They are also significantly noisier.
“Is that… music?” I ask, pained.
Hanry winces with me. “I think so?”
Goddamn ghosts acting like they own the place. I don’t have time for this. “I amnotgoing to be blamed for tone-deaf ghosts ruining my wedding setup,” I declare.
“Maybe we can ignore them and hold the ceremony on the other side of the room?”
I snort. “Do you think anyone could ignore those outfits?”
Because I couldn’t. The ghosts’ clothes redefine the term “ghastly.” I’m talking puffed silk sleeves and flower crowns; flamboyant suits with untenable pant hems they’d trip on if they weren’t hovering. One has a vintage silver microphone stand in their skeletal clutches like an Elvis impersonator in hippie busker drag.
Hanry shifts the giant beams on his shoulder. “I’m guessing this is your first time dealing with ghosts.”
“It’s not yours?”
“I’ve heard things,” says Hanry. “Enough to know they can’t hurt anyone. Ghosts are self-absorbed, focused on their unfinished business. Poltergeists are the ones you have to worry about.”
I shiver a little, rubbing at my arms. “It’s freezing in here. How can we warm this place up?”
“Before you suggest it, a bonfire would burn us down in a minute.”
I side-eye him. “Who said anything about starting a fire?”
“You look like you could commit arson,” Hanry says. “You’ve got an edgy vibe.”
“Moving on,” I say, because if I’m being called “edgy,” then this wedding is bringing out the absolute worst in me. Something that might be bordering on a similarity to Grandma Rose. “We need to get these ghosts out. Can we make mousetraps? Use ghost pepper spray? Do you think this venue has vacuums?”
“The only guaranteed way to get rid of ghosts is resolving their unfinished business. But that could take weeks. It’s not worth trying.”
I scowl at this and try to manifest a plan. This room is where Amanda’s supposed to join with Dave in actual-forever-love. To walk down the aisle—or fly down it in bat form? I don’t know how this works.
As I fight not to hyperventilate, my phone buzzes in my apron pocket.James, the caller ID reads. James?! Why is he—oh, that’s right, I hired him to come tonight.
Oh.Oh.
“Hey, how is ‘unfinished business’ defined, exactly?” I ask, fixing my gaze on a wannabe rockabilly ghost. “?’Cause I’m betting we can give these ghosties somenewbusiness to worry about instead.”
“Sabby! Look at you, so profesh!”
James barrels out of his vintage station wagon to wrap me in a hug. The last time I saw him, he had taken a break from interview prep to busk in Washington Square Park. He’s now sporting a bright-pink fauxhawk, which seems at odds with New England’s office culture. I’d comment on this, except there’s literally no time.
“I’m super great,” I say after he releases me. “Thanks for driving up last minute. Let’s get you inside. Come on.”
“There’s so much to catch up on! Your new business, your grand-mother.God, I’m sorry for your loss. Itwasa loss, right? You were so cryptic in your texts.”
“Inside, inside,” I say.
It’s probably best to get him and the band out of the parking lot. Now that twilight has fallen, the mansion’s pitched roof glows like a marijuana dispensary sign. James, as usual, has not noticed. He’s not one of those “noticing” people. It took him almost a month working at his public accounting internship before he realized they were calling him the wrong name, so of course it’s escaped him that this place is haunted. Moreover, he’s unflappable in the face of my brisk tone. As is his equally fauxhawked boyfriend, Eric. Like attracts like and all that.
“It was so sweet of you to invite us to play,” says Eric. When James steps back, he gives me a friendly squeeze. “You never know when the big break’s coming. Maybe this is it! We can leave our day jobs behind!”
“Yeaaah,” I say. James and his well-meaning, if slightly less-than-destined-for-stardom bandmates enthusiastically unpack the trunk. “It’s a themed wedding. I told you that, right?”
“You did,” chirps James. “We brought glittery eye shadow and pumpkin earrings.”
“The best we could do on short notice,” Eric laments.
