Page 33 of The Midnight Frequency

“With you and the repeat caller. Madison. They love her. And they love you with her. They gave you guys a nickname: SilMad.”

“SilMad?”

“Yeah, it’s—”

“An amalgamation of our names. Humans,” I scoffed.

I would really prefer if his producer would go into his booth so I could read his note in private. But we would be on air in a few minutes, and I really couldn’t put it off any longer.

I unfolded the paper to find more swirly script that reminded me of the calligraphy of my youth.

Silas -

We need to have a meeting after your show tonight, if you’re available. I’ll meet you in your studio.

Maybe she had heard about how ‘on fire’ we were and wanted to compliment me on a solid show, despite all the ups and downs that came with so many subpar callers.

Or maybe she would want to tell me to stop taking calls from that delusional, but mildly intriguing, Madison woman.

Either way, I was interested to see what she had to say.

Interested enough that I didn’t even cut off a buffalo shifter who didn’t know how to explain to her human love interest that she could just shift into a two thousand pound animal anytime she got a little too irritated.

I actually helped her plan out a path to have that awkward conversation. I even included a personal anecdote. It was borderline touchy-feely for me.

“Who do we have?” I asked Jack.

“We have Alexis on line two,” he announced.

“Alexis, I’m listening.”

“Hey! I was just calling in to beg Madison, if she’s listening, to call in. I just love you two bickering.”

“Call back if you have something even remotely interesting to say. Next caller!”

There were three more people over the course of the next two hours who called in to gush about our on-air arguing and/or tell me how wrong I was and how right Madison was about everything.

By the time we finally went to commercial at the end of our broadcast, I was glad to be done.

And not because I was eager to get to my meeting with Maggie, who had shown up outside the glass ten minutes before in a distractingly well-fitting black pencil skirt and square-neck feather-gray shirt.

Her long hair was pulled back in a clip, and as lovely as her hair was, having it pulled back highlighted her delicate features and unique honey-toned eyes.

In one arm, she had a stack of files and paperwork. In the other hand, she had a tray of coffees.

Not more of that sugar-laden drivel, I hoped.

“You need me to stick around?” Jack asked as he came out of the booth. “I could stand to go for a… run.”

A run.

In his K-9 form, no doubt.

He’d been restless for the past half hour—running his hands through his hair, bouncing around in his seat, tapping his hands on the desk. He had to burn off some of that excess energy before he could even think about sleep.

“No need to stay around for me,” I said as I placed my headphones on the desk.

“Great. See you tomorrow.”