Page 31 of The Midnight Frequency

“If they wanted to know where you lived, the shifters could scent your path right to your door. Witches could do a locator spell. Most of the people you work with already know where you live.”

I’d never even thought about that before. That was a little alarming. Not necessarily with my coworkers, but when it came to pushy people at the bar. Or random men on the street. Or even, you know, like road rage type issues. I never considered that someone could follow my scent home even if I shook them visibly.

“That’s… an alarming revelation.”

“Hence my escorting you home.”

“Well, um, thanks, I guess,” I said. “It’s not far. I’m just around that corner. You can see the building over there. What?” I asked when his face twisted.

“I’ve never understood the human willingness to live packed in a building like sardines.”

“Well, it’s not just humans. My roommate is a demon. My upstairs neighbor is a witch. I think a lot of humans and paranormals flock to large cities because there’s such a rich culture. It’s worth the smaller living spaces and the noise issues. Do you not live in an apartment?”

“I do not.”

It was pulling teeth to get a conversation out of this guy. But it was too awkward to walk in silence.

Or maybe it only felt that way to me because I was keeping three secrets from him now: the network wanted to end his show, I was calling in under a fake name to argue with him, and, yes, he was the inspiration for the hero in my new book that he would loathe on principle alone.

“Have you lived in Seattle long?”

“Since the ‘90s, I believe.”

“Back when radio was still going strong. Did you do radio then?”

“I did.”

No explanation.

But now I knew what I was going to be looking into as soon as I got home. I might not even wait until I got to my apartment.

Because that was too juicy not to figure out. Was his old show like this one? Was that why my boss gave Silas an advance to come to KPRN? Had his old show been a massive hit?

I hadn’t lived on the West Coast most of my life, so I wasn’t up on the history of radio over here as I was back home.

“Well, this is me,” I said, waving to the building as we moved in front of it.

“As you pointed out before.”

“Thanks for the escort,” I added. Then, when he didn’t turn, “You’re not leaving?”

“Not until I’ve seen you get safely inside.”

Okay.

Those old manners were kind of hot.

Suddenly, I wanted to abandon thoughts of a decent night of sleep and get back to my document and add some old-fashioned chivalry to my manuscript.

“In that case,” I said, going up the three front steps, “goodnight, Silas.”

“Maggie,” he said with a nod.

Then he did as he said he would; he stood there, gaze on my back as I found my key, stuck it in the lock, and moved inside.

Only when the door closed behind me did he finally turn and walk away.

CHAPTER NINE