AU: Merry Christmas, folks! Or Happy Whatever-Holiday-You-Happen-To-Be-Celebrating-This-Time-Of-Year! Boy, being politically correct is a mouthful, isn't it? Anyway, I brought presents—well, just one, really, but I figure you guys can share it. ;) Here's Chapter 2—you'll meet my OC/narrator for the present time parts of the story, and learn a little bit about the setting we're dealing with here. Enjoy!

2

"No, you're not dreaming—that really was the first song ever written and recorded by Nine Inch Nails. You can call and debate me if you want to, but I will put you on the air. Once again, that number is 555-K109, and I'll be running the show until twelve. I am Bella Donna, and you're listening to The Night Shade. Stay tuned."

I clicked the mike off, switched the radio feed to one of the pre-canned commercials and wrote down my selections in the playlist book. I could tell I was getting tired. My voice sounded too chipper and fake—like, more than usual—over the mike. It was only 11:15; the time would go fast, and I didn't have to do anything but load up my songs and hit play—no one cares if you talk on college radio—but from this end it still felt like a long way off.

We had a new guy coming in to take over for the midnight-to-two shift. It took us a while to find him; the campus never sleeps, but no one really wants to spend all-nighters alone in a tiny room stuffed with music. He offered to work a double, but we closed everything down after 2am anyway. And he sure as Hell wasn't taking my shift—I needed the money too much. His name was Jasper Hale. He was new this year, and I hadn't met him yet.

I double-checked my selections for the next hour to make sure I didn't have any repeats, then went back to the console to switch from commercial to music. I'd heard that most folks did this digitally now. There was some kind of program that loaded all your songs, commercials included, and all you had to do was point and click. We were old school here. "Old school" meaning "broke." The college had more important things to invest in than the student-run indie radio station.

There was a noise near the door. I looked up: long, lean limbs; impeccably clean clothes that consisted of dark blue jeans, a plain t-shirt and a pinstriped sport coat; and a wild mop of brassy blond hair that resembled a lion's mane. He looked very pale, but the combination of the bright clip-on lamps over the console and the colored fairy lights strung around the ceiling sometimes did strange things to a person's complexion. He was staring at me, and his eyes glimmered like a cat's.

"Bella Donna?" he said, in a soft voice that for some reason made me think of Rhett Butler. "I thought your name was Beth."

I laughed and went over to greet him. "Oh, that's my 'radio name,'" I explained. "It's stupid, but it seemed like a good idea at the time, and now they won't let me change it. You must be Jasper." I reached out to shake his hand.

His face scrunched up in an odd, strained expression, then he extended a gloved hand. "Nice to meet you," he said. He gripped my hand quickly, then stuffed both fists back in his pockets.

Weird. But not the weirdest I'd met. And he was so fine-featured, I could overlook that.

"Okay," I said, "let me show you how all this works."

I introduced him to the console, showed him where all the buttons were and what they did, how to log into the time clock so he'd get paid, where all the CDs and records were—all the basics I could think of. "We only have two rules about what you can play while you're here: First, no swearing. We don't have a way to censor, and even though it's an indie radio station, the college funds us and that's their rule, so we have to follow it."

Jasper nodded. "No problem."

"Second," I went on, "don't play anything from a major label. That's where the 'indie' part comes in. Everything we have on the shelves here is cool, but if you bring something with you, just double-check to make sure it's okay. For example, I really like AFI, and I can play some of their stuff, but nothing after The Art of Drowning."

"I . . . don't know what that is, but I understand."

"Okay, good. Just one more thing: make sure you read through the announcements on the board over here," I pointed out the whiteboard on the wall next to the console, "at the top of every hour. I usually do it right before the commercial breaks, but that's up to you. Bathroom is down the hall on the left, and there's a snack machine down at the other end by the window." Jasper half-smiled at that, but the expression disappeared quickly. "Any questions?"

"Just one," said Jasper. "Am I expected to have a 'radio name' as well?"

"No, but you should think of a name to call your show so they have something to put on the schedule on the website. You don't have to, but Rob—that's our supervisor—thinks having a snazzy or goofy name for the shows pulls in more listeners. It's totally up to you."

Jasper nodded. "All right."

I checked my watch: five minutes to midnight. I decided to stay for the first half-hour or so of Jasper's shift, to make sure he knew what he was doing. He seemed uncomfortable with the idea of me hanging around, and I learned quickly not to stand behind him while he was talking into the microphone. Probably just a little claustrophobic. He had a great radio voice: smooth and captivating, the sort of voice you'd pause to listen to no matter what it was saying. He would pull in listeners with or without the snazzy title.

I left him at quarter-to-one, and he gave me a tiny wave and a smile. I couldn't tell whether he was a sociopath or just plain shy. Time would tell, I decided. No use worrying over something I couldn't change.