Bloodbath

by Stephanie Ahn

  Nikki’s face lights up. “We do, actually! How’d you know?”

  Isabella chuckles. “Because Harry here is useless as balls on a dildo when it comes to technology. Come on in, and close the door.” She balances the food carton precariously in her lap as she spins around.

  “You can use the balls as a handle sometimes,” I mutter.

  We follow Izzy into her living room, which is currently occupied by more takeout boxes and cartons. They’re centered around a wooden table where a silver laptop lies open with lines of colorful code sprawling across its screen, which is in turn faced by a blue canvas couch. There’s a TV over in the corner, with a matching blue armchair and a few beanbags in front of it. It’s a minimalistic setup with plenty of open space. Once Isabella enters the scene with her frizzy brunet hair and electric blue-and-red flannel, the air of neat bachelorette domesticity is complete.

  “Working from home?” I ask.

  “Yup. Deadlines, man. They’re kicking my ass.” Isabella rounds the table, gathering up a whole host of paper plates and disposable chopsticks, then dumping them in the trash.

  “Is that why you haven’t been DJing lately?”

  Isabella sighs. “I wish I could, but my day job comes first. And I have to work overtime because my roommate just bailed on me.”

  I feel an instinctive pang of worry, which I carefully extract from my voice before speaking. “You’re here alone? Your brother still comes over on Wednesdays, right?”

  “Wednesdays and weekends.” She looks me straight in the eye. “Don’t worry about me, Harry. I know my own needs and how to meet them better than anyone else. If I needed help, I’d have asked for it already.”

  The guilt must show on my face, because she laughs unapologetically and makes her way over to the table. Nikki and I sit at an angle to her on the blue couch. Isabella picks up a half-full bag of wonton chips, contemplates them for a second, then pops one in her mouth. “So,” she says around a mouthful of crunch, putting up her hair with an elastic, “where’s the broken tech?”

  Nikki’s already holding her phone out to me. I hand it to Isabella. “It’s not broken,” I explain. “There’s supposed to be some kind of content on this phone related to a woman’s disappearance, but it’s either hidden or missing.”

  “Ah, so this is for a case?”

  “Yup.”

  Izzy picks up a cable and plugs the phone into her computer. There’s a pair of plastic, red-rimmed reading glasses perched on top of her head; she flicks them down onto the bridge of her nose as she squints at the laptop screen.

  “So, um, how do you guys know each other?” Nikki asks tentatively.

  “Met at a dyke bar,” Isabella answers without even looking up. Her fingers flutter over the keyboard, opening and closing windows at a pace too quick for me to track. “I was the DJ, and she staggered up to me to tell me my music was ‘magic.’ She looked pretty plastered and I figured she was hitting on me, so I just smiled and thanked her.”

  I pout. “I was hitting on you!”

  “See, there you go. But then it turns out she also meant it literally. And she was trying to slip a boob out of her tank top.”

  “I know what drunk me is like, I censored myself in advance.”

  “Electrical tape over your nipples doesn’t count as modesty, Harry. Okay, this cache is useless, moving onto the next.”

  Nikki leans over to get Izzy’s attention. “Wait, what did you mean earlier? About how she ‘meant it literally?’”

  Izzy chuckles. “She believes in magic.”

  Nikki frowns. “I believe in magic. I have a magic choker my other witch friend gave me.”

  The tk-tk-tk-ing of Isabella’s fingertips on the keys stops. She stares quizzically at Nikki and the colorful braid of strings around her throat, then at me. Then she shrugs and goes back to typing.

  I clear my throat. “For the record, the witch friend is the missing person we’re looking for.”

  “Ah. Of course. Wouldn’t expect anything else.”

  Nikki turns toward me, eyes wide. “She doesn’t believe in magic?”

  “Of course not. She believes in things like science and technology. She’s a programmer, after all.” I give her a big fat wink while Nikki just blinks in confusion. Isabella huffs out a sigh, rolling her eyes.

  “You act like I’m missing some cosmic joke just because I don’t believe I’m Hogwarts material.”

  “You have a gift, I’m telling you.”

  “Sure, I’ll accept that. But that doesn’t mean I’m a witch, just a really good DJ.”

  “Seriously, Izzy, you could blow minds. Maybe literally, if you got really good.” I have, in fact, watched a particularly lively subway busker play a note on her electric violin that imploded every rat skull within a twenty-meter radius. The busker winked at me after that. I gave her a twenty-dollar tip and went home feeling a volatile mix of terror and arousal I’ll never forget.

  Izzy smiles despite herself and chuckles. “Sure, sure. As long as you’re paying me fair money to keep up that website of yours, we’re cool. Okay, I think I’ve just about scrubbed this thing clean. There’s nothing encrypted or hidden on this phone.”

  “Oh, sorry. I guess this was a waste of time then.”

  Nikki sags. But Isabella puts up a finger before I can reach for the phone. “I’m not done yet, let me look for deleted content.” She takes a second to nudge her glasses back into place, and then her fingers are flying again. “Ah, there we go. Man, that’s a shit ton of deleted texts.”

  I blink. “You can delete text messages?”

  Isabella gives a long-suffering sigh. “You’re a millennial, Harry. You’re supposed to know these things.” A list pops up on the screen, and she scrolls through it. “Huh. These are all from someone named ‘Michael.’ Is he related to the case?”

  Nikki stiffens. “Um, no. He’s—an ex.”

  Isabella takes the hint, quicker than I would’ve. Her eyes flicker once to the cast on Nikki’s arm, then back to her flashing computer screen. There’s no physical change, but her demeanor softens. “Right then, we can ignore those. Wait. What’s your missing friend’s name?”

  “Joy,” Nikki and I both chime at the same time.

  Isabella stares hard at the screen. “…I think you two want to take a look at this.”

  She tilts her laptop screen so we can get a better look, showing us a series of cheery blue and green text bubbles.

  joyh elp me hes goign to kill me

  ges here pls help me

  hes throwinnng things hes going to lkill me

  whwre r u pls hel

  Nikki looks like she’s been punched in the gut. “I—I never sent those,” she stutters. “I swear, I never—I don’t remember—”

  “It’s okay, I know you didn’t send them,” I say immediately, turning to her.

  “But—but—” She gulps for air, each gasp louder and hoarser than the last. “How did he—my phone, how did he, did he—my sisters live in that apartment—”

  “You’re in a safe place, Nikki,” Izzy murmurs. “We’re here, and we’re going to figure this out. Stay with us, okay?”

  Nikki nods frantically, but her chest jumps like she’s hiccuping out of control. “I’m sorry, s-sorry—sorry for being—s-sorry—” Her sentence gets lost in her hectic breathing.

  “It’s not your fault, and there’s nothing you need to apologize for. You’re having a totally normal reaction to something terrifying,” Isabella continues. She reaches for a half-full glass bottle on the table. “Do you want something to drink?”

  Izzy has to ask a few more times, but Nikki eventually hears her and reaches for the bottle, muttering, “Thank you, sorry, thank you,” as she does. She has to pause between sips to breathe, and her eyes still aren’t fully landing on either Izzy or me.

  I reach toward her out of instinct—then remember that she doesn’t want to be touched, and stuff my hands into my pockets instead. The round plastic of Jenny’s
Tupperware is there to greet me like a helpful hint.

  “Hey, Nikki,” I say, fishing it out. “You hungry by any chance?”

  Nikki and Isabella turn to me.

  “Harry,” says Izzy, “the fuck is that?”

  I pop the latch on the Tupperware; both Izzy and Nikki start.

  “Oh,” Nikki sniffles, “it’s a cupcake.”

  “Yeah, sorry it’s a bit smushed. I got it from a kitchen witch’s house, and I heard it helps with emotions. I don’t know if it’ll help but—”

  Nikki’s already taking the Tupperware from my hands, like she just gravitated helplessly toward it.

  “Oh, um, okay. It’s kind of old, I don’t know if you wanna—”

  First bite, Nikki’s erratic breathing evens out. Second bite, the shaking of her shoulders stills. Third bite, it’s like the four walls of Isabella’s apartment have fallen away, replaced by a sky as blue as the cupcake’s frosting. Isabella and I may as well be invisible, for all the shits Nikki gives.

  Izzy stares at the serenity on Nikki’s face. She pushes her glasses up to her hair, then stares at her again. Then she turns to me. “Harry,” she says, “did you just feed this girl a drugged cupcake?”

  “I don’t think it’s a drugged cupcake? As far as I know, it was just made by a talented chef.” Talented chef, my ass. If I didn’t already know David was a kitchen witch, this would be some pretty confirmation-y evidence.

  Nikki smacks the last bits of frosting and sprinkles off her lips, then starts sucking leftover crumbs off her fingertips. “That,” she murmurs, “was really, really good. Is there any more?”

  “Sorry, I only had the one.”

  “Oh, okay. That’s okay too.” She smooths out the creases in her raincoat and sits up slowly, her new posture adding an extra three inches to her height. There’s this clear intention in her movements, like she’s going from A to B with the utmost simplicity, no hesitation or middleman.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Still scared. But I can control it now. We were talking about texts, yeah?”

  “Um… yes. Texts,” Isabella says, cautiously. “If you’re… up for it, there’s more after what you guys saw.”

  Nikki’s placid expression wavers, but doesn’t crumble. “This is what Joy’s vision wanted us to see, it must explain her disappearance.”

  Isabella’s eye twitches at the word “vision,” but shows her laptop screen to us again.

  [Joy]: where r u??

  home

  hiiding

  [Joy]: stay where u r! im coming to get u

  i am

  pls hurry

  [Joy]: im on my way

  [Joy]: ill be there soon i promise

  [Joy]: its gonna be ok

  [Joy]: nikki?? r u there???

  “These texts are timestamped at around 4 a.m. last night,” Isabella says. “Nikki, where were you then? And did you have your phone with you?”

  Nikki’s brow furrows. “I don’t know, I was asleep. But I remember I went to plug my phone in before I went to bed, but I couldn’t find it in my coat pocket. I looked everywhere for it, I even used that tracking app thingy, but it said my phone was dead and the last place it had been was my place. I couldn’t even ask my sisters if they’d seen it, because they’re both in Connecticut doing college visits with my parents. I tried to sleep, kept waking up, decided to stay up and do portfolio work until the sun came up—and when I left the apartment to get food, I found my phone in the hallway right in front of the elevator. I definitely thought it was weird, I even got paranoid that it was my ex, but he hasn’t gotten any more creative with the threatening bullcrap he keeps sending me from anonymous accounts. I really don’t think he’d keep it a secret if he knew where I live now.”

  I push myself upright and start pacing the hardwood floor. “This was obviously premeditated. Whoever took Joy watched her to figure out how best to lure her out and catch her off guard; they didn’t want to break into her apartment and risk a loud fight. They wanted to make it look like she left on her own and just never came back. I only got suspicious because I got involved in two other missing person’s cases at the same time; otherwise, no one would have known anything for days.”

  The silence is violent. The cupcake may have quelled Nikki’s panic attack, but her fear and dread is obvious. Isabella says, “I hate to be the one bringing this up, but… do we call the cops?”

  More silence. Nikki visibly winces. I hesitate before I speak.

  “Nikki… you’d have to give a statement. Your phone and your testimony that you didn’t send those texts is all the evidence we have.”

  Nikki sucks in a breath through her teeth. “I’m… not sure. The thing is, I mean, it’s…” She does that thing she did earlier, twitching her hand like she’s trying to paint her explanation onto the air in front of her. Then she blows an over-exaggerated breath out of her cheeks. “…I’m a brown trans woman, and the police already yelled at me last week when I reported my stalker ex for the second time. I don’t think they’re too keen on listening to me about, well, anything.”

  “Ah, shit,” I say.

  “Fucking pigs,” Isabella grumbles.

  I massage my temple with one hand, feeling all sorts of muddy feelings, trying to salvage something productive out of them all. “Fuck, this sucks. But… regardless of that, thank you for helping us, Izzy. I really owe you one.”

  “You owe me lots. But not this time. Whatever this is, I’m doing it for free.” She turns to Nikki with genuine kindness in her eyes. “I really hope you find your friend.”

  We’ve gotten pretty much all we can from Nikki’s phone; figuring out what comes next is the problem. I pace near the doorway, mulling things over, while Nikki stays sedentary and Isabella putters around with her computer equipment.

  If David the kitchen witch didn’t realize his potential but was taken anyway, the same thing might happen to Izzy. But Isabella doesn’t believe in “hocus pocus,” so she’d be hard-pressed to defend herself against something she doesn’t believe in when it comes knocking at her door. Maybe if her roommate weren’t gone and she had someone to watch her back…

  I see Nikki in the corner of the room, sinking into a cushy green beanbag the size of a mastiff. Whatever mojo the cupcake provided must be running out, because I can see her limbs trembling from all the way across the room. She pulls her free arm into her coat and curls up inside it, turning herself into a mustard yellow camping tent with a little head sticking out the top.

  I bite my lip. “Hey, Izzy,” I call softly. “About Nikki. Do you think she could stay with you?”

  Isabella looks startled. She rolls her chair toward me, whispering, “Here?”

  “Yeah, here. Because, well—someone stole from her because they knew she was connected to Joy, and they knew where she lived down to right floor of the right apartment building. She said she’s alone in that apartment, so now she’s gotta worry about two creeps in her life, and Joy’s not around to help, so…”

  Isabella turns to peek at the anxiety-stricken, yellow mini-mountain in the corner. “Alright, yeah, she shouldn’t be alone. If she needs to, she can stay with me.”

  Silence. I chew the inside of my cheek as she waits for me to speak.

  “Izzy… Look, you’re not going to believe me, but—I think you could be in trouble. I know you don’t believe in magic—”

  “Especially not the bit where you keep telling me I’m a witch.”

  “Yeah, understandable. But there was a guy like you that got taken. He might not have believed in magic either, but he had the potential…”

  “The same potential you keep saying I have.”

  I say nothing, just nod.

  Izzy sighs. She screws up her lips to one side, eyes wandering around the room, then back to me. “…Look, Harry. I’m not going to lie when I say I think you’re a nutcase. Friendly nutcase, good intentions, not all that different from other folk when it comes down to it, but still a nutc
ase. Honestly, I’m only alright with all your magic talk because you’ve never tried to sell me a ‘cure’ for my legs. But I also know you help people—how, I’ve got no freaking clue. But you know your shit. If you say I fit a pattern, I’m going to trust you on it. But you don’t have to worry about protecting me.”

  She leads me to her computer room—literally an entire room dedicated to her pristine computer setup and all the business conducted on it. How much money does she even make? And why didn’t I study programming in high school? Isabella leaves her glasses on the desk, then hooks a finger under her keyboard and lifts; there’s a small, flat key taped under it. She uses it to unlock the top drawer of her desk. Under a stack of papers is a sleek, heavy handgun, coal black with a matte finish, practical and deadly in every way. She opens another drawer and finds a clip, which she slides into the gun with a smooth click! She checks the safety with fluid, practiced movements and lays the gun on her desk, one hand resting lightly on top of it. She faces me with smoldering eyes.

  “I’ll protect myself.”

  I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t more than a little turned on by that. I nod. “Whoever this is, they have a history of taking people when they’re alone outdoors. If you’re going anywhere, even just a short distance away, take that with you. Maybe Nikki, too. She’s sensitive, and she knows the stuff I know. She’ll notice warning signs you won’t.”

  She gives me a confident nod in response, but I’m still uneasy. Whoever this mysterious kidnapper is, the fact that they managed to nab Joy is… disturbing, at the very least. Joy might look small and frail, but she’s still a witch. She quit her curriculum too early to get to the finer bits of combat magic, but she would have known the basics, like putting up a shield, defensive wards, possibly a few elemental projectiles. Plus, she grew up in a harsh environment. Point of fact is, Joy knows how to protect herself; a regular old mook couldn’t have taken her down.