever she wasn’t fighting ghosts or werewolves, Cass fled to the arcade and fought a teenage boy.