Flowers from Blood

by C.J.Ellison

Two weeks after the arrest of Morgan Fey, Phoenix lets Maya choose their next client- a girl accused of murdering her older sister. The scenario alone is eerily familiar, but the entire case starts dredging up fragments of the past. Slowly, the trial unravels the secrets of an aristocratic family, and Franziska von Karma's mysterious personal connection to it all. [Legacies Part I]

5. Chapter IV: Rocks and Lighthouses

querencia : (noun) a metaphysical concept originating from Spanish; a place from which strength is drawn, where one feels at home, and is their most authentic self

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Chapter IV
Rocks and Lighthouses

.{*}.

July 8, 2017, 01:10PM
Wright and Co. Law Offices
Loft Apartment

Stepping back into the office was a relief, melting down to the marrow of his bones like grenadine drizzled into a cocktail full of crushed ice. It was as though Phoenix has spent all morning under the unrelenting beaten-gold glare of the sun- exposed skin tightening in protest despite the high-SPF sunscreen he had smudged on, the taste of heat thick at the back of his tongue- and had just stepped into the shade for the first time in hours.

Letting up a sigh, tension sloughing off him like mud under a pressure hose, Phoenix flicked the latch shut behind him- even if a client came by, it was unlikely that he could take their case with a murder trial starting tomorrow, but the buzzer would be in the loft apartment just in case. Shrugging off his satchel and blazer, slinging them over his arm, he navigated the reception area on pure spatial memory, rendered sun-blind in the dim office. The place was clean and quiet, the stillness embroidered by the faint ambience of city traffic seeping through the cracked windows; with the overhead lights turned off, the Venetian blinds filtered slats of piercing sunlight across the bookshelves and cabinets and front desk, turning the lustre of the wood to amber wherever it struck and transmuting drifting dust motes to ember-gold fireflies, leaving the air with a peaceful glow that felt slow and sweet, as though dipped in honey and crystallised.

Cutting through the office with a slight stumble, Phoenix found the door to the stairwell- easily overlooked over by the casual observer, and just as easily mistaken as a storage closet or breaker room if noticed- and headed up to the apartment.

Unlocking the front door, he called out without conscious thought.

"Tadaima!"

It was a family ritual, a habit displaced from context. Few of the relatives in the sparse branches of Phoenix's family tree spoke more than a few mouthfuls of Japanese, but some things had survived the forgotten root, like a genetic memory. It was easier to maintain those kinds of cultural vestiges in a melting-pot city like LA, where they were far from the only ones whose existences were a blend of places and peoples and practices; Phoenix had countless childhood memories of traditions only ever half-understood. Springtime meant hanami- snacking in the park under a blue sky shattered by blossom-heavy boughs, making him think of clusters of frozen sherbet and pink lemonade, falling petals catching in his hair. Midsummer was for hanabi- picking out a new yukata to fit his growing limbs, devouring a medley of street food on the crowded boulevards, straining to see the explosions of colour and light of the fireworks show over the water. Winter had Oshōgatsu- watching his mother assemble homemade o-sechi in the lacquered jūbako boxes as she explained the auspicious symbolism of each component, sitting with a bowl of toshikoshi soba noodles and broth while they watched the New Year's countdown on the bulky television, finding packets of sweet store-bought mochi in his lunchbox throughout January.

What rang clearest through the years, however, was the everyday habit. Walking home from school every afternoon, he had closed the front door behind him with a cheery call of a word that he didn't even understand for most of his life, until he finally looked it up while in college. Tadaima- I'm back, or perhaps more accurately, I'm home.

He was answered by two voices, tripping together like the bright ring of wind-chimes in the breeze, one clear and the other slightly muffled.

His eyes finally adjusted from the brilliance outside, shadow and shape cohering, and Phoenix took in the scene. The centre of the apartment was open-plan, maximising the space, a small breakfast bar nominally dividing the kitchen area from the living room. A crumpled paper takeout bag and matching cartons littered the coffee table, scattered with two servings of burgers, fries, ketchup and extra-large drinks with ice, with two figures seated around it.

If stepping back into the office was like ducking into a swatch of shade, then seeing Maya was like jumping into a mountain lake, freezing waters closing over his head and sluicing away the lingering trace of sunburn.

She had traded out her acolyte's garb for a deep purple tank top and cream linen shorts, the mass of her fine onyx hair wrangled into a twisted bun that kept it off the nape of her neck, her blunt fringe thick above her eyes, the front sections on either side of her face left loose and threaded with amethyst beads. As the last of the grainy-black film over his vision dissolved, Phoenix realised that she had been forced to hum her greeting through a massive bite of her burger, a smear of ketchup at the corner of her mouth, putting the rest down as she waved at him to wait a moment, chewing furiously.

She looked so cool and relaxed, compared to the heat and stress clinging to him like a second suit, that for a second Phoenix wanted to hate her- until she swallowed thickly, wiped her mouth clean with a swipe of her finger, and smiled widely.

"Hey, Nick!" She said, a little breathlessly, effervescent as a chilled can of cherry soda and so genuinely happy to see him that Phoenix could feel the Earth being kicked back onto its axis.

Investigating that day had been tainted with an odd flavour of wrongness, reminding him of the time he had made chocolate pancakes in a brand new non-stick pan without washing it first, and they had peeled away onto the plate with the taste of something plastic and chemical. Returning to the corner of the city they had hollowed out for themselves, the uneasy edge was scraped away in a single stroke like dry paint.

"Hey," Phoenix exhaled, tossing his satchel and blazer aside over a free seat. "Good day?"

"The best," Maya said brightly, picking up her tall paper cup, the ice cubes inside rattling hollowly. "Right, Pearly?"

An involuntary smile already inching across his face, Phoenix turned to the little girl seated across from Maya, delicately nibbling her fries down one by one. Pearl nodded eagerly, the double-loop of pale brown hair secured at the back of her head bobbing with the motion.

"It was amazing, Mr Nick! Mystic Maya took me everywhere- I didn't know the city was so big!"

Slipping out of his shoes and socks, Phoenix listened as she chattered about the shortlist of local sights that Maya had somehow managed to cram into the morning. At almost eight years old, Pearl Fey was as tiny, cultured and precious as her name- and, until very recently, incredibly sheltered, cloistered the firmly-closed oyster of the secluded mountain village where she and Maya grew up. It loosened a knot of tension that he hadn't even realised was pressing against his sternum, to see Pearl back, and Maya brighter with her cousin reflecting the light of her smile.

Safe, something breathed in the back of his mind, trembling like a clenched fist, back home, and safe.

It had been two weeks since the trial, and the aftertaste lingered like a chaser of battery acid. The revelation that it was Morgan Fey- matriarch of the Fey clan, Pearl's overprotective mother, Maya's stern maternal aunt- who had conspired to frame Maya for murder had been bitter enough, upon first taste. The subsequent discovery that it was a cold-blooded, calculated attempt to supplant Maya as future head of the Fey clan, and install Morgan's own unsuspecting daughter in her place- sweet, mercifully oblivious Pearl- was horrifying, enough to set the tongue convulsing. The belated realisation that Morgan was willing to see her niece executed for the sake of family politics and power was the poison in the stomach.

But worst of everything was that Maya didn't even seem that surprised.

Her mask had held like porcelain after the verdict was handed down. Phoenix kept his mouth shut, and Pearl was distracted by her transparent relief over the acquittal and her many questions about the workings of the courts. Only later that night, when Pearl was safely asleep and Maya had tried to maintain the act with him, had Phoenix taken her by her narrow shoulders and reminded her that she didn't have to pretend for his sake.

He had watched her crumple, held her as she cried quietly into his chest, and neither of them spoken for a long time.

It scares me, Nick, she had eventually confessed in a whisper, hoarse with tears and something that bordered shame. Kurain Village, the Fey clan, it- I know it shouldn't, but it scares me. They're- I mean, Mia warned me. She told me, to be kind but to be careful, because of the way our village is, with the hierarchy and the fighting for power, but I never got it. I knew it could be a bit spiteful, and catty sometimes, but- I mean, Aunt Morgan was strict, but she looked after us after Mom- and if she asked, I would have- I could have asked Pearls if she would be okay with it, like Mia did with me when she decided to leave the village and become a lawyer. And if Pearl had said yes then I- but she always talked about duty, and my position, and acting according to the dignity of my office, and I thought- I-I thought-

You thought she was supporting you, Phoenix said quietly.

Maya had tugged away, swiping at her drying tears. Phoenix could see her attempting to scrub the emotion from her face- and put a stop to it, grabbing her wrists gently.

Maya, he said firmly, you can feel however you need to feel about Morgan. That's your right. She's your aunt, and you're the one she hurt. But I am never going to forgive her for what she did- to you, and to Pearls. When Maya stared at him as though he'd said something revolutionary, Phoenix tried not to think about what kind of expectations she had to cause such a reaction. Go grab some snacks. I think this calls for some vintage Steel Samurai.

That, at least, won him a watery smile, one infinitely preferable to a cheap imitation of her usual perky grin. They camped out on the sofa, and Maya pulled Samurai Summer from the shelf- a lavish period piece with impressively smooth fight-scene choreography and a masterfully crafted romantic subplot. By the midway point, Phoenix was forced to admit that he understood why the movies remained so popular; Jack Hammer was startlingly charismatic as the titular lead, and some of the cinematography was just lovely.

They did the adult thing, and talked properly in the languid misty morning that followed.

The first thing they decided was what to tell Pearl. There was no question of leaving it to Kurain, not after witnessing the chasm that lurked under the serene, tradition-starched surface of the village. It probably wasn't his place, but Phoenix wouldn't entrust the Fey elders with the care of a sea anemone, let alone a little girl whose mother had just been incarcerated.

It was quickly agreed that they wouldn't lie to her. Instead, they gave Pearl the truth, a few details glossed over with a rose tint: Morgan had made a mistake and done something very bad, and was going away to make up for it- but she still loved Pearl, and they could see each other if Pearl wanted to visit.

It was the best that they could salvage from the wreckage of Morgan's actions. The knowledge that her mother had been willing to condemn the cousin she idolised to prison, allegedly for Pearl's own sake- personally, Phoenix had his doubts about whether it was an act of selfless maternal love, or whether Morgan was merely grasping power through the only route available to her- would shatter everything Pearl knew. While mature in some aspects, there was no way to make her understand what Morgan had done without also making her think that it was her fault.

Phoenix tried not to dwell on that too much. It filled him with a simmering, volcanic anger that could not be good for his blood pressure.

The second matter they decided was that Pearl would stay with them as much as possible. The law offices had the unexpectedly spacious loft apartment above it, and setting up one of the bedrooms was the work of a long weekend. The Fey elders couldn't object as Maya was now a legal adult, and Pearl's closest relation besides, and leaving the mountain to live in the city for some time was the norm for the younger members of the clan, to the point of being a rite of passage. Kurain Village was insulated, but not self-sufficient, and some familiarity and interaction with the outside modern world was necessary. Besides, Maya and Pearl would be returning regularly for their training.

Phoenix had also made the suggestion that Maya emphasise how she was working in the law offices of an undefeated attorney. It wasn't even a bluff, this time. Phoenix could and would drag them through the courts if he had to.

Phoenix had also suggested Maya mention that she was returning as the assistant of an undefeated attorney. It wasn't even a bluff- Phoenix would gladly drag them through the courts if he had to.

Fortunately, the elders had seemingly resigned themselves to the situation, limiting their reaction to snippy comments and passive-aggressive disapproval. Yeah, well, screw them and the high horse they rode in on, Phoenix had decided when Maya had conveyed this to him. The thought must have shown on his face, because Maya had looked torn between making excuses for the elders and fighting an irreverent giggle.

Which was how Phoenix came to find Pearl on the sofa, patiently working her way through a large carton of fries and recounting their adventure in detail, with all the carefree joy that he and Maya had hoped to preserve.

"- and then we got lunch, and came back here!" Pearl concluded brightly.

"Sounds like you had a lot of fun," Phoenix said warmly. "I'm really sorry I missed it."

"That's okay, Mr Nick!" Pearl was quick to absolve him. "Mystic Maya says there's a lot more to see, and that we can all go together another day! She also told me you were out this morning lawyer-ing, and that it was very important." She spoke solemnly, bestowing her understanding as graciously as a child-empress, setting the corners of Phoenix's mouth twitching fondly. Pearl perked suddenly. "Oh! Did you get our messages? Mystic Maya taught me how to take pictures and, um, text- so I sent you one! I never knew that phones could do that."

"Oh, yeah. It's pretty cool, right?" His phone had been pinging with notifications since leaving the detention centre, only pausing while he was backstage at the Eclipse. Amaryllis' claim about the lack of cell signal was confirmed after he stepped outside, his phone reconnecting and almost overheating with a frantic torrent of delayed messages. Opening the thread, skimming through the inconsistent abbreviations and liberal emoji usage that characterised Maya's texting style, Phoenix had picked out one that was stiff with formal grammar and a few phonetic, childlike spelling errors. "I read them all on the way back. You guys were busy, huh?"

"We still had time to stop and get you lunch, though!" She announced. "It's on the counter. We wrapped it up to keep it warm."

"Oh, really? Thank you, Pearls."

Pearl bobbed her head. Phoenix drifted over to the counter, where he could see a folded package of tea towels. Unwrapping the coverings, he paused at the contents- and huffed out a soft laugh.

Instead of a set of cardboard cartons matching those on the coffee table, there were two plastic bowls with tight-seal lids, ones that could be reused as sturdy Tupperware containers once rinsed out. It might have been part of Maya's surprisingly persistent campaign against his preference for grilled chicken sandwiches- it's a burger joint, Nick! Ordering a chicken sandwich is like ordering a salad at a steakhouse- but he also knew that Eldoon's would have been an extra trip, as Maya's favourite burger joint was in the opposite direction to where the noodle cart was usually parked.

A rush of appreciation doused him. Phoenix cracked the lids open, finding one bowl filled with a nest of pre-cooked ramen, tender greens and slices of roasted pork belly, the other brimming with Eldoon's signature salty broth. He set the broth in the microwave for an extra thirty seconds, bringing it back to optimum temperature.

"Hey, Nick," Maya called from across the room. Phoenix glanced over his shoulder, finding her sitting up on her knees and grinning fiendishly at him from over the back of the couch, "are you wearing a t-shirt?"

Phoenix heaved a sigh, snapping a pair of disposable wooden chopsticks apart.

"Alright, fine. I gave in," he said dully. "I thought the June Gloom would be strong enough today that we wouldn't feel the heat until this afternoon."

"Ah, how the mighty fall!" Maya gloated gleefully. "Oh, but I thought you said that t-shirts were unprofessional-"

"Is it less unprofessional to sweat through a dress shirt?" He griped. "It's not like I was in court-"

"Hey! That's exactly what I said to you this morning!"

Removing the reheated broth from the microwave, Phoenix tipped the ramen, greens and pork into the bowl, stirring. "Look, as an attorney, I have to adhere to a certain dress code or I won't be taken seriously-"

"Well, sure, in the courtroom, but it's totally fine for investigations! Actually, I think it's kind of a cool look on you, for once." Maya peered at him critically, head cocked. "Less stiff and stuffy and buttoned-up, and more- stylish and cool and relaxed. Like a paparazzi photo of some movie star who just had a brunch business meeting at an upscale restaurant."

"You've been watching way too much entertainment news, Maya," Phoenix quipped, heading back to the couch.

He set his bowl down and collapsed into his seat, boneless, and Maya pounced almost instantly, ravenous for information.

"So?" She demanded. Her vehemence briefly reminded Phoenix of her older sister, and what he had internally referred to as Mia's verbal-lapel-grab voice. Mostly because he had first heard it when she grabbed the front of his sweater, almost strangling him. "Come on! How'd it go today? What's our client like? What did you find out? Did you visit the crime scene? What about the autopsy report? Any witnesses? Did you get any more information about the victim? Details, Nick, details!"

Head tipped back against the sofa- and probably crumpling his hair, styled in the distinctive spikes that swept back from his face, but he currently couldn't muster the energy to care - Phoenix cracked an eye open.

"Really? You can't give me two seconds?"

Pearl giggled from the other end of the sofa, swinging her legs, watching their exchange with sparkling grey eyes.

Rolling her eyes, Maya shoved her cup at him.

Phoenix accepted it from her, taking a long draw through the straw, the soda diluted from the melting ice but still cold enough to bite.

"Better?" Maya asked impatiently.

"Much," he said, satisfied, handing the cup back. "Hey, do we have any iced tea in the fridge? I could really go for a glass."

Maya groaned. "Ni-ick," she dragged his name out, stretching it into multiple syllables on a plaintive whine, "just tell me about the case, and I'll go get you some in a sec, okay? Now tell me everything!"

Phoenix made a show of mulling it over, just because he could. "Hm. It is peach iced tea, right? Not the lemon stuff? And we have ice in the freezer?"

"Nick!"

"Okay, okay," he laughed, realising that the gleam in her eye meant she might start throwing things at his face if he kept it up. "But I should probably warn you- this client is nothing like what I was expecting."

"Oh?" Maya polished off the last few bites of her burger and levered herself up, heading into the kitchen. "How do you mean? Like, in a good way, or-?"

Phoenix straightened, picking up his ramen. "I'm not sure, to be honest. I mean, nothing was obviously off, but that was kind of the problem. Like- coming home and finding all the furniture moved three inches to the left. She was polite, but she made it obvious she didn't want to be talking to me, and was only being courteous out of principle, or personal pride, or something. And she was calm, weirdly calm for someone arrested for murder, like nothing could touch her." He lifted a bite of umami-soused ramen into his mouth, listening to the crystal-clear clink of glasses and whoosh of the refrigerator door being opened, Maya's bare feet pattering and scuffing on the laminated floor. "Not like she was in denial or shock. More like there was nothing about the situation particularly worried her, even though she thinks she's going to be found guilty. The media was right about her age, but something about her just feels- older. She just seems- I don't know. Competent?"

"Competent?" Maya echoed, audibly puzzled. Next to him, Pearl tilted her head curiously. Phoenix had to admit that it was an odd description, even if he didn't have anything better to offer.

"Yeah. Capable. In-control, you know? I mean, for example, I offered her the standard template form for the letter of request, but she said she knew how to write one. I only needed something to get into the crime scene, but it's actually formatted perfectly- I could probably submit it as official legal paperwork. It even sounds like it was penned by a professional. Here," Phoenix set his bowl aside, and reached for his satchel, searching through it, "listen."

Locating the crisply tri-folded letter of request, Phoenix opened it, and read aloud.

8 July, 2017
Los Angeles, LA County, California
United States of America

To whom it may concern,

I, Jaime Amaryllis Steele (undersigned), do hereby tender my formal letter of request engaging the services of defence attorney Phoenix Wright (badge number 26381) as my legal representative in all matters pertaining to the criminal case of The People versus Jaime Amaryllis Steele on one count of murder in the first degree, trial scheduled to commence on the ninth of July, 2017, at the Los Angeles District Courthouse, CA. These permissions extend to any authorised associates of the Wright and Company Law Offices, of Los Angeles, LA County, CA.

The veracity of this document and its signature can be corroborated by myself, orally; by comparison to the signature on two (2) legal identification documents (valid UK Passport, last renewed July 2014; valid US Passport, last renewed December 2016); and by the witness accounts of the two security guards present at the Los Angeles Downtown Detention Centre, CA, who were on duty in the visitor's room between 9AM and 10AM on the morning of the eighth of July, 2017.

Signed,
JA Steele

"Wow," Maya murmured. Without even looking at her, Phoenix could envision her expression- brow creasing slightly, pouting in thought, a hand tucked under her jawline. "I get what you mean. That definitely sounds like overly-detailed lawyer-speak. So, wait, her name is Jaime?"

"Except she goes by her middle name, Amaryllis," Phoenix replied, replacing the letter of request in his bag, and reaching for his ramen. "Not a fan of her first name, it seems."

"Amaryllis?" Maya rounded the sofa, setting a tall glass of iced tea on the table, brimming with ice and clouded with a frost of condensation. "Hm. Sounds fancy."

"All the more fitting, I guess." He winced as soon as the words were out of his mouth, belatedly realising the topic he had unintentionally led the conversation towards. Phoenix had been hoping to delay the inevitable a little longer, or at least until after he had covered the basics of the case. "Oh, uh. By the way. There's probably something you guys should know, about our client. And, um, her sister."

"Huh?" Maya stared at him, blissfully unaware of the bombshell that Phoenix had the unenviable task of detonating. "Something about the client?"

Pearl, hands cupped around her drink, peered up at Phoenix. "What is it, Mr Nick?"

Oh boy. How do I even begin to explain?

"Ah, well, it's actually pretty funny, really," he laughed awkwardly, unable to meet their gazes. "You, uh, remember that our client and the victim are sisters, right?"

Maya nodded slowly. "Yeah," she said, "of course. It was all over the news reports."

"Right, of course you remember, ha!" The contours of his forced smile were starting to ache. "Well, you see, while I was at the detention centre, I found out- ah- that, um, the two of them are actually British! Yeah! Although, they have dual citizenship since their mother was American, but they both grew up in Europe, and Amaryllis only came to the US a few years ago, so she still has the British accent, that's how I knew-" Catching himself rambling, Phoenix cleared his throat, staring up at the ceiling. "Anyway. The sisters- the victim and defendant- are both British. That's why the news reports were so limited. It, uh, turns out that their family is a pretty big deal back home, and the British Embassy got involved."

"A big deal? What kind of a big deal?" Maya asked, propping her chin on her hand. "Like, you mean, celebrities? Or were their parents important, or something?"

Phoenix grimaced hesitantly. "Um. Kind of? I, uh- gah, okay, I might as well just come out and say it." There's no avoiding it- or the reaction. Get it over with! "Their father- he was, ah-"

Maya shifted forward, and Pearl was gazing at him steadily, pinioning Phoenix into the corner of his seat.

He took a deep breath.

"Their father was an earl. The victim inherited the title after he died and became a countess. And now that the older sister's gone, the title passed to Amaryllis. We're, um- kind of- defending a member of the British aristocracy?"

There was a moment of stillness- the slight delayed reaction.

Then Phoenix was mobbed on either side.

Chaos filled the room as though a faucet in the ceiling had been thrown open, eddying into a vortex of frantic questions. Maya threw herself off the sofa and began pacing, the skeins of hair framing her face trailing and snapping violently in her wake, leaping from garbled queries to demands for answers to disjointed shouting with the agility of an Olympic athlete. Pearl was bouncing in her seat lightly, gushing with eager appeals to know every detail, her attention switching rapidly between Maya- who kept yelling the words countess and aristocracy at increasingly higher pitches and volumes- and Phoenix, who had already sunken into numbness after his own episode earlier.

Resigned to waiting for the first wave to pass, Phoenix took the opportunity to eat, waiting for them to run out of steam.

It took several minutes. Maya finally fell back into her seat, and Pearl subsided into a quiet simmer of expectation.

"A countess?!" Maya exploded in disbelief, her expression a little desperate. "Countess, as in- countess-countess, with the titles, and the- the-?! You're kidding, right?! This a joke?!"

Phoenix swallowed a mouthful of roasted pork. "You're handling it about as well as I did."

She launched herself upright, fists clenched and flailing. "But! How?! What?! When? Who-?!"

Between bites, Phoenix began recounting his morning in full, from his meeting with Amaryllis at the detention centre, to his brief expedition to her apartment, to his discussion with Gumshoe and examination of the crime scene, to his encounter with the paradoxically violent yet laid-back costume designer.

His audience listened, rapt, as he covered every fact of the investigation so far.

"So, we have to go back and persuade her to let us represent her," Maya mused, subsiding back into mellow curiosity, staring up at the ceiling. "Persuade a- a countess to let us represent her. Wow. Um, anyway. But- she still gave you permission to investigate, even though she turned down the offer of defence."

Phoenix drained the last dregs of broth from the bowl, setting it aside. "Exactly," he agreed, "which is why I think we can wear her down."

"Um, Mr Nick?" Pearl interjected tentatively.

He turned to her with an encouraging smile. "What is it, Pearls?"

Pearl fiddled with her napkin, delicately wiping the salt off her fingers. "Um. The police are saying that the lady did something bad. But she says she's innocent. So, why would she refuse to let you be her law-yer? Why wouldn't she want your help, if she didn't do anything wrong?"

"Oh. Well. I guess that's- hm. It's a little tricky." Phoenix hesitated, attempting to condense his nebulous thoughts into something that Pearl would be able to understand. "I suppose that… when people are accused of something they didn't do, it can be really scary and confusing. Everyone reacts differently. Some people panic and push others away, because they think that if they accept the blame, then at least it will all be over and they won't have to worry anymore. Or they might be scared that even if they do speak up, no one will believe them. For some people, it might be a way of trying to take back control, in a situation where they feel powerless. I'm not really sure why Amaryllis refused, but- who knows? Maybe I'll understand her better once I get to know her more. She said that she's trying to protect my record, but I'm not sure I completely believe that. Some of the things she said were a little odd."

Like calling herself not the kind of person why deserves a defence. But why? Because she really did hate her sister? Does she feel guilty over that?

Pearl hummed, pondering Phoenix's explanation.

"Hey, you said she has a friend who's a law student, right?" Maya interjected.

Phoenix looked up, a little impressed that Maya had caught such a small detail. "Yeah, from Themis."

"Is that where you studied, by the way?"

Phoenix almost choked. Even if he hadn't been an art major before switching to law, the thought that, at eighteen, he would have had either the money for tuition fees, or the academic profile for one of the highly competitive places on their scholarship program, was downright ludicrous.

"N-no, I went to Ivy U, remember?"

"Oh, yeah. Anyway! So, she has a friend from a really good law school- and she used to go observe trials with him, and that's how she immediately knew who you are, and she wrote a perfect formal letter of request from scratch." Maya listed, ticking each point off her fingers. "Then that means she must know how serious this is, right? If she's that familiar with the law, I mean."

"True. But I don't think that's the problem, here." In hindsight, Amaryllis had sounded not unlike a lawyer at moments- precise in her phrasing, forensic in detailing the facts, quick in verbal riposte and evasion, evoking the strange feeling of a courtroom exchange rather than a defendant interview. Perhaps it was something she had picked up from her law student friend. "She gets it intellectually, I'm sure. There must be some logic to her refusal. I just don't know what it is yet."

Maya exhaled sharply, gathering her legs up into a crossed position on the sofa. "I guess that lead is pretty cold for now. What else have we got?"

"Not much, without the autopsy report." Phoenix admitted. "Aside from the pending results from the coroner's office, we've got a client who won't defend herself, evidence and circumstances that point to her being guilty, and a complicated relationship with the victim. She and Ruby apparently hated each other, and hadn't spoken since the death of their father. And to make things even more complicated, Amaryllis was a witness to his murder- and Ruby somehow blamed her for being there. At least, that's the story according to Amaryllis."

Maya rubbed at her mouth. "Geez. What a mess. What about the inheritance issue? That's a pretty strong motive. And you just know that Miss von Karma is going to bring it up. That woman uses anything she can get her hands on," she added with a resentful scowl.

"Yeah, I don't doubt it," he agreed, recalling the tactics that Franziska von Karma had resorted to in the last trial. He had no intention of forgetting that underhanded stunt with the illegal photograph- especially since her status as a prosecutor had shielded her from the consequences, while any defence attorney would have been keel-hauled for attempting the same thing. "But it might not actually be that watertight, once you start pulling at the threads. After all, they hadn't seen each other in four years. And Ruby is the one who contacted Amaryllis, not the other way around, so it's not like Amaryllis lured her here to LA."

"Ooh, that's true," Maia said, leaning forward with her chin resting in her hand, eyes bright with optimism, unearthing the positives and gathering them up like loose gemstones. "That's another good thing, right? It means that they weren't at each other's throats recently, so maybe things cooled off a little between them." She picked up her cup, teasing the paper straw between her teeth. "You know what really gets me, though?"

"What's that?"

"That whip," Maya said, pointing her drink at him. "You know, the riding crop you found in Amaryllis' apartment. What's with that? Why would she have something that belongs to von Karma?"

Phoenix let out a deep sigh, a crease forming between his eyebrows. "I don't know. But there must be a connection, right? When I thought about it later, Amaryllis knew a little too much about von Karma for there not to be."

Maya hummed in agreement.

Phoenix shrugged the speculation away. "Well, we should head back to the detention centre soon anyway, so I guess we can ask about it then. And if we get her to take us as her defence team, we need to swing by the precinct afterwards- I'll need the police discovery dossier, and a look at Amaryllis' phone. There are a few things I should check out before the trial tomorrow."

"Right then!" Maya bounded to her feet in a messy clambering of limbs, stretching, frothing with a burst of energy. "What are we waiting for? Let's get moving! What do you say, Pearly?" She said, turning to her cousin with a grin. "Ready to protect the innocent and catch some bad guys?"

Pearl nodded, turning to Phoenix with a look of fierce determination. "Don't worry, Mr Nick! I'll help in any way I can!"

Phoenix laughed, suddenly feeling rejuvenated. Maybe it was the salt in the noodles, or the natural effect of returning to base to recharge, but he felt ready to take on the world again.

"Well, in that case, I'm not worried about a thing."

---

July 8, 2017, 02:37PM
Detention Centre
Visitor's Room

"Ah, Sir Icarus. Wings melted yet?"

Phoenix strode over to the window, catching an extra folding chair by the backrest and setting it up with a quick snap.

"Please," he said, with that confident, summer-bold smile that absolutely meant he was bluffing. Before they left the office, he had smoothed his hair back into its customary sleek, dark spikes and changed into his full suit- between the crisp clothes, the broad cut of his shoulders and assured lift of his jaw, it was almost enough to trick Maya into believing him. Almost. "I haven't even taken flight yet."

"Mm-hm. I wonder," the girl behind the glass said, combing her dark red hair back from her face, "is that hubris, denial, or a self-destructive tendency talking? Or perhaps your ego and masochism relishes the opportunity to languish on the altar of your own self-inflicted martyrdom. Who can say?"

Ouch! Nick wasn't kidding. I think she just insulted him in five different ways in two sentences, and I only caught one of them.

Keeping a slight distance from the verbal barbs, Maya trailed a few steps behind Phoenix as he returned the volley, Pearl tucked by her side and peering out warily.

Amaryllis- she definitely was more Amaryllis than Jaime- was almost exactly as Maya had imagined, based on Phoenix's description: mismatched eyes and a crown of startling hair, her colours blood on gold, statuesque and stylishly aloof in a way that Maya could never pull off even if it had occurred to her to try. Just standing in front of her made Maya feel like a kid, despite being two years older, like comparing a piece of graphite to a diamond. The architecture of Amaryllis' polished angles and sharp lines made Maya abruptly, irrationally conscious of the soft curves of her own face- round eyes and wide mouth, peach-sweet in the mirror and lacking the fresh-faced maturity she had fondly envied in Mia. Amaryllis was clearly the type of young woman- and also the type of young woman whose demeanour demanded she be called a young woman- who had never spilled mustard down her shirt or accidentally smacked someone over the head with a broom while recreating a fight scene from the latest Steel Samurai episode.

The thought slipped down her throat and settled in a stream behind her sternum, like cold tea and Aunt Morgan's disapproving gaze and the pursed mouths of her instructors in Kurain.

Maya shoved the prickling thought aside, taking a seat next to Phoenix. Vaguely, she registered the faint blur of- something- on the edges of her senses.

Her brow creased. Odd. The detention centre wasn't a hotspot of emotional resonance, since the turnover of visitors and inhabitants was too high, so anything not of this world was out of place.

"Aren't you bored yet?"

"I happen to enjoy a good mystery," Phoenix said.

"Then go home and play Cluedo." Amaryllis parried flatly.

"Maybe later. I have a few more questions first."

Amaryllis' gaze flicked to Maya, startling her out of her distraction. "And introductions to perform, I presume."

"Huh?" Phoenix traced her line of sight, and his composure scattered into boyish abashment. "Oh-! Right, right, sorry- this is Maya Fey, and her cousin Pearl. They're working with me on your case."

Amaryllis inclined her head, her unkempt curls shifting with the motion. She glanced across from Maya to Pearl, who shuffled in her chair, but Amaryllis didn't let her attention linger.

"So which one requested my case?"

From the way that she was looking at Maya, she already knew the answer.

"Oh! Um, that's me." Maya's back straightened, offering a broad, friendly client-smile. "I'm Maya Fey, Nick's assistant. And assistant manager of Wright and Co. Law Offices," she added hastily, in a belated attempt to sound more credibly professional. "Nice to meet you!"

Amaryllis' eyes- one iris swallowing light like a well, the other reflecting it like a mirror- flicked towards Phoenix and back to Maya like snick of a knife, small and stingingly conspicuous as a papercut.

"The pleasure is mine, naturally," she said lightly. Impressively, she didn't even sound like she only saying it to be polite. "I'm afraid I haven't heard nearly as much about you as I should, considering that you're the one who selected my case. Mr Wright only told me that you were in a similar position, a year ago."

Maya nodded. "That's right, I- it's actually a little weird, to be honest. I had this moment of déjà vu when I saw the news report." Recognising the opportunity to plead Phoenix's case, she braced against the memory it dredged to the surface- sunken and resting heavy at the bottom of her mind, like a marble statue quietly eroding away to marine flora and water currents, cast in blurry relief by the dim undersea light and murky waters. "My older sister- she was- well, she was killed, and I was the prime suspect. It was late at night, I was at the crime scene, and there was a witness who said I'd done it. If it wasn't for Nick," she sent him a small smile, "I would have been found guilty for sure. He- he really saved me, back then. I don't know what would have happened without him."

On her periphery, Maya saw Pearl cup her face, glowing at what she probably regarded as a wonderfully romantic tale. Simultaneously, Phoenix's shoulders sank by a few degrees, a rueful smile ghosting across his features. It hurt, like the ache of a broken bone since healed.

They had never really talked about it, once it was over. There was no need to. They had both been there, sharing in every painful wrench and twist from the first moment, and the aftershocks had faded into their new normal, creases smoothing out. But there were some parts of their grief that were sectioned off from each other, mutually unacknowledged and unspoken.

And grief was so much more strange and unwieldy when spirit channelling was a factor. Maya had never known how much she should actually miss her sister, as dead did not mean the same thing to a Fey as it did to most people. She wondered if it was the same for Phoenix, as he saw and spoke to Mia more frequently than she did.

Amaryllis watched, observing the moment with an idle sharpness, like toying with a letter opener.

"Were you close?" She inquired neutrally. "You and your older sister."

Maya's mouth twisted wistfully.

"Yeah," she said quietly, "we were. Mia was the best."

Amaryllis rested her jaw on her hand.

"How enviable," she breathed out, suddenly soft as cashmere. "You have my deepest condolences."

"Oh." Maya blinked, surprised by the genuine note in her voice, refreshing as bergamot. "Th-thank you. And, you, too."

The line of Amaryllis's mouth curved slightly. Maya shivered, wondering who had suddenly cranked the air conditioning up.

"That's sweet, but completely unnecessary." Amaryllis said evenly.

Maya shifted in her seat.

"As I said," Phoenix interrupted, steering the conversation back to business, "we have a few more questions, if you wouldn't mind."

"About your recent discoveries, no doubt," she replied, before shrugging gracefully. Seriously, who makes a shrug graceful? Maya wondered. Is that some kind of superpower that all aristocrats have? "Well, I have no other pressing engagements. Ask me what you will."

Phoenix steeled. Reaching into his pocket, he took out his phone, flipping through the photo gallery.

"I visited the crime scene earlier today," he said. "I had some questions about this."

He held the phone up to the glass- Amaryllis leaned forward on her elbows obligingly. Displayed onscreen was a photo of a plastic cylinder, wrapped in tamper-proofing tape; a slender, bloodied spike of gold was suspended inside it, the blunt end crowned with a spray of white flowers, each the size of a thumbnail. It was pretty, Maya had thought, even if the smudged gore made her squirm.

"The murder weapon," Amaryllis observed calmly, as Phoenix lowered his phone. "What of it?"

"What can you tell me about it?"

Open question. Maya glanced at Phoenix out of the corner of her eye. He probably already knew everything he needed to know, but what Amaryllis chose to say would be telling. It was a trick she had seen her sister use often.

"It's a hairstick," she said, easing back in her seat and folding her arms, "one half of a matching pair. I doubt that Mason would have chosen an imitation gold that would tarnish, such as pinchbeck or plated, so my guess is that it's either phosphor bronze, or fourteen-carat gold; anything higher in carat weight would be too soft to hold the embellishment, and a lower carat weight would be paler. Set with mother-of-pearl, and- either white sapphire, or zircon, most likely."

A shallow crease appeared between Phoenix's eyebrows. "What does Mason have to do with it?"

Amaryllis flicked her hair out of her face. "He arranged for them to be sent to me, upon his death," she said. "A posthumous gift. Ruby took them, the day that I left."

"Wait," Maya said, distantly aware of the horror seeping through her tone, "your sister stole the gift that your dead father left to you?"

"She was of the opinion that I didn't deserve them," Amaryllis replied neutrally, addressing the ceiling.

Maya's stomach turned, like cake batter folded into itself by a spatula. Come on, Nick, she thought, swallowing the sick feeling. You said they didn't have great relationship- that doesn't even begin to cover whatever that is!

Phoenix pressed onwards. "What were they doing in your dressing room?"

"I presume," Amaryllis said, slow and precise, "that Ruby bought them there."

"You didn't see her bring them in?"

"No. But she did have a bag with her," she said, "this obnoxiously oversized designer tote that you couldn't help but notice. It was a Birken, I think- one of those limited-production Hérmes handbags that cost ten thousand dollars apiece. I presume it was in there. It looked virtually empty, but I think you could have put a spare pair of platform heels and a copy of Les Misérables in there and not have noticed the difference at a glance-"

"Wha- wait, hold on a second- ten thousand dollars for a handbag?!" Phoenix choked out.

"Mm. Conservative estimate." Amaryllis smiled, medicinal-bitter. "Desserts and designer handbags always were her greatest weaknesses. I mean, personally," she added, eyes narrowing with a gouging contempt that almost had Maya shrinking back, "I think that Birkens are a microcosm of the dystopian insanity of capitalism and the elitism, creative sterility, wastefulness and pervasive animal cruelty of the fashion industry, but whatever, I guess that ostrich-leather clutch with the diamond-encrusted clasps makes you look classy at that exclusive cocktail party full of socialites that would gut you over a glass of Dom Perignon, Ruby."

Maya exchanged a disconcerted look with Phoenix.

Oh-kay. Clearly these sisters have more issues than a magazine rack. I'm not sure we even want to get into that.

Wisely, Phoenix changed the subject. "You're saying you don't know how the murder weapon got to your dressing room?"

"I'll admit I was surprised when the police showed me the photos. I hadn't ever anticipated seeing those hairsticks again."

The line of Phoenix's mouth was set like concrete. "The police found your fingerprints on the murder weapon. Can you explain how they got there?"

"Ah, that…" She hummed softly. "Well. Possibly."

"Possibly?" Maya echoed, annoyance flaring. The dismissive attitude was wearing thin on her nerves, reminding her a little too strongly of the smart-mouthed, knowing smugness of a prosecutor before they bought down the axe. "How can you not know how your prints got on the murder weapon?"

Amaryllis ignored the outburst. "The hairstick was found still in the victim's body, wasn't it? And the fingerprints in question, they are in blood?"

"That's right." Phoenix said, flipping through the pages of his pocket notebook. "I haven't seen the full forensic report yet, but that's what the lead detective told me at the scene- found in the victim's body, bearing a single set of fingerprints from your right hand, in the victim's blood. Although, I have my suspicions that the prints aren't the clearest or most definitive."

"Ah, forgive me, I should have been more specific- you're missing the point." A wry spark was glinting at the corners of her eyes. "The only fingerprints found were in blood. Correct?"

"I- yes?" He said with a slight frown. "Is that important?"

"Detail is always relevant," Amaryllis said, arching a superior, faintly amused eyebrow, "and in this instance, detail can only prove one narrow, limited fact: that I touched the murder weapon, once, after the victim was already bleeding."

Phoenix's eyes widened.

"Then- of course. When the killer picked up the weapon- obviously, at the time, Ruby wouldn't have been bleeding yet. No- rather, she couldn't have been bleeding! She hadn't been stabbed! So, if you were the culprit, then there should be at least one set of non-bloody fingerprints on the murder weapon, from when you first picked it up for the attack!"

"And there you have it; the finer detail makes for a neat little contradiction, practically wrapped in a satin bow. I imagine that the prosecution will find some convoluted, feasible excuse to explain it away, of course, but it is a grain of sand on the scale," Amaryllis added. "Regardless. Although I didn't share my theory with the police, knowing how little good it would do-" Grudgingly, Maya was inclined to agree; the police typically wanted a suspect's confession, not their testimony, "it did give me enough to guess at why my fingerprints are on the weapon."

"Oh? What's that?"

Amaryllis paused, twisting a coil of red hair around her finger, tight as silk rope against her skin.

"My memory of finding the body is- hazy. I've been trying to reconstruct what happened, but it's mostly educated guesswork. Then I had a thought. In times of extreme stress, people tend to revert to basic instinct. And, it is an instinct that if you see someone harmed, and can identify the source, you should remove it as soon as possible- like a hand on a burning stovetop, or a head underwater. Only, in this case, that probably would have done more harm than good."

"Wait," Maya said, shaking her head irritably as though dislodging water from her inner ears. "What do you mean, more harm than good? What source of harm?"

For the first time in several minutes, Amaryllis' gaze flitted towards Pearl. Her mouth tightened.

"Ah, how should I put this? When a foreign object," she said carefully, "is stuck inside a wound- a knife, a shard of glass, a bullet- then, removing it onsite is highly inadvisable, medically speaking. The object may be applying pressure on an internal wound and preventing the person from bleeding out- that is, acting as a stopper, of sorts. Or at the very least, removing it can cause additional internal damage. In the same vein as it's not the fall that kills you, it's the landing, it's rarely the knife going in that's the problem, but rather the knife being pulled out. I probably remembered that just in time."

It took Maya a moment, before the pieces fell into place.

"Oh," she said quietly. "So when you found your sister- your instinct was to try to save her. You saw the weapon stuck in her body, so you grabbed it-"

"But you realised at the last second that pulling it out might kill her," Phoenix finished, "if she was still alive. So you let go- leaving your fingerprints behind, and the hairstick still in her body."

Amaryllis turned aside serenely, fingering the collar of her grey t-shirt.

"Instinct," she reiterated.

The sensation that had been shivering on the edge of Maya's awareness suddenly thickened, pressing in like a shift in air pressure and the threat of a midsummer storm, cloying as heatstroke. She opened her Sight, unfurling it and focusing.

It coalesced, like condensation on glass- around Amaryllis.

Maya blinked. Oh. Well, that's- huh.

Contrary to popular expectation, interactions between spirit mediums and the netherworld were both frequent and mostly tame. For Maya, it felt like brushing past invisible fronds and snags that most other people wouldn't notice- a flicker of sense-memory rising from a patch of sidewalk like heat-rise, or a mild curse clinging to a stranger's aura and clouding it like limescale in water. The plots of supernatural horror movies were unlikely to bleed into reality. The dead themselves were generally uninterested in meddling in the jurisdiction of the living- everyone died eventually, so any unfinished business wouldn't remain unfinished forever- and the only spirits who could manifest without a medium acting as a conduit were either ridiculously, unreasonably determined, or had possessed strong spiritual power or psychic sensitivity in life.

Which, in Maya's opinion, was a good thing. Ghosts were, after all, just dead people, and a lot of people just- well, kind of sucked. Death rarely changed much.

Consequently, most interactions were about as interesting as Phoenix's paperwork, a dull necessity to be processed then promptly ignored to collect dust on a shelf.

Stumbling across something actually interesting- like whatever this was- was a rarity.

With a soft huff, Maya relaxed her shoulders and squared her posture, focusing her spiritual energy as much as possible without the aid of a meditative pose- if nothing else, this would be an example of advanced exercise to mention to her instructors in Kurain, as proof that she was keeping up with her training regimen. She visualised her aura gathering, strengthening with each breath, honing keener like a knife against a whetstone; she condensed it into something more solid, extending its reach beyond her physical body as her vision brightened with the unseen- and lightly prodded at the presence around Amaryllis.

It didn't have glittering-cloud gossamer sensation of a recent blessing, or the cool, clean afterglow of purification, which would have been her first guesses. Instead, upon closer inspection, it was like a bubble of blown glass, resting atop Amaryllis' aura rather than attached to it, surrounding her in a cloak of ice, rigid and cold against the insistent poking. In fact, Maya could barely glimpse Amaryllis' aura through it where it thinned slightly- the energy around her shone, radiant as the sun behind ivory clouds, obscuring her from view, blending out her aura's signature-

Maya startled when she felt herself deflected by a sharp swipe.

Taken aback, her senses sizzling with the rebuff, Maya jabbed at the presence- and was struck back, like a blow from the flat of a sword.

Maya had the strange sensation that she was being glared at.

She glared back, indignant, pouring out her full power in the spiritual equivalent of a cat raising its hackles and fluffing its fur.

Hey! Who the hell do you think you are?!

The presence stared her down sternly.

It- was staring her down.

Then it struck her.

Oh. Ohh. So that's- that's what you are. Okay. Um. Right.

Maya drew back, cautiously, projecting clear, loud, simple thoughts of apologetic explanation. The roiling clouds surging over the surface of Amaryllis' aura settled, ruffled feathers smoothing back into an opaque shield.

And then Maya looked away and tried not to think about it too much. It was better that way, with things of the spirit world that were powerful yet passive unless you provoked them.

"Amaryllis," Phoenix was saying, "there's something important I want to ask you about."

"As opposed to the unimportant things you've asked me about?" She returned without missing a beat. "As I said, ask what you will. I am at my leisure."

Phoenix paused, and picked up his phone again. "I found this in your apartment."

He showed her the screen- a photo of a riding crop, swiping to the close-up of its monogrammed handle, and the cursive letters embossed into the leather grip.

Amaryllis gazed at the screen for a moment- then looked up at Phoenix with a slow blink.

"Were you snooping in my bedroom, Mr Wright?"

"Wha- no! Well, I mean, I-"

"Mr Nick!" Pearl exclaimed, scandalised, pulling back her sleeve with the clear intent of walloping Phoenix with one of her tiny fists. "Invading a lady's private space like that-!"

"N-no, I just-! I heard something fall as I was leaving!" Phoenix insisted, leaning out of Pearl's range, a panicked smile fixed on his face. "I thought it would be bad manners to just, you know, leave it there! So I picked it up!"

"How gracious," Amaryllis pronounced, plainly unconvinced.

Maya didn't blame her. She was certain that Phoenix was lying, considering how many times they had gone rummaging around in places that they technically shouldn't during an investigation. As his gleeful enabler more often than not, Maya was hardly in a position to judge Phoenix.

"Th-the monogram!" Phoenix blurted out. "I know someone with those initials- FVK. I recognise them."

Amaryllis' indifferent expression shifted by a few subtle degrees, like the sun striking through glass, edges warming and glinting with intrigue.

"Hm. Is that so?"

"Yes. Actually- they happen to be the same as the prosecutor for this trial. Someone who you have already claimed has a personal connection to this case," he said, "even though you didn't explain the nature of that connection. You only talked about her professional motivations, and how this case relates to her career."

"Is there a question in there somewhere?" Amaryllis asked, arching an eyebrow.

"You want a question? Fine. How's this?" Phoenix set his phone down forcefully, eyes blazing. "What is your connection to Franziska von Karma?"

For a long moment, Amaryllis simply looked at Phoenix.

Slowly, her expression deepened into an inscrutable smile, sharp as the crescent moon- and almost playful.

"Age gaps are to navigate, in terms of mutual respect. But I have found that they are less of an issue in friendships," she mused, light as a sheet of gossamer caught in a gentle updraft, "where emotional maturity and intellect act as equalisers. For example." Her gaze drifted above their heads, resting her chin on the heel of her palm. "Ruby was four years older than Franziska, but Little Miss Perfect was a child prodigy, and Ruby was an immature brat. So, then. Two daughters, each the scion of an illustrious family, heir to their fathers' legacies, of similar academic and emotional development, formerly residing in continental Europe- that certainly qualifies as a connection, doesn't it?"

Maya inhaled sharply. The inference was obvious, sending her spinning out of equilibrium.

"Wait- are you saying- Miss von Karma, and your sister- they were friends?"

Amaryllis flicked her head to the side, her smile shifting into a joyless, satisfied smirk.

"Our families knew each other. They attended the same school for years."

Maya's hands fisted on the tops of her thighs, nails scraping against the linen of her shorts, stiff with panic.

Regardless of whatever else they could have expected from the riding crop Phoenix had stumbled across, this was somehow the very worst of worst case scenarios.

"It was the perfect equation," Amaryllis continued, entirely too calm for the live grenade she had just dropped at their feet, her unconcerned tone the verbal equivalent of twirling the pin around her index finger. "Two lonely, superior little girls, with the weight of the family name on their shoulders, and no one else worthy of their company but each other. Little Franziska was a fiercely loyal friend, in the way that lonely people always are. And that loyalty was returned fiftyfold."

"So," Phoenix cut in, "the riding crop was-?"

"You're familiar with Fraulein von Karma's bullwhip by now, aren't you?" Amaryllis' German accent was slipped on as easily as a tailored coat; it carried the same throat-deep shaping in the vowels that Maya had heard break through the seams of von Karma's neatly Americanised English, when her voice rose and pitched into a shout.

"Unfortunately, yeah," Phoenix muttered. Maya patted his arm sympathetically.

"When she was younger, she carried around that riding crop instead," Amaryllis explained. "Her bullwhip is a more recent acquisition- a gift, from her first and best friend. An early birthday present, or late congratulations on passing the bar exam, depending on your perspective. In exchange, little Franziska gave her friend her old riding crop, as a token of eternal friendship."

Maya watched her knuckles blanch in her lap. First and best friend. Franziska von Karma hadn't just known Ruby Steele. She had been her first friend, her oldest friend, her best friend, cut from the same razor-sleek silk. Maya could imagine the two of them standing together- copper-coral waves and steel-blue locks, shoulders conspiratorially close, talking quietly and laughing as a flash of red fluttered unseen behind them.

Franziska von Karma didn't seem to be the forgiving type. Her grudge against Phoenix for her father's defeat and arrest was evidence of that. If Phoenix drew von Karma's ire further, by defending the person accused of murdering her childhood best friend in cold blood- Maya winced at the thought.

Phoenix was still caught up in untangling the details. "If von Karma gave the riding crop to Ruby, how did you end up with it?"

"Well," Amaryllis said with a shrug, sweeping her fringe behind her ear, "Ruby took something that was rightfully mine…"

"Ah- of course. The hairsticks. That's how you ended up with the riding crop," Phoenix concluded. "She took something important to you, so you returned the favour- maybe as a hostage?"

Amaryllis canted her head in answer, still not looking at Phoenix, even as he leaned forwards against the ledge in front of the window.

"Miss von Karma is the prosecutor on this case."

"I am well aware of that."

"She's prosecuting you for the murder of her oldest friend."

Amaryllis met Phoenix's gaze challengingly.

"And heaven help the defence attorney who gets in the way of Franziska von Karma on a good day," she said darkly.

For a long moment, Phoenix simply looked at her, as though searching for something. Maya could almost hear the clockwork of his mind whirring, gears clicking.

"Let me represent you," Phoenix said decisively.

"You're delusional," Amaryllis answered evenly.

Maya huffed out a sigh. She hadn't expected anything different from Phoenix, even with Amaryllis being so difficult. As much as Amaryllis' attitude made her want to yell in frustration, Maya still didn't think that she was the killer. Her demeanour was somehow brittle, a little too overstated, like she was deliberately trying to nettle them and becoming steadily more excessive the longer it failed to get the results she was looking for.

There was an undercurrent of not right to the case, as though they had barely scratched the surface, and any full picture they tried to make would be forcing together pieces that just didn't fit. Why would someone peacefully estranged from their older sister for four years suddenly kill her? What's with Amaryllis? Why did Ruby come to see her at the theatre? What was so important that they had to talk in person?

Phoenix had been right, when Pearl had asked why an innocent person would refuse help in proving it. No one knew how they would react to being accused of murder until they were placed in that situation. Maya had been calmer than she ever could have expected, last year. And two weeks ago- she had all but asked Phoenix to abandon her, she was so convinced that it was her fault.

"So far, the only reason you've given for rejecting my defence is that you don't want a loss to tarnish my win record," Phoenix checked, hands clenching as though he wanted to slam them down on the table, "is that fair?"

"That is the reason I stated- well recalled."

"Then that reason- that reservation of yours?" Phoenix straightened, hardening. "It only applies if I lose."

And just like that, like a stormy sea dissolving into calm, the attorney rose to the surface of his skin- the rumpled-soft comfort of Nick yielding to the sharp-edged, pressed-suit, justice-driven Phoenix Wright. It was easy to forget that he could be a little scary sometimes, in a good way, baring his teeth in a smile as he put his own neck on the chopping block and talked the axe out of falling- a little less bluster and bravado, a little more cliff-sheer determination. Even Maya, who glimpsed the workings of Phoenix's bluffs more often than anyone else, felt the effect. The only thing she could compare it to was the breath being swept out of her by a sharp plummet on a rollercoaster, all pure power and momentum, stomach swooping and adrenaline flooding her bloodstream until she felt like she could punch through concrete.

But, traitorously, Maya knew that Amaryllis was right. Phoenix might lose.

But he had to believe that he could win, or it was already all over.

Amaryllis' face was empty for a long moment.

Then her expression cracked open like a bone, and she started laughing.

Her head dipped, red hair falling forwards to shadow her face, shoulders trembling, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. The sound was clear and sparkling and gelid and sharp as a waterfall of glass, shattering down.

Maya gaped in disbelief, before a deep anger welled up like magma, pressing at her skin and threatening to erupt, ashes in her mouth.

Straightening, Amaryllis shook her tresses back over her shoulders, tilting her chin up and gazing at Phoenix.

"You are going to lose." She told them, voice still sparkling with remnants of cold mirth, like stardust. "You ruined Little Miss Perfect's five-year flawless record. She's already out for blood- and redemption. And now, now you decide to take this case in particular, when you know that she has a personal connection to it? By the stars, you are going to be eviscerated. Ah, but maybe that's the point. I can only imagine the pressure of maintaining a winning streak like yours, not even a year into practicing law." Her eyes glinted through the fan of her lashes. "Maybe you're looking forward to that first loss, and willingly flying into the sun. I suppose every dying comet looks like a blaze of glory from a distance."

"We'll see if it's my first loss," Phoenix replied, refusing to rise to the bait.

Amaryllis smiled. There was nothing kind in it. Instead, it looked like she wanted to bite him just to see how he tasted.

"You will regret this."

Maya shivered at her cadence- a calm statement of fact and an ominous promise- but she barely had any time to react before Amaryllis was speaking again.

"But that's a matter for tomorrow's consideration. I seem to no longer have a choice in this- there simply isn't enough time."

"Enough time…?"

"To engineer an alternative route," Amaryllis clarified. "Congratulations, Sir Icarus. If you're that insistent on building your own pyre, there's a form you may need. It will authorise you to request documents from the British Embassy on my behalf, ones that the equivalent US authorities might not have immediate access to. I strongly advise that you fetch a copy from the visitor's desk and bring it here for me to sign, in case my formal letter of request isn't enough."

Phoenix perked, flickering into brightness like a lightbulb warming in the socket. "Does this mean- that you're accepting?"

"You may want to hurry," Amaryllis said simply, "if you want to have the paperwork filed and processed in time."

A smile exploded across his face.

"Thank you. Okay! Then- I'll be right back!"

The redhead hummed disinterestedly as Phoenix shot out of his seat, giving a quick nod to Maya, and strode out of the door is a brisk half-jog. Maya let herself breathe through the knot behind her ribs. That was one victory, at least, and the first link in the chain.

Maya glanced at Amaryllis through the glass. Her eyes- the stark contrast of her irises didn't become any less jarring with repeated exposure- were hard, fixed on the point of Phoenix's departure.

"Um."

Her gaze flicked to Maya.

Maya winced at the ungainly bluntness of her voice in the quiet, but decided that the silence had been worse.

"Thank you," she said, smiling slightly, tentative as new blossoms in spring, "really, for letting Nick defend you. I don't know what you've heard, but he's an amazing lawyer. I- I get that it might not have been easy, but thank you for trusting him. He won't let you down. It means a lot that you changed your mind."

Amaryllis mirrored Maya's expression- but it was like a reflection in broken glass, subtly distorted into a sickle.

"I'm not doing this for him. Nor is he doing this for me- but you're aware of that."

"What-? No, no, Nick's not like that," Maya reassured her with a nervous little laugh. "Trust me, he's not in it for money, or glory, or anything, even if he might seem all overconfident and-"

"He took my case because you asked him to." Amaryllis stated, so ruthlessly direct that Maya felt her centre of balance lurch sharply, leaving her motion-sick. "No other reason. He either adores you beyond all reason-" Maya felt her face flood with heat, opening her mouth to refute it, "or he feels indebted, or he trusts you. My personal bet would be on a blend of all of the above. But, whatever the reason, you might want to think about it carefully."

"About- what?"

"Whether you truly want your Icarus to defend me." Amaryllis stared her down. "If you care about him at all, you'll absolve him of any obligation to this case."

Maya set her jaw. "No," she said firmly, "if I trust him, then I won't. I believe in Nick. I believe in his abilities. And I don't think you're guilty."

"Is that projection I hear?" Amaryllis riposted, quick and smooth as a ballerina's pirouette as it cracked its heel against a skull on the downturn. "Just because you loved your sister doesn't make the same true of me."

"You don't need to have loved her," Maya snapped back, temper crackling under her skin like the ground splitting above an earthquake, "you just need to have not killed her."

Amaryllis gave a short, bright laugh. It was somehow more genuine than her last- startled out of her like a flutter and metallic flash of butterfly wings- with the odd brittleness and muted sweetness of cold-crystallised honey on the verge of melting back to liquid gold.

"My goodness," she said through a cool, perfect smile, folding her arms, "that was surprisingly cynical- I'm impressed. But what about this: even if I am innocent, even if he proves it, it may be a pyrrhic victory. Have you considered that? Once the currents drag him beneath the surface, he won't be able to escape. Are you willing condemn him to that?"

The chill of the air conditioning suddenly seemed arctic, sluicing down her back and solidifying into a glaze of ice. "What are you talking about?" Maya asked, closed fists trembling.

"I suppose you will find out tomorrow, at the courthouse- unless you can persuade him otherwise."

"Wait," Maya heard her own voice rising like a panicked bird in her throat, batting its wings against her clavicle, "wait, what are you-"

"What family doesn't have its secrets?" Amaryllis cut her off, insolently calm, gaze steady, her lunar-blue eye piercing and clear, its counterpart molten brown and deep as volcanic earth after rainfall.

Maya ripped in a sharp breath- and the door behind her opened, Phoenix re-entering the room.

There wasn't the opportunity to ask anything else.

---

July 8, 2017, 8:13PM
Wright and Co. Law Offices

Daylight was beginning to wane and falter outside the windows, the late-setting sun casting the office into a deep burnt-gold filter, like charred wood cooling and smoking into ash in a brass brazier, shadows smoking into the haze of incense. Maya sat up straight and arched her back, stretching the tense muscles like stale bubblegum, wincing as she felt something crackle like tiny bubblewrap in the vertebrae at the back of her neck. That can't be healthy, right?

Bent over his desk, blazer stripped and sleeves rolled up, Phoenix glanced up from the thick ream of documents he was sifting through.

"Drink?" He suggested, offering a tired smile.

"Anything cold," Maya answered on a gusty sigh, slumping back against the leather sofa, her head heavy and thick as a humid day. Phoenix rose to his feet, grimacing as his legs briefly refused to cooperate with the sudden demand for activity, and headed into the office kitchen.

It had been a long afternoon. As a rule, Maya and Phoenix split pre-trial paperwork equally, unless it was something that required legal expertise to decipher; this time, however, Phoenix had volunteered to take most of the police documents they had acquired from Gumshoe at the station while Maya ran through the footage from the surveillance camera, writing up a transcript with time-stamps for quick reference. The task was far from difficult, just made tedious by the monotony, and Maya was aware that she got the sweeter half of the deal.

Meanwhile, Phoenix was occupied with scouring through the arrest report and interrogation notes- judging by the way Phoenix kept exhaling sharply, the strong line of his jaw shifting as he gritted his teeth, there were as few details as ever within the swathes of vague phrasing and suspiciously redacted content- and skimming over Amaryllis' phone records for the past twelve months. The contents of her cell had been digitally cloned by the forensics department for evidence preservation, so Gumshoe had been able to persuade the tech team to allow them, grudgingly, fifteen minutes with the device.

The smartphone was an elegant, slim model on the razor-edge of the latest technology, the handset probably only a few months old, smoulder-red and stylish in the way that expensive things were without being more of a fashion statement than a functional appliance. Maya thought that it would have suited its owner perfectly, if not for the phone charms hanging from its frame.

Attached to a single nylon loop were two trinkets. The first was a black Fender guitar plectrum, a tiny hole bored in the top to thread it onto the clasp- which looked like it was repurposed from a broken necklace- the plastic nicked at the edges with use. Phoenix had told her about the guitars in Amaryllis' bedroom, and the lyric book on her coffee table, so Maya supposed she could understand it- an edge of rock and roll seemed align within the constellation of Amaryllis' identity, like adding a dash of seasalt to melted chocolate.

It was the other one that Maya found bizarre. Clinking against the plectrum was a metal charm in the shape of a heavy curlicue initial A, studded with diamante gems, the cheap metal tarnished into oxidised black and pink. It was the kind of cheap, tacky accessory Maya would expect from a blonde, rich Valley girl in an early noughties high school movie- and therefore seemed utterly incongruous for Amaryllis, who exuded understated class like body-warmed Parisian perfume.

The detail had been distracting enough that Maya almost missed Phoenix confirming several details of Amaryllis' story. There were no calls or messages between Amaryllis and Ruby- listed in Amaryllis' contacts as DNA, a label so unapologetically frigid that it made Maya shiver in the summer heat- prior to May. The first phone call had lasted less than thirty seconds, and had been followed by a persistent chain of missed calls over the next few months, once a day, every day, always hovering around the same time in the evening with a shocking consistency, and always ignored. Amaryllis had finally picked up on the nineteenth of June, cutting it off after eight seconds; the second call that day, immediately afterwards, lasted a few minutes. There was a smattering of sparse texts afterwards, of Ruby announcing her arrival in LA a few days ago, then sending the name of her hotel and room number with painfully forced gaiety, and Amaryllis tersely confirming that she would send the tickets there.

There was one more text, from the night of the murder, sent just after intermission began but undelivered due to poor cell signal backstage.

| Coming to see you now. You were beautiful up there.

The call Amaryllis made before curtains up was also recorded, made at 7:14PM and lasting until 7:47PM, to a contact listed as Chéri. The profile photo was a young man around Amaryllis' age, his tan rich against the satin-sheen platinum blond hair that fell across his eyes and framed his face, a relaxed grin directed at the camera and emphasising his long handsome features, the strong curve of his jaw and the Pacific-blue glitter of his irises. Maya and Phoenix had riddled over his significance and gossiped about possibilities until the clock ran down. Maya's bet was boyfriend, based on the contact name; Phoenix guessed cousin or close friend, based purely on the similarity in their brand of cool.

Once they returned to the office, Phoenix had started to dredge through the full printed activity logs, to ensure there were no nasty surprises from the prosecution. Meanwhile, Maya had sat down with Phoenix's laptop with the high-resolution, full-colour security footage running on double speed, tracking every movement in and out of the corridor. With Phoenix's help, she had identified two-thirds of the individuals who passed by the lens: Amaryllis, whose apparent absence she had puzzled over until Phoenix reminded her of the ice-blonde wig that was part of her costume; Ruby, flame-touched curls skimming the shoulders of her chic white jacket, oversized leather bag in hand and brushing against the delicate pastel skirts of her dress; a pink-haired woman whose vigorous stride blurred her into a comet of buttercup and cream, who Phoenix quickly named as the costume designer, Cherry Pye; and a flaxen-blond boy initially appearing in jeans, a forest-green t-shirt and sneakers that could only be the lead male actor, Jamie Arany.

There were two more women- a caramel-blonde, thick curls curtaining her shoulders like a cloak, and a brunette with a feathery flipped bob. One had to be the secondary female lead, but the other was an unknown. Maya had logged every action that the camera caught in its field of vision, which was surprisingly little, grit gathering under her eyelids the longer she stared at the screen.

Maya startled upright as something cold nudged against her temple, eyes snapping open. She hadn't even realised she was drifting off.

"Sorry," Phoenix said, "tired?"

"A little." Maya stifled a yawn against her fingers, reaching up to take the chilled glass from him with a smile. "Late night and early start, you know? Guess it's creeping up on me."

"We should probably wrap it up for today anyway. I don't think I'm getting anything else out of the phone records," he said, circling around the sofa to set a glass of orange juice on the coffee table by Pearl, whose attention was dedicated to a documentary playing on the wall-mounted office television. "Here you go, Pearls."

She turned her face up towards him. "Thank you, Mr Nick! Are you and Mystic Maya almost finished with work?"

"I'm all done with the security footage," Maya announced, sipping at her lemon-lime soda, bubbles sparking on the roof of her mouth. In a display of sheer laziness, she kicked one leg up and closed the laptop with her heel. "Nick?"

"I think so." He stood over his desk, shuffling through a few loose papers half-heartedly. "I haven't found anything new, just evidence that Amaryllis has been telling the truth- which is good, I guess."

Pearl abruptly straightened, swivelling in her seat to look at Phoenix, intense and warm-spice sweet as anise. "Mr Nick. I have to say something important."

Phoenix halted, glancing up at Pearl's solemnity, and nodded.

"Sure. What is it, Pearls? It doesn't always have to be important or serious for us to listen, you know," he reminded her.

Pearl gave a soft, shy smile. "I-I know. But this is important. It's about that lady. The one you're going to defend." She shifted onto her knees, chin propped against the back of the couch. "She seems a little mean, and prickly, but- I think she's good. I don't think she hurt anyone."

The corner of Phoenix's mouth pulled up, his upper body rising with the motion. "You think so too, huh?"

"Yes!" Pearl said with earnest confidence. "I sensed something about her when I saw her."

"Really? What's that?"

Cute, Maya thought to herself, watching their exchange, hiding her growing smile behind the rim of her glass. Somehow, in the time that Maya had been confined to the detention centre and Phoenix had been fighting to get her out, he and Pearl had formed a trusting, ridiculously sweet rapport.

Pearl paused and sat back, mouth pursed in thought, fingers laced loosely in her lap. "Mr Nick, how much do you know about the spiritual services offered by Kurain Village?"

"What? Oh- well, uh, not too much," Phoenix faltered for a moment, visibly thrown by the question. "Enough to know that spirit channellings are actually relatively rare. Kurain mostly offers other services, like séances- although, from what Maya tells me, those are a little weaker than full spirit channellings, and less reliable for calling on a specific individual or getting clear answers. It acts more like a- like a general invitation to the dead?" He glanced at Maya in askance, and she nodded emphatically at the analogy; the way she had originally explained it to Phoenix was that séances were like public internet forums, while spirit channelling was closer to direct messaging. "The medium, um- opens up a channel for spirits to speak through. Certain spirits might show, while others don't. There's also spiritual cleansings, right? Purification rituals to get rid of bad energy, and guided meditation sessions to a person better connect with, uh, the Beyond."

"That's right," Pearl said with a prim bob of her head. "The Fey clan is remarkable for our sensitivity to the spirit world, resulting in our ability to call forth departed spirits and allow them to possess the medium's body, so that they may interact with the living realm. But our strong spiritual power isn't limited to interacting with the dead. There are a lot of other ways in which we are more sensitive to the spirit plane than most." Her formal tone melted away to a bright sprig of enthusiasm. "Like aura-reading!"

"Auras? That's like a person's spiritual essence, right?"

"Mm, that's- not quite-? It's more like- um, well…" Pearl deflated, nibbling on her thumbnail uncertainly. "Um. Mystic Maya? How would you explain it?"

"Huh? Oh. Um." Maya, caught off guard, tapped at her earlobe in thought. "Well- it's a- a projection of spiritual energy, I guess you could say? Like- okay, if a person's soul is a fire, then their aura is like the heat coming off it. Does that make sense? You reach out to it, and feel the warmth, and that tells you a bit about what the fire is like, even if you're not touching the fire directly."

"So, an aura isn't a person's soul," Phoenix extrapolated, "but, something that results from their soul? Like an echo of a sound."

"Yes, exactly!" Pearl brightened. "Everyone has an aura. It sometimes leaves traces behind, a unique residual energy. That's why personal items belonging to the dead are often useful for channelling. Some acolytes in Kurain train specifically in this branch of spiritual perception."

"Alright," Phoenix said slowly, leaning back against the edge of the desk. "So, what you sensed- I'm guessing it has to do with Amaryllis' aura."

"Yes. Most disciples of the Kurain Channelling Technique can sense auras," she explained. "If we focus, we can perceive when a person's aura is clouded with inner turmoil, or has negative energy attached to it. Some malicious spirits will feed off a person's aura, and need to be banished. But the lady's aura- there was something there. Something odd," Pearl mused. "It felt a bit like a shield around her. It's attached to her aura, and it's not a parasitic spirit, but it's not a blessing either. It felt like it was- thinking, choosing to be there. If I had to guess," her slate-grey eyes gleamed, clear as glass, "it felt like protection from beyond the grave."

Phoenix straightened sharply. "From beyond the grave- do you mean- her sister-?"

Pearl shook her head.

"I don't think so, Mr Nick. Her death is too recent. It's tricky for the recently deceased to return so soon, at least without a powerful medium to help them. But there's something protecting her, and I just think-" Pearl hesitated, nipping at her thumb with her teeth. "I was watching, while you were talking to her. I saw underneath the presence shielding her, just for a moment, and- well, spiritual sensitivity is a bit like a door. If you leave it closed for too long, the hinges get rusty, and it's hard to open that door again. But the same thing happens if you leave it open. It rusts that way, and it's hard to close the door against bad spirits you don't want to let in. That's why spirit mediums have to practice opening and closing themselves off to the spirit plane, so that they can learn to control it. When I glimpsed part of the lady's aura, underneath the protection- she was really, really open to the spiritual plane. And I- I just think that- for someone to be protected that fiercely- and to be so open to the spirit world, so much that it's a little dangerous- I just can't believe anyone like that could really be bad."

Characteristic of a prodigy whose talents outstripped most of their clan combined, Pearl had a point, even if her conclusion was simplified and rose-tinted though a lens of naivety. Factually, all of Pearl's observations were accurate.

There was no denying that Amaryllis had an unusually strong connection to the spirit plane, whether she was conscious of it or not. For something- or, more correctly, something that was once someone- to be both using Amaryllis as a conduit to access the realm of the living and actively manifesting in order to protect her, there was no other possibility. So, that was true.

It was also true that those with high spiritual sensitivity tended to be prepossessed to an ambiguous kind of emotional clarity, mental focus and inner peace- a contradictory cocktail of heart-rooted empathy and tranquillity verging on apathy, forming an equilibrium that both reacted and didn't; it did not speak, it listened, as Maya's instructors were so fond of reminding her, whatever that meant.

And it was true that, for someone like Amaryllis to be so hyper-receptive, presumably without any formal training, there was a decent chance that her default mindset slanted towards that balanced state of being.

And, of course, it was true that murder and the motivating feelings behind it didn't really fit that kind of enlightened mode of thinking.

Overall, it made things very weird if Amaryllis was guilty. It didn't make it impossible, but it did make it feel unlikely.

But Maya's view were still much less defined and far more complicated than Pearl's, gestating as she had stared dully at the security footage during lulls in action. Highly sensitive to spirits and protected by something did not equal good, innocent, not a murderer. And there were questions unasked and details obscured that branched off from the core of facts and evidence, like paths that might lead to nowhere or everywhere.

When Pearl talked of Amaryllis' openness to the point of danger, Maya couldn't compare it to a door. Instead, she thought of exposed nerves and a fresh wound packed with gauze, emotion-rich energy seeping from a breach like an oil spill, practically a beacon that shrieked with sirens and flashing neon lights to any malevolent or opportunistic spirit within a mile radius. Maya was willing to bet that Amaryllis' spiritual sensitivity was inherent, but that her current dangerous level was recent. Something in her had been ripped open, leaving her vulnerable, less like an unlatched door and more like one ripped off its hinges.

The question of its cause brimmed with possibility; of whether it was grief or guilt, the trauma of committing murder or of stumbling upon the aftermath, or something entirely unrelated to the case.

It was impossible to know. It was impossible to know whether it even mattered. Reading auras wasn't like reading minds, as even the most repulsive aura could indicate that the person was a victim, rather than a perpetrator. Amaryllis could be good or bad, guilty or innocent, or utterly heartless and reprehensible but also not the murderer in this specific case.

You don't need to have loved her, Maya had said, you just need to have not killed her.

It made her head hurt to think about it, like a riddle missing half of the information.

She didn't think that Amaryllis had murdered her sister. But truthfully, Maya believed that Amaryllis was capable of it. She could have.

And that was a dangerous, insidious thought. Because Maya had asked Phoenix to take the case, and Phoenix had agreed, and if Amaryllis was guilty-

If you care about him at all, you'll absolve him of any obligation to this case.

Maya swallowed, feeling the glass in her hands almost began to creak and bend perilously under her grip. Was she warning me? Because Phoenix wouldn't listen earlier? What could be so bad that-

"Maya?"

She startled, finding Phoenix looking at her, his eyes distant and doubtful, their colour obscured in the shifting light.

"What do you think?"

Maya hesitated.

Even if I am innocent, even if he proves it, it may be a pyrrhic victory. Are you willing condemn him to that?

If Amaryllis was found guilty, whatever consequences befell Phoenix would forever be on Maya's conscience. Even if Amaryllis was innocent of the crime of which she was accused, but was revealed to have committed a host of other sins through the course of the trial- Phoenix may never forgive himself for helping a monster walk free.

The choking, unresolved doubt rested heavy behind Maya's eyes and in her throat, like unshed tears, a dam waiting to burst.

But Maya wasn't the only one whose opinions mattered. Phoenix, independently of anything Maya had said or done or asked for, believed that Amaryllis was innocent. And it wasn't, she thought bitterly, as though her own judgement could be worth overmuch. She hadn't even realised that her own aunt was arranging for her execution.

The truth, whatever it was, seemed like a distant and unknowable thing that was costumed as a plausible lie. It seemed impossible to strip it back the layers of Amaryllis' opacity and the case's blank spaces to find it.

What family doesn't have its secrets?

But- but- as many could attest, Phoenix Wright possessed an unfaltering determination- one that was easily mistaken for an interesting form of insanity, considering how often it ran in the opposite direction to self-preservation and common sense. He had faced prosecuting gods with crushing reputations and forty-year winning streaks, held his nerve, and won. He had faced down the daughter of one of the aforementioned prosecutors, and her bullwhip, in the very same court of law. He had defended himself from a murder accusation and uncovered his mentor's killer, and saved one of his closest childhood friends from a murder charge twice in the same day.

He could do this. If anyone could do it, it was him.

"I think she's innocent too," Maya said with a confident smile, her mouth full of battery acid and fear, and hoped that she wouldn't regret it.

---

BONUS:
COURT RECORD, DAY 1 – INVESTIGATION [END]

EVIDENCE

Attorney's Badge
Type: Other
One of my possessions.
It's my all-important badge. It shows that I am a defence attorney.

[-]

Amaryllis' Necklace
Type: Other
Retrieved from Amaryllis.
Belongs to my client. The pendant is in the shape of a red lily with a golden arrow piercing through it, symbolising the myth behind Amaryllis' name. For some reason, she lied about who gave it to her.

[-]

Formal Letter of Request
Type: Documents
Received from Amaryllis.
Document proving Amaryllis' request for a defence. It's phrased like an official legal document.

[Details]

8 July, 2017
Los Angeles, LA County, California
United States of America

To whom it may concern,

I, Jaime Amaryllis Steele (undersigned), do hereby tender my formal letter of request engaging the services of defence attorney Phoenix Wright (badge number 26381) as my legal representative in all matters pertaining to the criminal case of The People versus Jaime Amaryllis Steele on one count of murder in the first degree, trial scheduled to commence on the ninth of July, 2017, at the Los Angeles District Courthouse, CA. These permissions extend to any authorised associates of the Wright and Company Law Offices, of Los Angeles, LA County, CA.

The veracity of this document and its signature can be corroborated by myself, orally; by comparison to the signature on two (2) legal identification documents (valid UK Passport, last renewed July 2014; valid US Passport, last renewed December 2016); and by the witness accounts of the two security guards present at the Los Angeles Downtown Detention Centre, CA, who were on duty in the visitor's room between 9AM and 10AM on the morning of the eighth of July, 2017.

Signed,
JA Steele

[-]

Amaryllis' Memo
Type: Documents
Received from Amaryllis.
A request from my client. It contains her address and instructions to retrieve a specific item.

[Details]

If you're visiting the crime scene- best to turn a cherry from sour to sweet:
Santa Monica, Olympus Tower, Apartment 1221
Door code – 121001#
Lower kitchen cupboard, left side of the sink- two bags (Summerton Farm Gourmet Gerbil Treats)
To be delivered to Cherry Pye, costume designer, likely the Eclipse: late twenties, blush-pink pixie cut, yellow playsuit with dark buttons, white blouse, red stockings. Probably threatening someone with fabric shears

[-]

Gerbil Treats
Type: Other
Retrieved from Amaryllis' apartment.
Two small bags of gourmet gerbil treats, made from roasted sunflower and pumpkin seeds, and dried strawberries. To be delivered to Cherry Pye.

[-]

Riding Crop
Type: Other
Retrieved from Amaryllis' apartment.
[1] A riding crop made from fine leather. There are a set of initials monogrammed into the handle- FVK.
[2] A riding crop made from fine leather. It once belonged to Franziska von Karma, who gave it to Ruby Steele as a gift. Amaryllis stole it years ago out of revenge.

[-]

Playbill
Type: Other
Retrieved from the Eclipse Theatre.
Programme for the night of the murder (7 July, 2017). Details the synopsis and main cast for the musical Heartstrings. Act I was from 8:00PM-9:00PM. Intermission was from 9:00PM-9:30PM. Act II was from 9:30PM-11PM. Main actors are listed as Jaime Steele (Lorelei, protagonist), Jamie Arany (Linus, deuterogamist), and Gloria Siquer (Cecily, tritagonist).

[-]

Crime Scene Photo
Type: Photographs
Received from Detective Gumshoe.
A photo of the crime scene. The victim has visibly been stabbed multiple times. The scene is quite brutal.

[-]

Hairstick
Type: Weapons
Submitted as evidence by Detective Gumshoe.
The murder weapon. An elegant gold hairstick with a sharp point, about as long as a chopstick. The blunt end is decorated with white enamel blossoms, and there is a short gold chain hanging from the end. Covered in the victim's blood, and bears a single set of bloody fingerprint from Amaryllis' right hand. No other prints were found.

[-]

Hairstick Case
Type: Evidence
Submitted as evidence by Detective Gumshoe.
[1] A decorative carved cherrywood case. It has some weight to it. Contains a single hairstick. Bears only the victim's fingerprints.
[2] A decorative carved cherrywood case. It has some weight to it. A presentation box for a set of hairsticks, intended as a gift to Amaryllis from her father after his death. Bears only the victim's fingerprints.

[-]

Amaryllis' Script
Type: Other
Retrieved from Amaryllis' dressing room.
Amaryllis' copy of the script for the musical. Heavily notated and amended in pencil, especially the music sections. There are barely any scenes where she's offstage, and they're marked with notes reading costume change or prop retrieval in the margins.

[-]

Amaryllis' Phone
Type: Evidence
Submitted as evidence by Detective Gumshoe.
Belongs to my client. The last call was made at 7:14PM on the day of the murder, and lasted until 7:47PM. The last message received was from the victim, but was never opened due to poor cell reception.

[-]

Security Camera Data
Type: Evidence
Submitted as evidence by Detective Gumshoe.
Data from the security camera at the entrance of the restricted backstage area of the Eclipse.

[Details]

7:12PM: Amaryllis is captured leaving the backstage area, already in costume. She is wearing her necklace.
7:38PM: Ruby is captured entering the backstage area.
7:45PM: Ruby is captured leaving the backstage area. Brunette[?] is captured entering the backstage area.
7:49PM: Amaryllis is captured entering the backstage area. The zipper on her costume is gold.
7:55PM: The main cast and two crewmembers are captured leaving the backstage area.

8:52PM: Jamie is captured returning to the backstage area. He has removed his costume's coat, and the lining is sapphire blue.
8:58PM: Cherry is captured returning to the backstage area.
9:01PM: Amaryllis, Blondie[?] and Brunette[?] are captured returning to the backstage area.
9:05PM: Ruby is captured entering the backstage area.
9:27PM: Blondie[?] and Brunette[?] are captured leaving the backstage area.
9:28PM: Amaryllis is captured leaving the backstage area.
9:30PM: Cherry is captured leaving the backstage area.
9:36PM: Jamie is captured leaving the backstage area. He is carrying a large bag, and the lining of his costume's coat is emerald green.

11:06PM: Amaryllis, Jamie, Blondie[?] and Brunette[?] are captured entering the backstage area.

[-]

PROFILES

Maya Fey
Age: 18
Height: 5'1"
My assistant and a disciple of the Kurain tradition of spirit channelling. Her older sister Mia was my mentor and boss. She chose this case for our office.

[-]

Pearl Fey
Age: 8
Height: 4'1"
Maya's cousin. A channelling prodigy with intense power. Also the youngest spirit medium of Kurain Village. Her mother Morgan was arrested two weeks ago for trying to frame Maya for murder.

[-]

Amaryllis Steele
Age: 16
Height: 5'8"
[1] The defendant of this case, accused of murdering her older sister. The lead in a stage musical. A member of British aristocracy. She seems to know me by reputation.
[2] My client. Accused of murdering her sister. The lead in a stage musical. A member of British aristocracy. She seems to know me by reputation.

[-]

Ruby Steele
Age: 23
Height: 5'3"
The victim, and Amaryllis' estranged sister. A British countess who inherited the title four years ago. Came to America to tell Amaryllis something important.

[-]

Mason Steele
Age: 42 (deceased)
Height: 5'10"
Amaryllis and Ruby's father. A British earl, and an architect who worked in continental Europe. He was killed four years ago, marking the final break between his daughters.

[-]

Dick Gumshoe
Age: 31
Height: 6'0"
Detective at the local precinct. In charge of the initial investigation. Despite appearances, he has become a friend of mine over the past year.

[-]

Franziska von Karma
Age: 18
Height: 5'3"
A prosecutor in Germany since age thirteen, she has come to America to beat me in court. Has some mysterious personal connection to the Steele family.

[-]

Cherry Pye
Age: 29
Height: 5'0"
The head costumer for the musical. Contradictorily bad-tempered and laid-back. Meticulous in her craft, and very protective of her work.