Page 73 of The Midnight Frequency

“There. My masterpiece.”

Tess tapped my nose with the shimmer brush then stepped from between me and the mirror.

There I was.

Dramatic eye makeup with understated lips, wearing too-high heels and a little black dress that clung so tightly you might be able to count my ribs and trace my organs.

But I had to give her credit; it was certainly a look. Was that look me? Not in the least. Maybe that was what I needed right then, though. To not be me. To play a character. Much like Madison. Only this one would be the strong, nonchalant, confident station manager who did not just embarrass the hell out of herself in front of one of the radio hosts the night before.

Yeah.

That was the part I was going to play.

She could get me through a face-to-face with Silas.

Or, you know, so I thought.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

[ “I FEAR I have made a series of choices.”

— Unearthed Truths - Episode 95]

Maggie

I had to hand it to the station witches; they really outdid themselves.

If I thought the spells they cast to transform the place for Halloween were great, the office party made that look like some child’s craft project.

When they’d approached me a few months back about being able to handle the next office party (because “well, you know”), I’d been equal parts relieved and insulted. Insulted because the “you know” was about how terribly the office party I’d planned had turned out—with piano music playing, tables draped in white linens, and the blandest food menu known to mankind. And the punch I served? Not spiked. I’d been relieved, though, because I knew that party planning was not my forte, and I’d been relieved to wash my hands of it and let someone else handle the whole nightmare.

There’d been a few caveats: no prophecies, no summoning, no spelled food, and nothing alive at the party that wasn’t alive before the party.

Yes, that last one did need to be spelled out. The whole neighborhood had ended up traumatized by a six-foot-tall skeleton dressed in a yellow polka dot bikini and a cowboy hat that suddenly started walking around and telling everyone to pull its finger.

But, yeah, they certainly delivered.

All the usual harsh overhead lights were off. In their place were floating orbs that glowed a golden light and strings of fairy lights.

Gone was all the office equipment—and, yes, I may have worried a bit about where it all was and if it would come back in one piece—so the area felt wide open, save for the L-shaped food station where the welcome desk used to be.

Unlike my awful white linens, the tables were draped in midnight blue with sparkling silver accents.

As for the food, there were no boring pigs in a blanket or cucumber sandwiches. Oh, no, there was a whole banquet with meals for every species to enjoy. Yes, blood included. Though everything was very carefully marked. The punch bowl was enormous and featured a deep red liquid that smelled like fruit punch with something to give it a little extra kick.

Spiked but not spelled, the note in front of it read.

“Here, take this,” Tess said. She pushed a plastic cup into my hand. “Drink.” She smashed her cup to mine and we both gulped the liquid down. Her, for fun. Me, for courage. “Okay, refill.” Then she did just that before saying something about ‘the hot guy from that podcast’ and dancing away.

Alone, I sipped my fruit punch that, now that I wasn’t chugging it down, tasted a bit more like vodka than actual fruit, and took in everything else I missed.

Like the way glitter floated up from the floor but never actually touched anyone or anything. And how the music was all familiar songs, but remixed to have this hypnotic, sexual slow beat that I swear drifted up through the soles of my feet until it was changing the pulse of my heart. Intentional or not, the effect had everyone on the dance floor linked closely with their partners, bodies moving in an ancient rhythm that the station manager part of me really hoped didn’t turn into some kind of orgy.

Try explaining that one to the boss.

Despite myself, I found my gaze sliding across the crowd, looking for the same face I convinced myself I didn’t want to see. When I didn’t see him, there was no good reason to feel a surge of disappointment.

“Maggie! O.M.G.” Ashlee, the ghost and co-host of Dead Air floated over to me. “This is such an amazing party. So much better than the last one. I mean, no offense, but… you know.” Oh, I knew. I’d been hearing about it at least weekly ever since. “I’m just sad I couldn’t wear something new for the occasion. It’s so annoying to be stuck for eternity in your murder outfit. Oh, hey, Rupert!” she called to the other ghost as he lingered around one of the shifters. “I gotta go, Maggs. Great party!”