Page 32 of The Midnight Frequency

[ “WE ASKED A vampire about love. He called it hunger, man.”

— Bloods and Spuds- Episode 52]

Silas

“What does it say?” Jack asked as he leaned over the back of my chair, his face just a few inches from mine.

The man had no concept of personal space.

But he’d been good at his job so far, so I typically kept my thoughts to myself about it.

That didn’t mean I didn’t scoot my chair back, forcing him to step away.

Unbothered, he turned to sit on the edge of my desk instead.

“I haven’t ascertained that yet,” I told him.

There’d been a note taped to my microphone when I’d shown up for my shift.

My name was in a pretty, swirling feminine script. And I could have sworn the paper had a slight trace of that cinnamon-sugar I’d started to associate with a certain station manager.

“It’s from Maggie, isn’t it? She leaves notes all around the place.”

I’d noticed that myself.

I figured that since she worked the shift when most of the talent wasn’t around, she got her points or demands across by a seemingly endless supply of sticky notes. In pastel colors. Some even had little stickers attached—an attempt to soften the more stern messages.

It was absurd the range of notes she needed to leave. Everything from Stop unplugging radio equipment to charge your phone, to The printer is not haunted; please stop feeding it offerings and This is the third notice: stop asking the Void for dating advice—it’s starting to ship coworkers.

My note wasn’t on a sticker, though. It was on station monogrammed paper with nice, thick cardstock.

“So it seems.”

“Well, read it already. Maybe she read the comments on the stream. Did you see them?”

“As I have no idea what a ‘stream’ is, outside of the type of water, no, I did not.”

“You did know our show is available to stream—” At my raised brow, he shrugged. “It’s available to listen to anytime you want to listen to it. So people don’t have to listen live. They can tune in whenever they want. And under the stream is a comment section. A comment section is—”

“I know what a comment section is; I’m not a complete Luddite.”

“Well, the comment section was on fire.”

“That bad?”

“That good,” he corrected, rolling his eyes at me.

I did attempt to keep up on the vernacular of the times. I’d lived through everything from the ‘groovy’ language of the hippies to the skater talk of the ‘90s. Language evolved faster than I was willing to attempt to adopt any of it. Clearly, I’d fallen off on my research for current language trends.

“I’m not surprised. We do put on a good show. It might devolve into relationship nonsense on occasion, but we have good, intellectual conversations here and there.”

“Oh, no. It’s not the current event conversations that everyone likes.”

“Please tell me it is not the advice on how to date a vampire.”

“No. It’s the love stuff.”

“What love stuff?”