It was about a week before someone from HR called Naomi to ask if she knew where Joan was.  Joan's more immediate co-workers had all been contacted, and no one knew that Joan had gone anywhere after work besides straight home.

Naomi's work with Stefan was still professional if somewhat relaxed.  She felt she very comfortable with him, even more so than with Rick.  She seized the next opportunity they were alone together to talk.

"I really wish I could have done it," she said.  "She was just too much at once."

"More for me," he replied, chuckling.

"Is there any way to make them smaller?"

"Sure.  Each tap at the end of the charm halves their size.  We took her—and you—down to one-sixteenth.  Do you think you could handle one-thirty-second?"

"No problem!" she said, losing herself in thought.

Eventually a police detective asked to see Naomi and the rest of Joan's co-workers.  Naomi was ready to lie about not having seen Joan that day after work, but she was unprepared for the detective's last question.

"Did Joan have any enemies that you know of, anyone at work that might have a grudge against her for any reason?"

Joan hadn't had any "enemies," but like everyone else who worked in Records over the past year Joan did everything she could to avoid Phil, their former supervisor.  Not too long ago, she had told Naomi to stay away from Cafe Biblio on Vine, as Phil was known to hang out there.

"Um, no," Naomi stumbled, hoping to sound as if the very idea of people having enemies was foreign to her.

"That's fine," the detective said perfunctorily.

Perhaps unwisely, Naomi dragged out the interview with a question of her own.  "What do you think happened to her?"

Fortunately, the detective was less guarded with her information.  "Well, her cell phone records indicate that Joan—or at least her phone—stayed in the building about a half-hour after she was last seen in her office, then she took the train to her usual stop.  There's no more data after that, so her phone must have been shut off at that point."

"I sure hope she's okay," said Naomi.

"So do I," said the detective, who probably didn't notice Naomi's tongue dart out and run over her upper lip.

***

As Naomi strolled down Vine Street she caught her reflection in a thrift shop window as she paused to check herself out.  Completely harmless, she thought.  No one would suspect a thing.

She walked another half-block to the cafe and casually ordered a drip coffee, paying cash.  Scanning the tables, she saw him furiously typing at his laptop and nursing a huge latte.

"Hey, Phil,"  she chirped.

Phil looked up, his brow instantly furrowing, his mouth falling open slightly.  She endured his confused glare for at least five seconds until his face relaxed into a patronizing smirk of surprise.

"Naomi," he said.  "How have you been?"

"Great!" she replied.  "A couple of months after you left, I got promoted to Processing."

"Oh yeah?  How's that workin' out?"

"Great!" she repeated.  "You're still doing free-lance stuff, right?"

"Correct," he said sniffily.  "You have to make the right contacts, but it beats having to answer to some asshole every day."

"I'll bet," she said, nodding knowingly.

"So what brings you to this wretched hive of scum and villainy?" he asked, giving his eyebrows a workout.

"Oh, I finally got Rick to agree to some spring cleaning, and I'm getting rid of some of his old comics and stuff over at Gary's Grimoires."

Phil's eyes narrowed.  "By 'old comics and stuff,' does that include his back issues of White Dwarf?"

"I—I think so, yeah.  Why?"

"All of them?"

"Pretty sure."

"He could make a fortune on eBay!"

"Well, Rick never has concerned himself too much with money.  He just wants them gone."

Phil rubbed his chin for a moment.  "I could take them off your hands, if you like," he said with studied indifference.

"Oh—okay," said Naomi slowly.

"How much do you want for them?"

"I don't know; fifty bucks?"  Naomi had looked up the last such sale on eBay; it was two years ago when a similar collection had sold for five times as much.

Phil pursed his lips.  "Howabout forty?" he offered.

"Uh, okay!" said Naomi, brightening.

"Cool," said Phil, nodding slowly and smiling.

Naomi was about to say more, but she was interrupted by a tap on her shoulder.  She turned to see Stefan standing there, holding a latte and smiling quizzingly at Phil.

"Oh, hi!" gushed Naomi.  She turned to Phil and said, "Phil, do you remember Stefan?  He's my boss in Processing."

"Sure," said Phil, standing up to his six-foot-one height that Naomi remembered from too many tantrums.  Stefan switched his drink to his other hand and leaned forward to shake Phil's.

"How's life outside our small pond?" asked Stefan.

"Awesome," replied Phil.  "Lots of room out here."

"Well, you know what they say; there's always a bigger fish."

Phil snorted and turned back to Naomi.  "You wanna take care of those mags now?" he said, not really asking.

"Sure," she said.  "They're in my car, in the plaza garage."

Phil drained his cup and started packing his laptop.

"What's the deal?" Stefan asked amiably, looking first to Phil, then Naomi.

"Oh, I'm selling Phil some of Rick's old magazines."

"Which ones?"

"White, uh, Dwarf, I think."

"I already closed the deal; they're mine," barked Phil, finally ready to leave.

Stefan put up a placating hand.  "No worries, just curious.  Mind if I tag along?"

Phil scowled at Stefan, but Naomi pre-empted any objection.  "No, that's cool.  There's a good sushi place I can show you afterwards."

"Raw fish?" grumped Phil.  "Don't make me puke."

Naomi just shrugged and smiled as she led them to the garage.  She told Phil what she liked about her new position, and Phil did a poor job of pretending that he cared.  She steered the conversation to how funny her new co-workers were, and as they neared the lonely corner of the garage where her car was parked, she stopped them and turned to Stefan.

"Show Phil your magic trick!" she said.

Phil's impatience had been building since he laid eyes on Stefan, and now his sigh spilled over into a sputter.

"C'mon," continued Naomi, "it'll be really quick and really cool."

Phil looked skeptically at Stefan, who swallowed the last of his latte and said, "It's actually quite simple, but you won't believe your eyes."

"Okay, fine, make it quick," said Phil with another petulant sigh.

Stefan removed his ring and handed it to Phil.  "Close this in your fist."

Phil gave Stefan a doubtful look, then held the ring between his thumb and forefinger as he scrutinized it.  He rolled it around to examine all sides, then said "Huh" as he enclosed it in his palm fingers.

Stefan gently gripped Phil's wrist with one hand tapped Phil's fist with the other while speaking the charm.  Five taps—"Toon-toon-toon-toon-toon" and Phil dropped out of sight under his clothes.

"Get his stuff," said Stefan as he fumbled after the ring rolling and clinking on the concrete.  Naomi collected the bag containing Phil's laptop and phone, then she gathered up his shoes and jacket.  She froze when she saw the two-inch-tall Phil poke his head out from under his collapsed pants.

Stefan grinned as he squatted down and popped the lid off his near-empty latte cup, then scooped the tiny man into the maw of the waxed-paper 12-ouncer.  Just before he pushed the lid back on, he brought the cup to his face and said, "Don't go anywhere."

Setting the cup on the top of Naomi's car, Stefan opened the back door and retrieved the bundle he had left there when she had picked him up.  As he unfolded it, Naomi asked, "What is that?"

"It's a Faraday bag," he replied.  "Put his laptop inside."

She noted the heavy mylar lining as she slid the nylon bag into the larger pouch.  They stowed the now-jammed electronics in the trunk of the car with the rest of Phil's effects.  Then Naomi gave an anticipatory shudder before she reached for the latte cup.

It felt empty as she lifted it.  She tilted it to a slight angle, and she felt Phil slide to one side.  She strained to hear the expletives she was sure he was uttering.

Stefan broke her concentration with a hand on her back.  "We should get in the car," he suggested.

She looked at Stefan, then nodded.  Stefan got in the passenger seat while she walked quickly to the driver's side and got in.  She put the latte cup in the cup holder, then sat back to marvel at the effortlessness with which she had just contained the fearsome Phil, as if he were a bit of litter to be disposed of later.

Naomi put the key in the ignition, but then she took her hand off the key and picked the cup back up.  She pried off the lid and peered down on the tiny naked Phil, dripping with impotent rage and double-skinny half-caff.

"How's it going, Phil?" she sang.  "Having a productive day?"

Phil waved his fist up at her and started into a profanity-laced tirade, but he was interrupted when the slightest jostle of Naomi's wrist threw him face down into the sweet brown puddle.  She felt warm all over as her heart swelled in her chest and she squeezed her thighs together.  She couldn't drive home like this; she had to do it now.

She tipped the cup on its side and poured Phil into her palm, ignoring the stray latte drops.  As she put the empty cup back, she brought him close to her face.  He tried to stand up, but she tripped him with the index finger of her free hand, then pressed on his back until he was pinned face down.  She kept pressing until she saw his tiny eyes go wide with fear.

Naomi had previously expected she would do this quickly while she still had the nerve and before Phil could say anything that re-triggered her trauma from her time in Records.  But now she was finding both that Phil couldn't say or do anything to upset her and that she wanted to savor this moment.

She lifted her finger from Phil's back, then pinched both his arms between her finger and thumb, dangling him before her haughty face.  "Tell me, Phil," she said, "do you believe in karma?"

The two-inch-tall man simply stared at her in terror.

"No," she continued, "I suppose not.  But you're about to start."  She brought her other hand up and flicked her curled index finger into the tiny man's groin, catching his balls squarely on the unyielding edge of her fingernail.

Phil's yowls resounded with the clarity and compulsion of a dinner bell.  She was almost ready—her tongue wouldn't keep still—but she realized there was one thing she was still waiting for.

And then it happened.  Phil, his tortured arms held fast in her grip and his dangling legs futilely trying to guard his groin, started crying.  Naomi remembered all the times Phil had reduced (ha!) her to tears with his violent temper.  Her face felt flushed.

"I wonder if you're remembering all the times you made me feel like shit.  Well, guess what, Phil?  I'm about to turn you into my shit!"

She raised the tiny wriggling man and tilted her head back.  "See you in about twelve hours, turd," she said, and lowered him into her open mouth.

Phil's piteous howls increased in volume until he was entirely inside and Naomi let go of his arms and closed her lips, and then his cries of terror started to buzz against her cheeks, tongue, and throat.  Half the size that Joan had been in her mouth, Phil was trivially easy for Naomi to manipulate with her tongue.  As the various flailing parts of Phil's body came into contact with her tongue and she began to taste his fear, Naomi recoiled her tongue, leaving him momentarily rolling around her inner bottom gum.  But then she felt his tiny fist pound against her gum, and the sheer effrontery of the strike incensed her, and she dug him out with the tip of her tongue and violently pinned him to the roof of her mouth.

Time for a little tenderizing, she thought, and she shifted Phil between her molars and slowly ground her teeth back and forth.  A sustained buzzing in her tooth told her that Phil was screaming for his life.  She couldn't see him, of course, but she imagined him pinned between the jagged stones of her teeth, his tiny head wedged into a dark hollow and half-submerged in a puddle of her spit, and it made her smile.

CRUNCH.

She had been gazing absently through the windshield at the dark concrete garage wall as she imagined Phil's travails, but now her eyes went wide and shot directly to Stefan.  For his part, Stefan had been turned sideways in the passenger seat so he could focus on Naomi's face, and his mouth had fallen open slightly.  Seeing Naomi's alarm, he closed his lips and swallowed, but otherwise he didn't move.

Entirely new sensations flooded Naomi's mouth.  She knew what blood tasted like, but there was no analogue in her experience for the other tiny organs that had just ruptured.  It was mostly salty, but other flavors hinted at Phil's most recent meal.  She worried that she might gag.

Stefan rescued her.  "Finish chewing and swallow," he said calmly.  "He's tiny.  Do it now."

She chewed once more and started to gulp, but then she remembered why they had come here today and instead she smeared Phil's remains across her palate and swallowed it over a pair of convulsions, savoring the carnage she had caused.

Naomi looked back at Stefan, who was still poised awkwardly in the seat, a look of wonder on his face.  "You alright?" he finally managed.

She swallowed again and nodded, smiling.

"How was it?"

It was justice, she thought.  It would sound silly if she spoke it aloud, but that's what she felt.

"I didn't mean to chew him," she said with a complete lack of remorse.

"I know."

"I'm stronger than I thought."

Stefan nodded, then tried to straighten his pelvis and legs in the seat.  Naomi noted the delicacy of his movements.

So here we are, she thought, two people who each helped the other murder someone.  Who do we think we are?  Her tongue writhed against her palate again.

Neither of them said anything as Naomi drove Stefan home.  They each stole a number of glances at the other, briefly meeting once or twice before looking back at the road.  When they arrived at Stefan's house, Naomi pulled out her phone and turned it on to check for messages, but she had no signal.

"There's no coverage at this end of the valley," sighed Stefan.  "There's only one logical place to put a tower, and the parcel's tied up in a dispute between the city and the county.  The city just filed an appeal, so we'll be lucky to get a signal out here in three years."

Naomi smiled and put her hand on Stefan's thigh.  He didn't jump, so she leaped instead.  "Come over and have dinner with me and Rick next weekend," she said.

He blinked, then exhaled and smiled.  "Sure.  Should I bring anything?"

She felt her eyes fall on his ring for a half-moment before reuniting with his.

"Howabout some wine?" she suggested.

"Sure.  What are we having?"

"Dunno yet, but whatever it is it'll be loaded with garlic.  Rick wants it in everything; he would swim in the stuff if he could."