“How’s the food?” said a woman in red. Bayliss turned quickly to face her. It was strange having someone appear by her side so suddenly. The DOPS had trained her specifically to notice person-size objects looming up beside her. But here was this one, all in red—dress, nails, and shoes—asking about the local cuisine. “I think the cook is on suicide watch,” she said.

“That good?” said the woman in red, giving her a crooked smile.

The woman looked vaguely familiar, like a face she might have glimpsed for a second coming out of a movie theater or bookstore. Her eyes were dark and she had her long black hair tied back in a ponytail.

“If you want to know about the food, you should really ask him,” said Bayliss, hooking a thumb at Nelson. “I get the feeling he’s a regular.”

“I would ask him, but he can’t see me. No one can except you,” said the woman. “Just like no one else is noticing us talk.”

Bayliss stared at the woman for a moment, then at Nelson. He continued eating his burrito, taking big bites like he was afraid if he slowed for a second the burrito might bolt for the door—which, she thought, was a distinct possibility. His head was tilted slightly down, looking at the food. But not at us, thought Bayliss. She reached across the table and waved a hand in front of his face. Nelson stared right through her. She turned back to the woman in red. “Who are you?”

“Giselle Petersen,” the woman said. She held out her hand and Bayliss shook it. “I work for DOPS, too. Up on fifteen. We’re kind of a whoever-needs-us-the-most-right-now department.”

Bayliss picked up a plastic fork from the table and stabbed the side of Nelson’s burrito. He kept on eating, the fork protruding from the side like a diving board for the vermin Bayliss was certain lurked everywhere in the restaurant just out of sight. Then something occurred to her and she turned to Giselle. “Wait. The fifteenth floor?” she said and then whispered, “Are you a Marilyn?”

“Born and raised,” said Giselle. “And you don’t have to whisper. No one can hear us.”

“Wow. I’ve never met a Marilyn before,” Bayliss said.

“Yeah, well, you kind of have. Me. But I was fogging your brain most of the time. It’s nothing personal. We just sometimes shadow new people in the department. Check them out for the big brains on the top floor.”

“Uh. Okay.”

“Don’t worry. I told them you were aces.”

Bayliss didn’t say anything. She knew she should be pissed at someone who had just admitted to screwing with her senses, and maybe even her memory, but all she could do was smile. “Thanks,” she said. Then, “So we’re invisible to everyone in here right now?”