Part 7: Happy Birthday, Sweet Sixteen

Previously in the Vines inquiry— Frank stumbled upon a strange gathering his parents hosted in the family manor. Meanwhile, the blizzard that has shut down travel off the island worsens, alerting Rosalind and Richard to something lurking by the front door.

A few more drops of blood landed on the freshly-waxed floor.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” said Rosalind, brushing off Richard’s help. “I got excited. Reached for the pieces without thinking.”

“Still sneaking cookies from the oven?” Nia’s voice came from the parlor.

The empty parlor, thought Frank.

Richard and Rosalind spared the room a glance, but nothing more. 

“It’s here. An omen. It’s shattered. It’s here, Rick,” said Rosalind. “Nia. Feenuín’s Tears. It’s back.” She held the decimated remains of Dick’s childhood ornament. The frustrating rendering.

Frank’s parents looked at each other in silence. He could rarely think of a time they looked happier. Both of them held their breath as they exalted the pile of smashed glass in Rosalind’s hands, like it was runes that might reveal a deeper truth. Her smile returned and she strode towards the parlor, so focused she never even glanced towards the staircase. Richard followed her with the same conviction. 

“When will it start?” said Richard.

“It already has!” she squealed like a child at, well, at Christmastime.

“We’ll need to be ready. To snatch it back from that townie whore,” said Nia. Everyone seemed to agree as sounds of shoving aside furniture and pulling old tomes from the surrounding shelves overtook the fireplace’s crackle.

“We’re going to make it work this time, Rick. I swear.” Rosalind’s voice was rushed. Desperate. “I demand it. I won’t be alone again.” 

“I know, darling. I’m with you. We’re all with you.” A long pause, until—