Irene arranged the sugar cubes with trembling precision, twelve in all, each nudged into place like bone-white dominoes. Outside, the wind stirred the hydrangeas, but inside her home, everything was perfectly still. The air smelled of lemon polish and something metallic, faint but lingering — like rusted pennies left in the sun. 

She moved carefully, folding linen napkins over bone china teacups, each one lined with thin red glass that caught the afternoon light just so. It was important, she thought, for everything to look beautiful. Beauty made things easier to swallow.

She played an eclectic assortment of music she’d chosen just for the occasion. Some songs leaned toward vintage waltzes slowed slightly off-tempo. Others were instrumental jazz, just a touch warped, like a vinyl left out in the sun. The music made her giddy. She straightened a chair a single inch to the left, then back again. Everything had to be perfect.

She hoped her guests had a healthy appetite. She hoped this batch was strong enough to help them.

A thick red liquid was stirred into the tea just after the kettle hissed. The final touch. Everything must be the best for this group.

She had chosen the three couples from her neighborhood with great care. When they arrived, each one stepped inside her grand home and paused, taking everything in. They were in awe of the grandeur and of the decor.

“Oh my gosh,” Steven smacked Jenn’s arm. “That’s a Hockney painting!”

“Who?” Casey came up behind them, her eyes already straying toward the hallway. “What do you think is back there?”

She pointed toward a darkened room tucked at the back of the house. 

“Please, this way,” Irene said. Her voice was soft but cut like a thread pulled taut.

They followed her into a grand dining room with tall ceilings, moody colors, and vintage decor mixed with sleek modern pieces. It was lavish, even beautiful, but there was something uneasy in the way the chandelier flickered ever so slightly. Each guest found themselves fighting the urge to look over their shoulders.

Irene clinked a silver spoon against her teacup. “Thank you all for coming,” she said warmly. “For several months now, I’ve opened my home to others to enjoy. I’ve always believed that a good hostess can change people. That good food and drinks can refresh one’s health.” She smiled. “I hope you enjoy.”

The table before them was a bounty of color and elegance: sliced fruits, small sandwiches, hot and iced teas, red sangria, glossy salads, and desserts stacked in elegant towers at the center. Everything was rich, curated — and distinctly red.

Claire bit into a toast topped with a ruby-colored jelly. Her husband Jerry noted that the wine had a slightly metallic tang. Each guest took cautious sips and polite bites, acquainting themselves with the bold flavors. Even the grapes were red.

Casey turned her teacup in her hand and frowned slightly. “This is... unique,” she murmured to Jenn. “Kind of raw. Like—earthy?”

“Tastes like I’m getting younger,” Steven said, grinning. 

“You should eat more then,” Jenn joked, and the others laughed lightly, if a bit too loud.

The mood shifted when Rick, who hadn’t said a word since arriving, cleared his throat. “I heard Vanessa went missing.”

The laughter paused. Forks rested against plates. A name none of them had said aloud yet. Vanessa had been to one of Irene’s parties last month.

Irene’s eyes didn’t waver. “Vanessa was radiant when she arrived,” she said calmly. “So full of life. So... generous.” She glanced at her tea, then back up at the table. “I do hope she’s well.” A quiet settled over the room.

“My mother used to say the body is like a garden,” Irene said softly, folding her hands in her lap. “It needs tending, careful pruning... and sometimes, something stronger in the soil when things start to wilt.” 

She smiled, distant. “I always thought if I could’ve found the right thing to feed her, maybe she’d still be blooming.”

Claire shifted in her chair. Jerry cleared his throat, reaching for his wine. 

Irene lifted her glass. “To good health. May none of you decay before your time.”

The guests raised their glasses, a touch slower than before.

They left half an hour later. All of them full, all of them smiling, and all of them strangely quiet. Some murmured how lovely it all was. Others avoided eye contact as they walked to their cars, their stomachs warm, their minds... uncertain. 

Inside, Irene watched them go. Her hands were still, her expression serene.

She opened a drawer in the corner of the dining room. Inside, a stack of driver’s licenses were carefully organized, laminated, and labeled. She pulled out one and stared at the photo.

“Thank you for your sacrifice,” she whispered to Vanessa’s face, and tucked it gently back into place.

Down in the cellar, the freezer groaned open. She examined one of the jars, its contents still bright and viable. One more week’s worth. Just enough for a final tea party.

She’d have to find another donor soon, and maybe someone healthier than the last. But tonight’s guests had been promising. Claire struggled with depression. Rick was a recovering alcoholic. Steven had battled cancer in his twenties. All of them carried something... vulnerable. Something Irene could help.

She would rest easy tonight, knowing they’d all live just a little longer. 

They never even tasted it.

But she could already see it working.