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

That all happened a little over a year ago. The memories came flooding back, I guess, because they were never really far from my mind. A year later, I still woke up in a cold sweat, my recurring dream of Aiden screaming, his blood splashing everywhere, the dream lingering, still filling me with horror and regret.

Marissa and I barely spoke after that. She went back to school, and stayed in Wisconsin all summer, taking a few courses, enjoying the new friends she had made there.

She told my parents that Aiden never came back to school. He just vanished without a word to her. She tried to track him down, just to see if his hand was healing, just to apologize one more time, but she had no luck.

Marissa didn’t come home until Thanksgiving.

She seemed the same, except that she had gained ten pounds. I guess that’s what people do in college. She blamed it on Wisconsin, all the beer and cheese.

She was still beautiful, of course. Still talented and beautiful. She played a flute sonata for Mom and Dad that was spectacular. She let me listen from the back of the room.

She still was barely speaking to me. Just “good morning” or “good night.” She never asked me a question about my life or my year, never tried to start a conversation.

Okay. I get it. I’d done a terrible thing. But it was time for Marissa to get over it. I had no idea how to win her over or break through the icy barrier she had built between us.

That winter break, she got back with Doug. It seemed only natural. And they made plans to get married. I knew it was at Doug’s urging. He was desperate to make sure another Aiden wouldn’t come along.

Doug was assistant manager at the furniture store now, and still taking courses toward a business degree. But I just didn’t think he was right for Marissa.

She was so artistic and talented and social. She needed to be surrounded by friends all the time. Doug’s idea of a good night was staying home, having a few beers, and watching whatever was on ESPN.

My parents instantly got involved in arranging the wedding, reserving the lodge, figuring out the invitation list, and all the other hundred things you have to do to organize a big deal like that. It seemed to me they immersed themselves in the project so they didn’t have to consider whether the marriage was a good thing for Marissa or not.

But that was my take on it.

I don’t remember a conversation in which my parents gave an opinion on the subject of Doug. Or even made a single remark about him. They just seemed to accept him as an inevitability. As if it was only natural. And, of course, they really didn’t have a choice in the matter.

Robby and I had a few short conversations about Doug. But by winter, Robby was obsessed with Nikki, and it was hard to get him to talk about anything else.

I was worried about him. Nikki was his first girlfriend, and he was completely out-of-his-mind crazy about her. And I hoped he wasn’t about to get hurt. He was up so high, the trip down would be a disaster.

Robby liked Doug. They were kind of pals. They spent hours in Robby’s room playing Halo Wars 2 and Call of Duty: Black Ops.

When Marissa was home on a break and Doug stayed for dinner, he and Robby discussed their games the whole time. And Marissa would roll her eyes and beg them to stop.

I knew video games bored her to tears.

With Marissa and Doug, I saw only problems. And I knew there was little I could do about it, because my sister and I had become so distant, with miles of anger and hurt between us.

The wedding plans went fine. I wasn’t really involved. No one asked me to help out with anything. It all went smoothly—until my parents announced to Robby that Nikki wasn’t on the guest list.

He went ballistic, of course. Exploded. He screamed and begged and pleaded and acted like your basic ten-year-old. And when his tantrums didn’t work, he threatened to stay home and skip the wedding.

No way he’d get away with that. But believe me, there were a lot of silent meals and slammed doors in my house. Robby spent more and more time at Nikki’s.

I spent a lot of time in the little attic room. I was eager to learn new magic. And it was a good escape from everything happening in my house.

I’d found a chapter on mind-control spells in one of the dusty old books. They were complicated and confusing, and I wondered if I was ready to perform any of them.

I felt bad for Robby, and I had the crazy idea that I could use one of the spells on Mom and Dad and make them change their minds about inviting Nikki.

At dinner one night, just the three of us, Dad’s favorite—spaghetti and sausage—on the table, I shut my eyes and concentrated on the spell. The spaghetti steamed on my face as I focused on the ancient words.

The spell required tremendous mind power. I practically had to go into a trance for my silent chant to work.

“Harmony? Are you okay?” Mom’s voice penetrated my concentration.

I ignored her and struggled to go deeper into my mind.

Please work. . . . Please work. . . .

When I opened my eyes, they were both staring at me. Dad was the first to grab his forehead. Then Mom uttered a gasp and began to rub her temples.

“I suddenly have such a splitting headache,” Mom groaned.

“Me too,” Dad said. “Is the spaghetti too hot?”

I had succeeded only in giving them both headaches. The spell was a horrible flop. I realized I wasn’t ready for the hard stuff. No way my feeble magic could help Robby.

So here we are. It’s June, a year after the whole Aiden thing. One whole year later. Tomorrow Marissa and Doug will be husband and wife.

I’ve had my fun. I played my little feather and squirrel tricks. I got back at Marissa for not making me maid of honor, or even including me in the wedding.

Taylor will be up there with her, and I’ll be sitting beside Robby and my parents. And I’m going to behave from now on, I swear. I’m just going to let it all play out.

So, the night before the big affair, I took a walk in the sweet fresh air, following the path through the flowers and the tall, fragrant grass.

And I knew I saw Aiden, with the little hat and the long strides, Aiden stepping out of the red sports car and moving like Aiden, leaning forward as if eager to get somewhere. I recognized him even in the shadows of the lodge parking lot.

But I didn’t believe my eyes. I hurried to my room to think about it all. I thought I was having some kind of flashback. Because Aiden didn’t belong here. Aiden was a horror story from a year ago, long gone, long banished to my nightmares.

Seeing him brought the nightmares back. And then I had a flash. I jumped up from my bed. It finally dawned on me that I could just call his room. Or maybe even go talk to him.

If it really was Aiden.

I returned to the front desk. A slender middle-aged man in a gray suit appeared from the back office, carrying a stack of files. He had straight, slicked-back black hair, dark eyes, and a serious expression.

I leaned on the counter and waited for him to set the files down. I wasn’t sure he had seen me. The brass name tag on his jacket read Akira Himuro. “Mr. Himuro?” I called.

He turned and put on a professional smile. “How can I help you?”

“I need to find a friend,” I said. “His name is Aiden Murray.”

Mr. Himuro stepped to the counter and typed some keys on the computer behind the desk. He nodded. “Yes. Mr. Aiden Murray.”

“Could you tell me his room number?” I asked.

“Oh, I am so sorry,” he replied. “Hotel policy. I’m not allowed to give room numbers. It’s a privacy thing, you know.”

“I know,” I said, tapping my fingers tensely on the countertop. “But . . . well . . . He’s a member of the wedding party. And I really have to get a message to him.”

Okay. I lied. I’m good at it. Sue me.

He gazed at the computer monitor and shook his head. “I’m so sorry. Company policy, you know.” He pointed to a telephone at the other end of the counter. “Just use the house phone. The operator will connect you to Mr. Murray, and he can tell you his room number.”

“Okay. Thanks,” I said.

“I hope you enjoy the wedding,” he said. “It’s supposed to be sunny and warm tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” I repeated.

I heard a musical ringtone. Mr. Himuro pulled a phone from his pants pocket. He raised it to his ear and walked off toward the back office.

As soon as he was out of sight, I spread both hands on the counter edge and hoisted myself onto the counter. Stretching my neck, I could read his computer monitor. I quickly saw he had left it on Aiden’s page.

Aiden Murray. Room 237.

Thirty seconds later, I stood outside Aiden’s door. I raised my fist three times to knock, but pulled my hand down each time. Maybe it would have been easier to talk to him on the phone. But I wanted to see his face when he told me what he was doing here.

My throat was suddenly dry. My hands were cold. I took a deep breath and finally managed to knock. “Aiden?”

I heard someone moving in there, walking to the door. “Yes. Who is it?”

“Aiden? It’s me. Harmony Fear.”

The door swung open. But just a crack. Just enough for him to stick his head out. “Harmony? Oh, hey.” He eyed me up and down.

He looked the same. Same scruff on his face. Same tousled, curly blond hair. He wore a T-shirt with the name of a band on it I’d never heard of, over tight dark jeans.

“Can I come in?” I asked, my voice trembling just a little.

He shrugged. “What for?”

That was cold.

I suddenly had a bad feeling about this conversation.

“What are you doing here?” I blurted out.

Why not come right to the point?

He stood blocking my view of the room behind him, the door only a little bit open. “No reason,” he said. His face was a blank. I couldn’t read his expression at all. I had the feeling someone was in the room with him, but I couldn’t see past him.

“Excuse me? You’re here for no reason?”

“I’m just here, Harmony. That’s all.” He made sure I could see he was annoyed by the question.

“That makes no sense at all,” I said.

“I know.”

“Why are you being so mysterious, Aiden?”

“I’m not. I told you. I’m just here.”

“For the wedding tomorrow?”

“No. Not really.”

This conversation was ridiculous.

“Are you still angry about your hand?” I asked. “Is that why you’re being so weird?”

“I’m not being weird.”

“Well, how is your hand?”

“Not great. But it’s getting better,” he said. Then he added, “Slowly.”

“So, come on, Aiden. Tell me. Why did you come to Marissa’s wedding?”

He just stared at me.

“To cause trouble?” I said. “To interfere? To wish her well? To see her one more time? To toast the happy couple?”

His eyes burned into mine. “Harmony, I’m sorry. I really don’t want to talk to you.”

He didn’t slam the door. But he closed it so hard the doorframe shook.