Chapter One
“I have a bad feeling about today, Jessie.”
The ghost of Wanda Le Fey began humming Bad Moon Rising from Creedence Clearwater Revival as she inspected her nails.
I put my hand to my head and sipped my triple shot mocha, but there wasn’t enough caffeine in the universe to help with this situation. My usual breakfast, a handmade cinnamon roll, sat forgotten on a tiny brown napkin.
Wanda had only been dead about two weeks. It seemed much longer. I’d played a small part in her death—I dyed her blue as a prank before she was brutally murdered.
That left Wanda spending almost all of her time with me. Ghastly, blue, and naked—she was even worse dead than she’d been alive. She was free to wander wherever she chose—which was usually wherever I was. She’d been in the shower with me that morning, and stood behind me in the bathroom mirror as I brushed my teeth.
I’d had to plead exhaustion or a headache every night with my fiancée since she’d died and come to stay with us in our tiny apartment. I knew he was wondering what was wrong with me.
It was hard to kiss him knowing she was there laughing and making fun of everything we did. When we started cuddling, she made retching noises or stared close up with those terrible, burning eyes.
“Is your cinnamon roll not to your liking, Lady Jessie?” Brother Carl asked as he started past my rough, wood table at the Monastery Bakery.
Traffic at the Monastery Bakery in Renaissance Faire Village and Marketplace was brisk for nine a.m. The Main Gate wasn’t open yet. That meant the only customers were half-asleep residents, trying to get themselves together enough to cope with the ten thousand visitors who would walk the cobblestone paths that day at the theme park.
Brother Carl was head of the bakery—and the Brotherhood of the Sheaf—a monk-like guild that believed in the power of baking bread. They lived at the Village, along with a few hundred lords, ladies, fools, knaves, knights, and shopkeepers.
And me—Jessie Morton—former assistant history professor at the University of South Carolina, Ren Faire lover, and miserable wretch.
Like all the other brothers in his order, Carl wore plain, black robes that were usually covered in flour. His face was nondescript, somewhere between thirty and fifty. He was medium height, and his dark hair was cut military short.
“I’m sure it’s fine, brother. Thank you.”
He sat with me. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You are about to embark on a new life, Lady Jessie Morton! You’re marrying the man of your dreams, and living here at the Village. Aren’t these things what you’ve always wished for?”
They were exactly what I’d always wished for. I couldn’t deny it. The problem was that those things came with a ghost in my bed, and The Great Wedding Fiasco.
It was less than two weeks until The Great Wedding Fiasco. Yes, Village Bailiff Chase Manhattan, the love of my life, and I were finally going to be married. I had a beautiful dress with a six-foot train, and a handmade lace veil. Our friends and family would be there—and so would at least a thousand strangers.
Because Adventureland, the parent company of Renaissance Faire Village and Marketplace, saw a golden opportunity with our wedding, they’d invited another two hundred and fifty couples to take their vows at the same time.
Those two hundred and fifty couples had family and friends. There were so many of them that the Village would be closed to the public that day.
Adventureland had sweetened the pot for all of the people who’d planned to have their wedding that day, including me and Chase. The cake was free. The flowers were free. The venue, on the Village Green under sapphire blue Myrtle Beach skies, was also free.
So were the television and Internet opportunities for the theme park. It was the chance of a lifetime—at least it was presented to me and Chase that way.
“Stop whining,” Wanda said in her Americanized British accent. “You get the man. You get the wedding. What more do you want?”
Brother Carl seemed to agree with Wanda, even though he couldn’t see or hear her. “You would be churlish not to appreciate the gift given to you, Jessie.”
“I wouldn’t want to be churlish,” I muttered.
I didn’t want to seem ungrateful, especially since Adventureland had also hired me to be the director of their new Renaissance Arts and Crafts Museum in the Village. They’d paid me nicely to get the museum set up.
Working at the Village, and being with Chase, was everything I’d ever wanted. But sharing my perfect day with a thousand strangers—and the ghost of a woman I didn’t even like when she was alive—was almost too much.