Jacob surprised me by flipping on his blinker and swinging into the lot. “Can’t let Dr. Hall leave Chicago without showing her what she’s been missing.”
I blinked at him. “Seriously?”
“What? I can’t enjoy pizza now?”
“You added kale to your breakfast scramble.”
“Guess that means I can afford a little indulgence.”
Huh. Had I known it would pay this kind of dividend, I would’ve started stocking the fridge with kale myself.
Mario’s was your basic hole in the wall, with sticky formica booths, drop ceilings, and a faded Italian flag tacked behind the register. No one there appeared to be Italian, given that they were all speaking Spanish. But who cared, as long as the parmesan and hot pepper shakers were full?
You can’t just grab a slice of Chicago deep dish and run out the door, not unless you want second-degree burns. The slab is so hefty, it’s more like a casserole than a slice. And even I, withmy tendency to eat everything on the run, wouldn’t dream of approaching it without a knife and fork.
It’s not just a pizza…it’s a commitment. It takes a good forty-five minutes from oven to table. And once it arrives, it’s a good ten minutes before you can eat it without scalding a layer of flesh off the roof of your mouth.
But it’s so damn worth it.
Still, that left us with an hour to sit there and think about my lackluster performance back at the crappy apartment. As we all awkwardly sipped water and tried to ignore our stomachs rumbling, Evelyn said, “I won’t claim to be an expert in mediumship, but Bethany tells me you’ve got a great track record. It must be frustrating to be searching for something that might not even be there to begin with.”
I shrugged. “You could say the same for any evidence.” Though it wasn’t a murder investigation.
“But you are an expert in your field,” Jacob said to Evelyn, smoothly turning the conversation away from my distinct lack of results. Carl would’ve just sat there and watched me sweat. “And research must be just as frustrating as investigative work.”
“I try to remind myself that every failure rules something out. That’s still progress…at least that’s what I tell myself whenever I come up with a lot of nothing.”
“And that’s exactly why we need people like you in the lab,” Jacob said. “You stress-test new ideas in the lab so Vic doesn’t have to do it in the field.” He gave her one of his killer smiles. “That commercial app you created already helps Vic function. It’s made a huge difference in our lives.”
Evelyn made a flustered noise and a blush stole over the tops of her ears. I reminded myself how overwhelming Jacob’s attention could be when you weren’t used to it. But the arrival of the pizza saved her from having to figure out how to be graceful in the face of a barrage of compliments.
Our attention turned toward the pizza, and we assured her the crushed tomatoes on top were normal, and never fear, there’d be no lack of cheese. I was surprised Jacob went in for a second slice. I usually go for three, but regret my decision and bail a few bites into the third. Evelyn could barely finish one.
Food is grounding, or so I’ve conjectured. Not that I’d be able to tune out a full-fledged ghost, if one happened to be complaining about a mozzarella-prompted heart attack within range of my sixth sense. But our subtle bodies—those various energetic selves that nest together inside us like expensive Tupperware—have an influence on one another. And digesting a good pound of cheese takes some serious resources.
I scraped some flaky crumbs into a napkin before they ended up on my suit. “Does pizza do anything for empathy?” I wasn’t always clear how other talents worked.
Evelyn gave a small laugh. “I think we can all commiserate when our waistbands get snug.”
Maybe a distraction was a distraction, regardless of which plane of existence it occupied.
“But what does that mean for Mood Blaster? It induces brainwaves—”
“Induceis a strong word. More like it invites.”
I waved away the distinction. “But the brain is a physical hunk of meat. Is it just a matter of the alpha wave letting me getout of my own way? Or is there some kind of connective tissue between the subtle bodies?”
Evelyn’s eyes lit up. “That’s exactly the type of question that keeps us in the lab till two in the morning. We don’t know—not yet. But when you think about how far the field of psych research has come, maybe someday soon we’ll have some good answers.”
And just like that, the day didn’t seem like a total loss. I hadn’t seen a ghost. I hadn’t cracked the case. But I’d shared a pizza with the creator of the only thing that ever let me feel halfway normal. That had to count for something.
Yes, she was a scientist, and yes, she was from National, but I liked Evelyn. And Jacob clearly did, too. Though it was only when she swore to herself and grabbed a napkin to scrub at a spot of tomato sauce on her lapel that I felt emboldened enough to ask, “This might be a long shot, but is there any chance you can get me back to my old Mood Blaster?”
Evelyn opened her mouth, closed it again, then offered a sheepish smile. “Okay, this is probably overstepping, but… I’ve been working on a new piece of tech that builds on the principles of Mood Blaster. No doubt you get a dozen pitches a week from people who think they’ve cracked some psychic code. But my latest work might actually be useful. If you’re open to it, I could show you.”
Top-secret, cutting-edge FPMP tech. What could possibly go wrong?
CHAPTER EIGHT
