You May Now Kill the Bride (Return to Fear Street Book 1)

With a desperate leap, I hurtled behind him and flew into the air. I wrapped my arms around his waist and pulled him from the cliff edge.

My heart was pounding so hard my chest hurt, and I struggled to catch my breath. I held on to Max, my arms tightly around him, until he ducked and squirmed away.

He tossed back his head and uttered an insane giggle. “Harmony, did you really think I was going to fall?”

I stared at him, my mouth open, still unable to breathe. “You mean . . . you did that on purpose?”

He giggled some more, and nodded with a grin plastered on his face.

“You devil!” I cried. I grabbed him with both hands and shook him as hard as I could. It only made him laugh harder.

Then, so pleased with his little joke, Max took off without another word, running on his spindly legs down the path to the lodge. And I saw his dad, my uncle Kenny, standing at the entrance, watching us.

Did Kenny see the close call on the cliff edge? If he did, I’d hear about it. Uncle Kenny looks like a lemon with his round face and his shaved head. And he acts sour as a lemon, too.

Make a list of my least favorite family members, and look—there’s Kenny at number one. He’s bitter about his divorce, even though he got full custody of Max. He’s bitter because he’s an assistant manager at some kind of cardboard box factory, not even an actual manager.

He has a total thing about my dad. Kenny is Dad’s older brother, but Dad has had all the success with his real estate properties all over the state. Dad has made a lot of money. We have a pretty nice house in North Hills, the fancy part of Shadyside, while Kenny and Max live in an apartment in the Old Village.

But so what?

Is that a reason to be a total obnoxious jerk?

And wouldn’t you know it—Kenny gave the first toast at the rehearsal dinner that night.

The whole wedding party was at one long table in the dining room. The lodge is very rustic. The pinewood walls and the low, log rafters across the ceiling give it a real pioneer look.

Pink and white lilacs were everywhere. That’s Marissa’s favorite flower. And everything about the wedding is pink and white.

Marissa sat in the center, across the table from me, and she looked beautiful. She had her hair down, falling past her shoulders, the top held back loosely with sparkly rose-gold bobby pins. She wore a pale pink sweater over faded jeans. It wasn’t a dress-up kind of event.

Doug sat next to her, and she kept squeezing his hand. He should have been smiling, right? I mean, it’s a wedding dinner, you know? But he had his bull face on for some reason and didn’t even look at Marissa that much.

I was on the other side, down at the far end of the table, next to Robby, and then Max, and then Uncle Kenny at the very end.

My parents were a mile down in the other direction. But somehow I managed to hear their whispered conversation. And I’m pretty sure I heard Dad telling Mom, “What was wrong with that nice med student, Aiden? I wish Marissa was marrying him tomorrow.”

Everyone was talking, and there was a lot of clatter of dishes and silverware. But I’m sure I heard Dad correctly. Mom’s face turned red. She’s the easiest blusher on the planet. I didn’t hear her reply.

I knew they both preferred Aiden, with his plans to be an orthopedic surgeon. He was handsome and well dressed. I thought he was too pretty and too full of himself. But I haven’t liked any of Marissa’s boyfriends.

Anyway, it didn’t matter. Aiden was gone.

The dinner was going pretty well. I mean, whenever the Fear family gets together, it isn’t all sweetness and light, or peaches and cream, or whatever the expression is. We all have strong personalities and usually the personalities clash.

We were all here for a wedding, however, and for once, everyone was on their best behavior.

Well . . . except for Max. Maybe he was excited because it was a big party. But he kept waving his empty glass in the air and shouting, “Wine! I want wine! I want wine!”

Uncle Kenny thought it was hilarious. He didn’t do anything to stop Max. And that encouraged my little cousin to keep his shouts up even longer.

It was a nice meal. A creamy Caesar salad, followed by lobster bisque, then chicken and mashed potatoes, and Brussels sprouts with chestnuts and bacon.

I kept watching Marissa and Doug. I was waiting for Doug to smile just once. But he ate with that same flat expression on his face and didn’t talk much to Marissa or to my aunt Hannah, who sat on his other side.

Hannah spent her time talking to Grandpa Ernie Fear. Everyone calls him Grandpa Bud. I don’t know why. Bud is my dad’s father. He’s got to be eighty-five or more, but he’s as sharp and energetic as anyone. He’s even on Facebook. He’s an old white-haired rascal, and he has to be my favorite of everyone in the family.

When Uncle Kenny began tapping his glass with his fork and stood up to give a toast, my throat clenched up. I had this feeling of dread, mainly because Uncle Kenny always insists on giving the first toast at any party, and he usually embarrasses himself and the people he is toasting.

Well, he didn’t fail me.

Kenny raised his nearly full glass of red wine. Max tugged his shirt. “Dad, what’s for dessert?”

Kenny shoved his hand away. “Max, I’m giving a toast.” Kenny cleared his throat for a long time. “Hello, everybody. Can you hear me?” he boomed. “I seem to be down at the far end of the table. Someone put me down here in Siberia. Guess I’m being punished for something, ha-ha.”

No one reacted to that. We all know how Kenny likes to complain.

The ceiling light shone over Kenny’s lemon head. He really did look like a talking lightbulb.

“I know the wedding is going to be done better than my chicken,” Kenny continued. “It was a little pink inside. Doug and Marissa, I hope salmonella isn’t one of your wedding gifts! Ha-ha-ha.”

Kenny has a horrible, grating laugh. Kind of a choking sound. It sounds more like vomiting than laughing.

“But what’s a little raw chicken on such a happy occasion?” I saw Mom down at the other end roll her eyes and groan. Marissa squeezed Doug’s hand. Her expression was tense.

“I want to toast a beautiful bride,” Kenny said, shoving his raised glass toward Marissa. “Of course, I’ve known Marissa since she was born and, believe me, she wasn’t always this pretty. Face facts. You were an ugly baby, Marissa. You looked a lot like Yoda—you know—from the Star Wars movies, except maybe not as cute.”

Kenny’s grin grew wider. He thought he was being hilarious. Didn’t he notice no one was laughing?

“And now look what you’ve turned out to be,” he continued. “So beautiful and so graceful and artistic. I mean, really.”

He lowered his glass. “Marissa, do you remember the first time you were onstage? What were you—first grade? Kindergarten, maybe. That Easter show at your school. And when you went out there, you were so scared, you peed on the stage? Remember? They had to stop the show and mop it up?”

A few people laughed uncomfortable laughter. Marissa tried to push a smile on her face, but she couldn’t hide her embarrassment. Doug laughed and shook his head.

I could feel the tension around the table. I shut my eyes and prayed, Please make him stop. Please let this be over.

But Kenny droned on. “I’m just pushing your buttons, Marissa. It’s all said with love, believe me. Of course, I’ve got some other good stories to share with Doug. But this isn’t the time. I just want to say—unnnnnh—”

I still had my eyes closed, muttering to myself. But I snapped alert when Uncle Kenny started to choke.

He coughed a bit, a hoarse cough. Then his eyes bulged and his face turned bright red, and he made horrible choking sounds. The wineglass fell out of his hand and crashed onto his dinner plate, and wine ran over the table.

I jumped to my feet and watched as Kenny, choking, reached into his mouth. His fingers fumbled inside his mouth. We all gasped when he pulled out a large gray feather.

It was like a pigeon feather, only maybe a little bigger. Kenny held it in front of him. His hand was shaking. He squinted at it in disbelief.

“The chicken really was undercooked!” Grandpa Bud joked.

Kenny thought the danger was over. But he started to gag again. He was wheezing and choking. He reached into his mouth, and another long feather slid out.

“Uh . . . I . . .” He tried to talk. But he started to choke again. The two feathers had fallen onto his wine-soaked dinner plate. And now he pulled a third one, an even longer feather, from his open mouth.

People jumped to their feet. Mom buried her head in her hands. Dad was hurrying toward our end of the table. “We need a doctor,” he shouted. “Someone call 911!”

Doug pulled out his phone and started to call. Marissa had turned her back. She hates anything ugly or scary.

Kenny slid another feather from his mouth. Then, his shoulders heaving, his face as purple as a plum, he pulled out two more.

“What is going on?”

“How is this happening?”

“Is it some kind of trick? Is this one of his awful jokes?”

“It’s impossible. I’m sick. He’s making me sick.”

The roar of voices rang off the low rafters. Everyone was up from the table now. Max was standing on his chair, staring at his father and bawling his head off, big tears running down his cheeks.

“911 isn’t answering!” Doug shouted over the confused, horrified voices. “It just keeps ringing.”

Dad and I helped Kenny down to the floor. Kenny pulled out another handful of feathers. His hands were shaking and he was making horrible gagging sounds.

We rested him sitting up against the wall. He gazed up at us, kind of glassy-eyed, like he was in shock. There were long gray feathers everywhere. Piled on the table, scattered on the floor. Kenny groaned and made raw animal noises. He was breathing so hard, his chest heaved up and down.

And then the horrible throat sounds stopped. Kenny slumped forward, shut his eyes, and didn’t move.

“Kenny? Kenny?” Dad grabbed him and shook him. “Kenny?”

Holding on to Kenny, Dad turned to me, his face wide with horror. “I think he’s dead.”