Drop Dead Gorgeous (Return to Fear Street Book 3)

I opened my eyes when I heard the three guys begin to shout. I saw the stunned looks on their faces. And I saw them start to scratch as their skin broke out.

“Oh, wow.” Flip began scratching his scalp with both hands. The other two were rubbing their reddening cheeks, scratching their arms, pawing at their stomachs.

Morgan’s eyes were wide. “What did you do?”

“It’s an itching spell,” I said. I watched them writhe and scratch and moan and suffer. “See how their skin has erupted? Their whole bodies will itch for hours.”

I pushed her to the door. Their angry shouts followed us.

“Witches!”

“We’ll find you! This isn’t finished!”

“Ow. Make it stop. Can you make it stop?”

“Come back. Make it stop. My skin . . . Ow . . . My skin.”

They were still screaming when the door slid shut behind us. A minute later, I was pulling out of the mall, onto Division Street.

Morgan shook her head. She stared at me as if seeing me for the first time. “Sometimes I forget you’re a Fear,” she said.

“Sometimes I try to forget it,” I replied. I smiled. “But other times it comes in handy. Especially when you’re dealing with idiots.”

It was evening rush hour. Traffic was backed up.

Morgan was still gazing at me. “I don’t believe you did that to them. How?”

“There’s a library no one uses,” I said. “It’s like a hidden room near the attic stairs in my house. It’s jammed with old books, all dusty and yellow and crumbling. The Fear family library. Handed down from all my eeeeeevil ancestors.”

We both laughed. I’m not sure that was a joke. But there was something funny about having evil ancestors. And everyone in Shadyside knew about my family. I mean, the Fear family history was actually taught in ninth grade. Can you imagine?

“I’ve taught myself a lot of magic,” I said, slowing for a red light.

Morgan looked thoughtful. “Do your parents know?”

I snickered. “They don’t have a clue.”

The light changed. We moved through the cross street. “Do you think you could teach me some spells?” Morgan asked, fiddling with the beads at her neck.

I laughed. “You want to be a witch, too?”

“Of course,” she said. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“Where are we going?” I asked. “Your house?”

“No. I promised Lonny . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“Promised him what?”

“That we’d pick him up. His car is in the shop, and he’s getting off early today.”

I made a right onto Park Drive. A little kid on a scooter made a fast stop on the sidewalk and almost toppled over. His mother came running up behind him.

“Can we talk about Lonny?” I said.

She fiddled with the beads. “No. I know how you feel about him. You’re wrong.”

“You don’t know how I feel about Lonny,” I said. “Because we never really discuss Lonny.”

“We don’t have to. I know how you feel, Morgan. You think—”

“I think he’s using you.”

“Okay. There. You said it. Feel better now?” Pink circles formed on her cheeks. I could tell she was getting angry. I’d gone too far.

“Sorry,” I said. “But . . . seriously, Morgan. Do you really think he cares about you?”

The pink circles darkened to red. “Yes. For sure. Of course he does.” We drove on in silence for a few blocks. “Know what Lonny is going to do for my birthday tomorrow?” Morgan asked. “He said he’s going to tattoo my name on his arm.”

“He told you that?”

She nodded. “Doesn’t that prove he cares?”

I didn’t answer. I thought of a few sarcastic things to say, but I held myself back. I didn’t say them.

“I can read your thoughts,” Morgan said. “Maybe I’m a witch, too. A mind reader. I know you’re still thinking bad things about Lonny. But you are so wrong about him.”

The tattoo parlor was on the corner at River Road. I made a left turn and was pleased to see a parking space right in front.

I shut off the engine and we climbed out. Morgan brushed back her hair with one hand and straightened her skirt.

The late-afternoon sunlight filled the front window of the tattoo parlor. Above the door, a red-and-blue neon sign announced INK, INC.

An elderly woman leaning on a walker came out of the little grocery store next door. She had a bag of groceries resting on the tray of her walker. She narrowed her eyes at us suspiciously. Then turned and moved off slowly in the other direction.

Morgan and I stepped onto the sidewalk. We made our way to the front window and, shielding our eyes from the sunlight, peered inside.

And Morgan opened her mouth in a shriek of horror.