5 March 2012
7pm, Monday
  Witch Weeky Headquarters, storage room

Waverly had woken up Saturday morning with a strange lightness as if the dreariness of March welcomed her. This after weeks of feeling glued to the pavement, anxious and craving the warmth of home and bed. She couldn't say why. Virgil had come over Friday night, they'd had some wine and a smoke.[1] Then, on Sunday, like a light coming on, Waverly had told her mothers that she was moving back into her flat with Gabby Dagon.

Tonight, she was supposed to be meeting Tam at Calaveras, but instead she was lingering at her job at Witch Weekly, excavating in a storage room. Interning wasn't all lattes and interviews, after all. It came with its fair share of tidying up and, today, organizational tasks everyone else had put off. It was ultimately a fruitless endeavor, but the hours had become fleeting when Waverly discovered crates of old wireless program recordings.

They cracked and hissed as they came through scratchy from the big reel-player's sound horn.

" ... the latest in footwear ... stumbling like an Inferus ... extraordinary debut..."
" ... a blazing success, having struck out on her own defying the norms of the day ... "
" ... then follow up with an entire row of alternating knits and purls to complete the stockinette section ...
" ... we asked her what it's like to wear an Aurors robe and care for four growing children ...
" ... tell him he'd better get on because, and I'll tell you, I'd never put up with that higgledy-piggledy..."
" ... and this muggle Margaret Thatcher. If Minister Bagnold really believes what she says she's about, she'll make it clear that ..."

The recordings dated as far back as the 1930s and into the 1980s - Waverly wasn't able to find anything more recent than that. The topics ranged all over. There was Knit Picking hosted by Nettie Weaverwelle, an hour-long stitch-by-stitch guide through a knitting project; Cambridgeshire Coven, a political talk show; The Life Between was a serial drama about a witch who marries a muggle; and a call-in advice column program called Speakeasy by sisters Dominique and Jacqueline La Croix. There, too, were fashion reviews, celebrity gossip, and even a newscast. Some of it was exactly what you'd think of a ladies' magazine, focused on being the perfect wife and mother, and from what Waverly could tell it was clearly meant for White listeners. But she was surprised to find the programming seemed keenly aware there weren't any wizards listening. It felt less like witches' issues were being talked about and more like witches were talking to each other, at times totally unguarded. They didn't seem squeamish about addressing the women's lib of the '70s or the squib movement of the '80s. Waverly felt like she'd uncovered buried treasure and couldn't understand why she'd never heard Witch Weekly Wireless.

At some point in Waverly's excavation she realized this wasn't a storage room at all. Beneath all the crates, there was a recording studio.

1.	2 Mar 2012 - Find Me Sleeping, where Virgil erased with Waverly's permission the memory of Terrence Hooker biting her.

11 March 2012
11pm, Monday
  Witch Weeky Headquarters, storage room

It had taken another few days for Waverly to find time to revisit the overgrown clutter of the former recording studio among the storage rooms of Witch Weekly. She hadn't been able to stop thinking about it, but it was too early to start asking questions. She didn't yet know what it all meant or what she wanted to do. It felt like love letters in a chest, it felt like dusting off a gravestone, it felt like a secret. Waverly turned over her wrist to check her watch and was surprised by the time. She'd been listening to the old recordings for hours; the only people left upstairs would be those sorry souls scrambling for deadlines.

Just one more, she thought, flicking through the stack of records. Beside her, yet untouched, was a cobby old microphone with three W's nested and intertwined.