18

I was in the shower, getting ready for work, when the love of my life walked into the bathroom with phone in hand and an intrigued expression. I stopped soaping the bod for a second, reading his lines through the foggy glass with some difficulty, then gave up. This was one of those moments it was just better to ask.

“Babe, what’s up?”

“So I was just doom scrolling for a bit while waiting on the coffee maker,” Donovan prefaced, still glancing at his phone. “And I stumbled across this list of ten fun and unusual weddings to have? I really like one of them. It is an indoor idea, though; I know we were going for outdoor.”

“Considering our approach to a typical wedding has not been working, I’m all ears.”

“Well, this one couple rented out a whole pizza joint. One of those upscale pizza places, and it had an arcade and everything in the back. Then they upped the fun factor by making it a costume party.”

I froze, overtaken by the image of my nearest and dearest dressed like sexy nurses and Batman while having the best pizza party of their lives. It was like being struck by the lightning of a good idea. “Oh my god.”

“See?! Isn’t it an awesome idea?”

“I love that so hard. Seriously, it would be a super kid friendly wedding that way, and we wouldn’t have to worry about people getting bored. And it’s casual enough people can just pop in and out without feeling obligated to stay the whole time.”

Donovan was not done yet; he was on a roll this morning. “I was thinking, what about Sammi’s?”

It made perfect sense as soon as he said it. We’d tried a new pizza place about three months ago. It was in one of those converted warehouses, looking all upscale and modern without being stuffy. Plus I thought there was a second floor to the place. “Didn’t it have retro videogame machines up on the second floor?”

“I think it does, or something like that.” Donovan looked pleased I liked the idea so much. “Want to swing by on our way to the interview and ask if we can even rent the place for an event?”

“Absolutely. Get breakfast done. I’ll be down in five minutes or less.”

I started soaping with more vigor. Had to get out quick. I had a good idea to explore and hopefully lock in.

Good to my word, I was shaved, dressed, and downstairs in five minutes flat. Donovan had made French toast and sausage for breakfast, which we ate quickly. I gave the cats a goodbye rub—they were lounging in their window cat tree, perfectly content to be lazy slobs the rest of the day—and then we were out the door.

The pizza parlor in question wasn’t too far away, but with Nashville morning traffic, it took us more than a hot minute to get there. It was a relief to finally arrive and find parking. Right until I realized it was eight in the morning and pizza parlors weren’t generally open at this time.

“Babe. We’re both dumbasses.”

Donovan gave me a confused look. “Eh?”

“It’s eight in the morning, are they even open yet?”

“Oh. Shit. I was so excited I didn’t think about the time. Uh, we can try calling? They might be here and doing prep work.”

Bless this man’s brains. “Call.”

I was parked right next to the building, so for the safety of his phone, Donovan hopped out and made the call. He tried to put distance between me and his phone when he could just to buy it a little more life. I couldn’t really hear him, but he lit up with a smile and waved me out, so it must have been good. I turned off the engine and met him on the sidewalk.

“I was right, they’re inside prepping dough right now. Owner said come to the door, he’ll let us in.”

“Awesome.”

I had a skip to my step as we headed to the door. I couldn’t help it, this was genuinely one of the most fun wedding ideas I’d heard of, and I reeeeaaaly hoped it panned out.

The owner was a short guy, with thick dark hair under a hairnet, a stained white apron on over jeans and a polo shirt, and happiness sparking in his lines.

“Hello, hello, I’m Sammi. Welcome.”

Italian, no question; his accent alone backed up what I was seeing in his lines. Well, that explained why the pizza was phenomenal.

I shook hands with him, knowing he’d be open to hosting a gay wedding and not worried about that. “Hello, Sammi. I’m Jon, and this is my fiancé, Donovan.”

He shook both of our hands, looking a touch intimidated by Donovan, but not overly so. “Hello. You said on the phone you wanted to rent my place for an event?”

“Well, we’re hoping we can rent it for our wedding, actually.” Donovan looked at me for some reason while he said this. “We want to do a costume pizza party for our wedding and we really love this place, so we’re hoping we can rent it for the day.”

Sammi’s dark brown eyes went saucer wide and he just about exploded into chihuahua levels of joy. Booty shake included.

“You want me to host your wedding?” He threw both hands into the air, saying something in Italian that sounded like a prayer of thanks, then paused us. “Hold on, hold on, I must tell the wife. WIFE!”

From the back kitchen area, I heard a woman say something in an exasperated tone before she stuck her head out of the two-way metal door. She was even shorter than Sammi, her dark hair up in a bun and glasses perched on her nose.

“ What ?”

“They want to host their wedding here,” Sammi relayed, still bouncing with happiness.

Sammi’s wife did an abrupt about-face in attitude and was now fully invested. She came directly to me, hand outstretched.

“I’m Amelia.”

“Jon, and this is my fiancé, Donovan.”

She shook hands with Donovan, too, but demanded, “You really want to do it here?”

“Honestly, ever since we found you guys about three months ago, you’ve become our go-to for pizza. We thought having a costume party in a pizza place would be a really fun time for all. And your restaurant is upscale enough for a wedding without it looking chintzy.”

Donovan was laying on the praise, but every word of it was true. This place had old-school brick walls and exposed wooden beams with a polished concrete floor. The furniture was a very modern look, and it would be easy to decorate the space.

Both Amelia and Sammi looked proud of the fact we loved their food enough to want to do a wedding here. I supposed it was quite a feather to tuck in the cap.

“We would be honored,” Amelia declared. “I agree, it sounds like a very fun wedding. We do offer event packages—”

Eh? Really? Well that made things simpler.

“—but I think for this it’ll be more like two days. You’ll need half a day to decorate and another half a day to break everything down, right?”

A fact I hadn’t considered and felt stupid for not doing so. “You’re absolutely correct.”

“Then, hmmm…does four thousand sound all right?”

Considering the two venues we’d earmarked were twice the amount? “Absolutely.”

Amelia beamed, glowing with happiness and anticipation. “I think this will be fun! Let’s do it. We’ll still have to take online and pickup orders on your day, though.”

I waved this off. “Of course, you’ve got a business to run. That’s fine. I’ll try to get RSVPs to tell you what kind of pizza people want.”

Donovan nodded along at my side. “Great idea, that way you guys know what all to make. We don’t want to do anything formal, so let’s just do a pizza buffet. Uh, do you guys offer gluten-free and vegan options?”

“We do!” Sammi puffed out his chest. “My gluten-free pizza is popular.”

Perfect. I had some loved ones who couldn’t do gluten or dairy for a variety of reasons, so I was relieved Sammi could accommodate.

“Give me a date and a contract, and I’ll be happy to sign this very second.” I was not kidding. I was absolutely ready to lock this in. We still had to get invitations out, after all.

Amelia darted back toward the kitchen, and likely her office, intent on getting us a form.

“What day are you looking for?” Sammi asked. “And how many guests?”

“About a hundred and fifty guests, some of them kids.” Donovan was able to rattle this out off the top of his head, since we’d just finished our guest list the other night. “September is our month, date flexible. And can we do a lunchtime wedding? Say, eleven to three o’clock?”

“Sure, sure. I think that’s reasonable.” Sammi whipped out his phone.

I automatically took three steps back. Let’s not kill the nice man’s phone while I asked for a favor.

He seemed puzzled and Donovan leapt in with an explanation.

“Sorry, forgot to warn you, he’s a psychic and runs hot. He kills technology just by brushing past it, so make sure to keep a three-foot distance if you’re using a phone or something.”

“Ohhhh.” Sammi glanced at his phone and took another step back of his own accord. “Warning taken. All right, let’s see here. You want a Saturday?”

“Please? I know those are pretty busy days for you, but not everyone can take off work.”

Sammi wasn’t the least bit miffed. “It’s fine, it’s fine. Hmm, I have two birthday parties that month, but September 25 th is free.”

“Perfect.” That was actually the date I’d wanted in the beginning. “Lock that in. And we can come in Friday evening to decorate some?”

“Sure.”

He was being so kind and flexible, I felt like hugging the man. Probably would have if it wouldn’t kill his phone.

Amelia came back with paperwork—fortunately, it was an actual paper form, not a tablet or something—and I promptly filled that sucker out, signed it, and gestured for Donovan. “Babe, card. Let’s get a deposit down. A thousand work for you guys?”

Sammi had no issue with the amount, and Amelia dragged Donovan to the cash register so he could use the card. I felt absolutely beside myself. Finally we had a venue and a date locked in! That had been much, much harder than it should have been. Ridiculously so. I now completely understood the need for wedding planners.

With paperwork signed, a deposit down, and a date set, we felt ready to actually go to work now. I gave Amelia and Sammi an air hug, as they were hugging-type people, which made them laugh. Then both put their phones further away on a table before giving me a hug for real, which was sweet of them. I was as excited about the upcoming party as they were.

I really wanted to dive into planning now, but it wasn’t feasible. I had an interview this morning with one of the very few Materializers in the area. They were barely even in the state—they were up in Clarksville. Gonzalez had asked me to do all the interviews within driving distance, and I’d agreed, helping to split up the workload. Even if it did mean a lot of driving in our future.

Clarksville wasn’t much of a drive, relatively speaking. About an hour and a half in traffic. Donovan was a good travel buddy, so we were chatting, him taking notes on decoration ideas and texting the moms about our score. Date and venue, booyah!

It felt like we were on the road five minutes when we hit the Clarksville city limits. Donovan navigated me off the freeway and into more of a city outskirts area.

Francesca Harlington was our interviewee this morning. She worked at a veterinary hospital that specialized in rehabilitating amputee animals. It was also a wildlife sanctuary, so I got quite the fun view as we drove up the long, winding driveway, as the cages lining both sides were filled with animals. Birds of prey of all feathers, a zorse, and whoa— “Is that a tiger?”

Donovan peered in the same direction. “It sure is. With a bright pink peg leg. Huh.”

Folks, I have officially seen everything.

I finally got to the end of the driveway, which dead-ended at a very large, blocky, red-brick building. It looked new to me, maybe two years old at most, so this place hadn’t been here long.

We hopped out of the Power Wagon, and Donovan gave Francesca a call. All said and done, I did not like going into hospitals. Too many delicate pieces of equipment I didn’t want to replace. There was an array of benches outside the front doors, so I settled there, as we’d arranged to talk outside.

The woman of the hour waltzed out not two minutes later. She was in a lab coat, her braids pulled in a thick ponytail, wearing sensible shoes and jeans. I took one look at her and knew she wasn’t the culprit. This woman wasn’t even the type to hit someone when she lost her temper.

Donovan stood up and ran interference for me. “Hi, Francesca? Donovan Havili, thanks for meeting us. Just as a precaution, do not let Jon anywhere near your phone, watch, or any other electronics.”

She shook hands with him, smiling and at ease. “No worries, I left them all on my desk inside, just in case. I took your initial warning to heart. Hi, Jonathan Bane?”

“That’s me.” I stood and shook hands with her too, before gesturing for her to sit next to me. “Sit, please, I need to pick your brain.”

“Sure. Donovan said over the phone that there was a case with a Materializer involved?”

“Yup.” I judged it smart in this case to just be upfront with her. She might think of something I didn’t know to question. “Do you remember the case about a year ago where a psychic was accused of murdering his anchor, who was also his sister?”

Surprise flitted through her lines. “Oh shit! Yes, I remember the case. Wait, I didn’t think the guy was a Materializer.”

“He’s not.” I felt a dry, dark sense of humor bubbling up in me. “He’s innocent of the crime. We’re the firm he hired to clear his name.”

“ Oh .” She packed about twenty pounds of innuendo into a single syllable. “Well hot damn, tell me how I can help.”

“So we’ve recently discovered the weapon, evidence, and even the blood splatter were all materialized. But honestly, we barely knew enough to figure that out. Please, tell me how your ability works.”

Donovan interrupted. “Also, do you mind if I record this interview? Just so we don’t forget something later.”

“That’s fine,” Francesca assured him before focusing back on me. “All right, to answer, materializing depends solely on how powerful of a psychic you are and how well you can mentally picture something. Say you’re a weaker psychic—you might be able to do something simple, like materialize a pencil, or something with up to four layers.”

“What do you mean by layers?”

“It means the amount of material in something. So, like that pencil—there’s the wood on the outside, the eraser on the end, the metal holding the eraser, and the lead inside, right? So there’s four layers.”

“Ahhh, I got it. Please continue.”

“The more complex the thing, the more energy and mental focus it takes to pull off. I’m a mid-grade Materializer, so I can do things like make prostheses. But if it gets over ten layers, I am shit out of luck. I’d have to create it piecemeal and put it together.”

Fascinating. I seriously didn’t expect that answer. “So, say, a hand axe?”

“Easy. Even a base-level Materializer can make one.”

“Blood?”

“Not so easy,” she said. “Blood’s a my-level-and-higher thing. Also, the more complex things you make in a day, the more draining it is. I can do, at most, twenty prostheses in a day, if that tells you something. But that’s a rough day for me. I try to keep it around ten or fifteen.”

I felt like I was in a lecture and should be taking notes. “Say you were a high-tier Materializer, what would your limit be?”

“Hmm, somewhere around thirty or so? Maybe more if they run as hot as you. There’s limits even for them, though. Like, trying to materialize a phone, or a tablet, would be way too difficult.”

“Too many layers?” Donovan asked.

“Bing bing, give the man a cookie. It comes down to a cost-slash-benefit ratio on a lot of things. Is this worth me creating it, or would it be simpler to just go buy the item? Often the answer is go buy it.”

Her explanation completely made sense to me. She was really giving us some great answers, which helped narrow the field some more. I already knew I was looking for a mid-tier Materializer just because of the blood.

“Does it require prep?”

“Hmm, yes and no. If I’m making something I never have before, I really study the blueprints of it before trying to make it. Since I’m limited on how much I can make in a day, I try to get it right the first time. I usually don’t succeed, mind you, but I do try. As for having the raw sources on hand? Naw, don’t need any of that. My imagination and willpower are enough.”

“Okay, switching topics slightly, is making physical things all you can do?”

Francesca blinked like I wasn’t making sense. “What else…do you want me to make…? Can’t make all dreams come true.”

“Not what I meant.” She was funny; I liked her. “Can you shield against another psychic?”

Francesca immediately shook her head. “Absolutely not. Not how my ability works. Even if I tried to create a physical shield to hold off another psychic, it would only be for physical attacks. I assume you mean like if someone—let’s say Grant Walker—was searching for me?”

“Exactly what I meant, yeah.”

“No way in hell could I hold him off. My ability just doesn’t work that way.”

“That’s really good to know.” It also narrowed down some possibilities. “Francesca, do you mind if we tap you for follow-up questions? We’re still trying to find the Materializer behind all of this, and right now, I don’t know what else to ask, but—”

She held up a hand. “Absolutely not a problem. Makes me mad someone is using their ability to cause harm. And I feel sorry for that poor man who was wrongfully convicted. I’d be happy to answer any questions you have.”

“Thank you so much. I really appreciate it.”

Her head canted a little. “You know, most people ask why I’m working with animals instead of helping people.”

This prod amused me. “You like animals better than people. And honestly? Most days I agree with you.”

She laughed out loud in delight. “You’re all right, Jonathan Bane. Call me anytime. I’m really invested now.”

“Trust me, we will. In fact, we’re doing an appeal of Dwayne’s case soon. Can I ask you to be a material witness?”

“That was almost punny, but yes, I take your meaning and would be happy to. I think I’m the closest Materializer you’ve got to Nashville.”

“You’re not wrong.”

Her lips lifted in a bare smile. “Then please do call on me. I’m happy to see some real justice served.”

Yup, as expected, Francesca was my kind of people. Could I keep her? I really wanted to keep her.