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

“Let go—!” I gasped.

I stared at the little boy in his shiny tuxedo. He tugged my arm again. “Ice cream,” he said. “Can you get me some ice cream?”

I turned to the altar and saw Peter Goode lift Rebecca off her feet. Guests oohed and aahed, touched by his romantic gesture. But I knew the truth. I knew he had murder on his mind.

If he kissed her . . . If he kissed her, all was lost.

“Later,” I told the kid. “Later. Okay?” I jerked free from his grasp. I jumped to my feet and shouted the last words of my spell.

A hush fell over the mesa as Peter set Rebecca back down on the ground. Without a kiss. No kiss! Peter turned to the cliff and raised his hands high above his head.

And performed a perfect cartwheel into the air and off the cliff. A perfect cartwheel to his death.

And now the silence was broken by cries of horror and moans of disbelief. People fainted and grabbed their chests and turned away, too late—too late because the horrifying scene was already imprinted in their minds and eyes.

Rebecca collapsed to her knees, covering her face as she sobbed, her veil falling over her head like a shield.

She was sad and shocked, I knew. But she was alive. And Ruth-Ann would continue to live. And my sister . . . My sister would live, too, and not be caught in the Fear family curse.

I had broken the curse. . . .

As I gazed over the scene, the color began to fade to shades of gray and black. The heavy-sweet aroma of the perfume faded. The sunlight dimmed, and the wedding guests all vanished. Rebecca and Ruth-Ann, her parents, her guests . . . all vanished into time.

And now nearly one hundred years passed. And here I was at the lodge on the day of my sister’s wedding. How eager was I to knock on her door after breakfast and ask if I could help get her ready.

She flung her door open and wrapped me in an excited hug. And for a moment, I thought she was hugging me because she knew I had saved her life.

But of course she was just feeling exuberant and loving and excited on her wedding day.

“You look beautiful already,” I told her. I saw that Taylor was waiting to help with her dress. “Is there anything I can do?” I asked.

Marissa nodded. “There are some packages for me at the front desk. Could you get them?”

Of course. Can I describe how happy I was at this new reality, this happy reality where Marissa didn’t die and disappear? I don’t think I can.

I waited at the front desk as a couple with two noisy, arguing kids checked in. A valet came to take their bags to their room.

“I believe you have some packages for my sister,” I said. I recognized Lisa, the young woman on duty.

“Yes, I do,” she said. Then she stopped. And squinted at me. “Hey,” she said.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

She moved to the wall and stopped in front of the framed photo from 1924. “Look,” she said, and pointed. “This girl in the old photo. You look just like her.”

“Huh? That’s crazy,” I said. I leaned over the counter and studied the photo. And yes, there I was, standing by the gathering of workers in 1924.

“You really look like her,” Lisa said. “You’re like twins.”

“Weird,” I said. “That’s totally weird.”