"Can you do that again?"

The toymaker stared at his friend in awe, his eyes widened in anticipation like those of a child that wanted to admire the skills of a conjurer.

"No problem." The rat spread out his arms with an air of generosity. "Pick one."

The duck looked around and then pointed at a navy blue convertible a few yards down the road. "Oh, oh, OH! That one!"

Megavolt nodded and strode over to the car, Quackerjack at his heels. He giggled excitedly as the rodent stepped up to the driver's door and lifted his gloved fingers. As if to gently stroke the car, he made a swift hand motion, but there was no touch. Instead, a faint sound could be heard – and the door opened.

"Bravo!" The jester clapped his hands. "Another one! Megavolt? Please!"

The villain in the yellow jumpsuit turned around and looked at a silver-gray monstrosity, a real gas guzzler, and snapped his fingers. The red van at the corner of the street received a beckoning of his finger and the black coupé behind them a bow. Beep, click, open.

Megavolt grinned, clearly enjoying the limelight. Quackerjack carefully opened the coupé's passenger door as if it could bite him. He shook his head, his expression a combination of amusement and veneration. "This is magic."

"Nah, just basic electronics." The rat chuckled. Quackerjack's acknowledgment did him good, and he let himself get carried away by his friend's excitement. "Wanna see something really cool?"

If possible, the duck's face lit up even more. He watched his partner in crime stroll casually to the middle of the deserted street, the complete array of cars in front of him. "Work your magic, maestro," the toymaker whispered.

Megavolt lifted his arms and, for a moment, stood dead still. Then, with well-choreographed gestures, he communicated with the cars, instructing, cueing, tracing shapes. It indeed made him look like he was conducting an orchestra. Then, a change of dynamics. Even though there was no actual music playing, Quackerjack could tell that Megavolt was building up a crescendo. He looked highly concentrated, his arms spread out wide, his torso bent. Suddenly, he threw his arms up in a dramatic sweeping movement. As if seized by a wave, the cars' front lights flashed one after the other; they each sang their part as the effect of Megavolt's spectacle rolled down the street like a chain reaction.

The rat closed his eyes and bowed his thanks. "Power door locks, what a marvel of engineering. But so easy to put out of commission."

Quackerjack was speechless. Instead, a high-pitched voice seemed to come from one of his puffy sleeves. "Amazing show, Joe!"

The jester pulled out a banana-shaped doll, grabbed it by the scruff of its neck and shook it slightly. "There you are! I've been looking for you for the past three days!"

Quackerjack looked a little sulky, obviously waiting for an answer. When that failed to appear from his companion's goofy grin, he placed the doll on his shoulder and went on, "Not talking to me, eh? But I concede, Mr. Banana Brain, our friend did deliver."

Megavolt rolled his eyes, then smiled. "Anything for my pals."

"This was really fun. Now let's take a closer look at this toy chest." Quackerjack slumped into the passenger seat.

"Yeah." Megavolt sat down on the driver's seat and eyed the interior of the car with interest. "And almost too easy. People just leaving their beloved cars out here, even though they all have garages the size of their living rooms."

"It's a 'good neighborhood'," the jester explained in a mock snooty tone. "No one expects some petty crooks to walk around and break into their possessions."

"Oh, but we didn't break," Megavolt responded in the most pretentious way he himself could imitate, holding up his finger. "We've got the key."

Both villains burst out laughing. It truly had been a good idea to go out and wreak some mild havoc. Nothing too big, nothing that would bring Dipwing Dork or the cops to the scene if they behaved carefully, but entertaining enough to make Megavolt forget his glumness.

He enjoyed spending his time with Quackerjack. Usually, the rat preferred to work alone, but the two of them just clicked. Even though they were bantering and bickering more often than not, they balanced each other out. On the surface, Quackerjack's impulsive nature seemed to clash with Megavolt's pensive one, the rodent's occasional zoning out with the duck's hyperactivity, the playfulness with the moodiness. But all in all, they were wired similarly. They both were creative inventors with ideals. They both knew what it felt like to be misunderstood, to be considered an unbalanced individual of society.

Megavolt watched his best friend unwrap a strawberry-flavored chewing gum he had found in the glove compartment. He offered it to Mr. Banana Brain.

"You're such a grouch! You won't talk, you won't eat … just what is it that you want?" the jester mused.

Oh well. Quackerjack was a loon. But the best one far and wide.

The villains worked through many cars, keeping watch here and there so the other one could gather up any items of interest without interruption. Megavolt ended up with numerous lights, a few batteries and an alternator. Quackerjack had collected more loose candy, forgotten toys and other odds and ends – bobby pins, paperclips, rubber bands and an outdated road atlas.

"What do you need all that junk for?" the rat asked, frowning.

Quackerjack held up the candy. "Food." He pointed at the toys. "Inspiration." He scooped up the clutter. "Tools."

Megavolt still looked skeptical.

The toymaker threw him a sideglance. "Just you wait and see," he grinned. "It's gonna be hilarious! It's gonna be grand!"

"I bet." The rodent chuckled to himself. He checked the content of his bag once more. "I think I have everything I need. Better get these babies home while it's still dry."

"Yep yep. It's bedtime for Mr. Banana Brain anyway. Maybe a snatch of sleep will raise his spirits again." Quackerjack absentmindedly stroked the doll's head. Moments later, his own head was forced down by Megavolt's gloved palm.

"Hey, what –"

"Shhh!"

Realization came over the jester when he saw blue and red lights flashing by on the main road. They remained hidden in the car's shadowy interior for a moment until Quackerjack's curiosity got the better of him.

"They're not coming for us," he said.

"Huh?"

"Look." The duck pointed in the direction of the lights and wailing sirens. "Fire engines."

Megavolt peeked out. "Boy, they're many. Must be something big."

Quackerjack tied up his own bag. "Let's vamoose. Where there's fire, there's gonna be cops. And rubberneckers."

The rat nodded. They left the neighborhood and parted company. Despite their hasty departure, Megavolt was in high spirits. He was looking forward to welcoming his new friends to his home and to bringing the parts he had gotten hold of to better use.

The thrill of anticipation didn't last long, however.

He knew what it was long before he reached his doorstep. The wind tugged at the plastic bag, the soft rustling sound taunting him.

The rain of the weekend hadn't been able to beat the heat of early summer – so when Monday morning came around, St. Canard's residents cursed the mugginess that the long-awaited change of weather had brought along.

Gosalyn closed her eyes and enjoyed the breeze that brushed her face as the car rolled by the familiar houses of their neighborhood. After the talk with Honker and his parents, she should be grateful that she was still being tolerated around him. But in actual fact, she had never felt more uncomfortable in her life.

Of course Binkie and Herb hadn't blamed anybody for the fairground disaster. It would've surprised Gosalyn if they had been anything but their normal indulgent selves, but they had obviously decided to watch over their son twenty-four-seven from now on and that was bad enough. The feeling of guilt she experienced was just the tip of the iceberg. Honker kept trying to talk to her like nothing had happened.

"I've learned my lesson," she whispered. "Don't make it more difficult than it already is."

"That wasn't my intention," the duck boy answered. "I'm sorry I -"

"Honker, you already tried it yesterday and I'm still not taking it," Gosalyn interrupted him. "If anything, you should accept my apology."

Both kids knew their conversation wasn't going anywhere but always reentering the same circle over and over again. Yet they couldn't drop it. But that wasn't necessary, for Binkie drew their attention off to something different.

"Oh, Herb, it looks like the road is closed." She pointed at the scene ahead. Fire engines, police cars and ambulances were blocking the street. The duck girl carefully craned her neck whereas her friend tried to avert his eyes.

"Woah, look!" Tank jumped up as far as the seatbelt allowed it, both his hands rested on his brother and Gosalyn's heads to come up even higher. "That place over there looks like it exploded!"

Binkie pressed him back down with gentle force. "Now, now, we don't want to be too curious, do we?"

"Your mom's right, Tank, nothin' for us to see here. Let the pros do their work!" Herb turned the car around and as he did so, Gosalyn caught a short glimpse of the scene. Tank's comment was no exaggeration. The debris of what once must've been an elaborate, old house covered the street. Charred roof beams pierced the blue sky. It looked eerie and she felt herself shivering. What exactly had happened here? Whose house was this? Where the residents okay? Gosalyn turned away and watched the huddle of people that they were passing now instead. Firefighters, police officers, paramedics, bystanders behind the tape.

What she didn't see where the people bustling around the house. Investigators were documenting the scene. Photos were taken, pieces of evidence were collected and packaged. Standing apart from everybody else was a woman in a dark blue suit, her auburn hair tied up in a neat bun. Her eyes rested upon the ruin, her expression earnest and professional. Inwardly, however, things looked entirely different.

"Dr. Johansson?"

She turned around. A man in a white suit approached her. He gave her a nod, which she returned. "Good morning, Dr. Hunter."

"'Good' isn't what I'd call it," the gopher replied with a shake of the head, frowning. "What are you doing here, so early in the morning? It'll take us the rest of the day to work through this mess, and then some."

"I know, that's not why I'm here." The female rat's voice quivered unintentionally. She faced the house once more, rubbing her left cheekbone and the outer corner of her eye. "I just … had to come."

Dr. Hunter remained silent, watching her carefully. She looked at him again and held his gaze. At last, he seemed to understand. "You knew them."

"Yes." She couldn't say it out loud, so she lifted her briefcase as an indicator instead.

Dr. Hunter's features softened a bit. The Head of Forensic Investigations was known as a gruff man, but she liked him. He was exceptionally competent and against the impression he left on people, he wasn't callous. The ghost of a smile graced his face when he said, "Don't take it so hard, Eleanor. People do unfathomable things, every day."

She nodded slowly, he did the same, but obviously they did it for different reasons.

"I'll get back in touch with you as soon as possible," Dr. Hunter promised and took his leave. Eleanor remained frozen in place for another few minutes, her thoughts racing. At last she managed to turn away and depart, the smell of burnt timber following her.

Unfathomable. Definitely.

Suburban St. Canard rolled past and soon enough Downtown towered over the chock-full bus. Traffic was slow and the driver took advantage of every green phase, maxing out the speed limit just to slam on the brakes moments later. Swearing mingled with chitchat and whining. Firmly jammed between a doubler stroller and the bulky elbow of a construction worker, Eleanor found herself wishing she had taken the subway instead.

She had moved back to her hometown two years ago. Prior to that, she had studied and lived in Duckburg, which seemed like a sleepy little nest compared to St. Canard. Granted, the city had a lot to offer. If you wanted, you could just start on a walk and you would always end up finding something that pleased you. But like any major city, it had problems. Plenty of them. Accepting a new job in the metropolis had provided an incentive to be closer to her family. But it also meant being closer to her past.

Finally, Eleanor's stop arrived. She got off the bus and walked the remaining block to the office. The modern glass building glistened in the sunlight. In was still quite early, but the lobby was already filled with suits. The female rat smiled to herself. She assumed that 95 percent of them wished the dress code allowed light summer clothing.

"The curse of us legal eagles," Henry – one of her colleagues – often lamented. "We absorb other peoples' atrocities, we voluntarily wear uncomfortable clothes and drink dead-roasted coffee."

Eleanor had long since given up responding to that. She'd usually only shrug it off and grin.

Out of the corner of her eye, she realized that the receptionist was beckoning her over. Eleanor walked over to Trudi, a tough elderly falcon, and took the envelope she handed her.

"Good morning, dear. This was in the mailbox when I arrived."

"Thank you." No stamp, no sender. Only a short note in one of the corners. Miss Johansson. Confidential. She frowned. "Looks like it was dropped off personally on the weekend."

"Probably," Trudi agreed and then turned towards a young hummingbird who looked a little lost. A laxly tied, bright red tie twined around his neck and clashed with the crimson of his plumage. His fingers twiddled with the collar of his shirt as he came up to the desk with shaky steps. Eleanor stowed the envelope in her briefcase and quickly checked her planner when Trudi tapped her on the shoulder.

"Eleanor, this is Mr. Flanagan. He's a bit early," the receptionist smiled apologetically.

Another quick glance at the planner revealed that this was the new intern. Eleanor closed the book and shook the young man's hand. It was warm and sweaty. "Welcome to Lynx & Nuthatch, Mr. Flanagan! I'm Miss Johansson, it's a pleasure to meet you."

"Pleasure's all mine," the hummingbird mumbled in response. He scratched his beak. "Sorry, I know you didn't expect me before nine, but …" He shrugged.

Eleanor smiled. "Not a problem. I'll give you a tour, follow me." She said goodbye to Trudi and decided to get the poor lad a coffee first. In the break room, she tried to engage him in conversation. "I think I haven't caught your first name."

He didn't answer until he had added five heaped teaspoons of sugar to his cup and downed it in two gulps. "Thanks," the hummingbird replied at last, grinning sheepishly at Eleanor's astonished look. "I, uh … tend to skip breakfast when I'm tense, and then the result is a ball of nerves. I'm sorry for the weird first impression. I'm Aiden."

The rat laughed gently. "It's all good, Aiden. I'm Eleanor."

In the following hour, he proved to be a completely different person. He revealed how much he knew about Lynx and Nuthatch – one of the biggest law firms in St. Canard – and its departments and drilled her with questions. It was a welcome change after her morning had started off so badly. Now, after Aiden had left to resume work at the Department of Banking and Finance Law, Eleanor found herself a few floors further down, in her office.

The envelope was on her desk. She had read what was inside. Something had cleared up. And yet she had the feeling that she wasn't any wiser. It was a letter from the Lupasters. Her clients. The family who lived at 197 Ivy Crescent.

Had lived.

Eleanor remembered Dr. Hunter's statement. She was used to his blunt remarks, but he definitely had a point. It was her day-to-day business after all. Years of working as a family law attorney had shown her that the most trivial things could put people at odds with each other and leave a wake of emotional devastation for everybody involved.

But this was a whole different dimension. Not only had this case been a strenuous effort right from the beginning – not the usual overinflated fights about irreconcilable differences, but a real struggle for existence –, but the outcome of it all was nothing she had ever experienced before. And definitely nothing she would ever have expected.

Tom and Jules Lupaster had bought the house seven years ago. They had fallen for its Victorian charm, despite its age and need of renovation. Tom was a versatile hobby craftsman who was determined to create a beautiful home for his family. Unfortunately he had miscalculated the costs, and when woodworm infestation had been discovered in the roof truss, they had run into massive debts. Tom had refused to give up his dream and invested all of his time, energy and money into saving what could be saved. The marriage had suffered, a divorce had been considered, the terms of custody of their daughter Linnie had been discussed.

In the end, a foreclosure had become inevitable. Eleanor had guided them through the process and negotiated fair conditions in court. Tom and Jules had thanked her for her efforts, they had left the building hand in hand. For the first time in weeks.

Every single person is like a cog in the giant wheel of society, one of her professors had once said. We know our place, our duties, our role to keep the system up and running. Sometimes, however, the universe likes to throw a monkey wrench into our lives. And while we can still function when not everything runs smoothly, sooner or later we will find ourselves locked in place.

The letter, a desperate cry for help and a harsh accusation against family, friends and neighbors, ended with the words, "This is our home. If we can't have it, no one will."

Not everyone wins through a standstill.

Eleanor sat down behind her desk. She wasn't quite sure what to do. The Lupaster file was still on the right-hand side of it, where she had left it on Friday. After the hearing. They would've had one last appointment today. So far, Eleanor hadn't dared to cross it out of her calendar.

A knock on the door jolted her out of her thoughts. "Come in," she rasped, clearing her throat and sitting up. The person to appear in the doorframe was a tall rooster with buff plumage.

"I just heard the news," he said calmly, closing the door. "I'm sorry."

"Thanks, Henry." Eleanor tried a smile and offered him a seat. "Coffee?"

"No, thanks!" He scrunched up his nose, sitting down. "I can't believe you're still drinking that."

"Well, not everyone can afford the Henry-approved luxury delicacies." She was grateful that he tried to lift her spirits.

"I'll get you a bag of the finest roast for your birthday," Henry offered. "Only the best for the best."

A smile touched the rat's face, but it didn't last. She filed the letter in the folder. The prospect of the proceedings ahead stirred a sense of dread inside of her. What a disconcerting turn of events.

"Eleanor, it's not your fault." The rooster fastened his eyes on her. "I'm serious. You're one of the best lawyers I know. You're not responsible for other peoples' actions."

"They were my clients, of course I was responsible for them!" she snapped and immediately felt sorry for doing so.

"Yes, but you did everything in your power to help them," Henry reminded her. "You did help them. What you accomplished on Friday was incredible! It's not on you what they did afterwards."

Eleanor knew he was right, but she couldn't escape the feeling that she had overlooked something. That modicum of hope that she hadn't been able to provide. It hadn't been enough.

As always.

The rooster emphasized his gaze. "I understand how much this is affecting you and I know I sound like an insensitive jerk, but it's no use crying over spilled milk. Not a critique, just a reminder."

At last, Eleanor surrendered and met his eyes. He nodded, a warm smile spread across his beak and the rat found her own expression soften. True, Henry could be relentlessly forthright, but it was a trait she appreciated.

"There's something I wanted to show you." He unfolded the newspaper he had brought along. Eleanor recognized it as the local tabloid and released a displeased grumble. Of course they were quicker than everybody else. Henry went on, "There was a raid in Aurora Oaks, only a good mile away from the fire. Someone took out the locks of what must've been sixty cars, and passed undetected. I had an interesting phone call with Detective Ursa just now. It hasn't been confirmed yet, but it doesn't look like the act of a street gang."

The rat winced at the mention of Ursa's name. She had come across it quite a few times ever since she had returned to St. Canard and it always gave her an uneasy feeling. "So who is under suspicion here?"

"Supervillains."

"But why would supervillains randomly attack ordinary citizens?"

"That's the question! You'd think they have bigger plans. We're in the middle of a peak period of criminal activity, but the underground is surprisingly quiet." Henry looked up, his expression just as puzzled as Eleanor's. "Maybe it was out of boredom. Whatever the case may be, it's an alarming development. Which leads me to why I'm actually here."

Near-instantly, he faltered. It was that brief moment of indecision that surfaced whenever he knew more than those around him. Eleanor looked at him expectantly. She knew how to play that game, just like he did. It was every lawyer's superpower.

And sure enough, Henry stirred. "So, um …" He tucked at his comb. "First of all, it's not official, so please don't pin me down to it. But Detective Ursa mentioned something and I've heard a similar indication in the elevator earlier. If it proves true what I've heard, there's a new concept to reduce crime, with focus on returning criminals to society."

Eleanor arched her eyebrows. "Sounds like a difficult task to undertake, if you ask me. They'll need a multidisciplinary team." She began to understand where this was heading.

"It wouldn't surprise me if they asked you," Henry threw in.

"They won't," Eleanor disagreed. "Not after today."

"Will you stop belittling yourself?" The rooster threw his hands up in mock frustration. "Or at least, invite me to your pity party."

Eleanor burst into laughter.

"For real, Johansson, you need company. Get yourself a guy!"

"Henry!" she warned him, still chuckling.

"Or a girl."

"Henry!"

"Anybody!"

"We're not going to discuss this any further."

"Fine. But my point stands." The rooster rose from his seat and adjusted his tie, grinning. "A little distraction never hurt anybody."

Eleanor stared at him incredulously. "You're not asking me out on a date, are you?"

Henry shrugged, smirking. "What if I am?"

"Oh, come on!" The rat walked around the desk and started to shove him out of her office with gentle force, another fit of giggles rising in her throat. "Don't make fun of me! And by the way, everybody knows you're into Tina."

The rooster turned significantly paler. "Who told you that?" he hissed.

"I have eyes, Mr. Sickles." Eleanor opened the door, a triumphant smile on her face. "Oh, and just so you know. I do have a date tonight."

Scattered pieces of paper on the floor, drawers turned upside down, cabinet doors wide open. What looked like a burglary was the doing of the house owner herself. She checked the bookshelf for the fourth time as if hoping that what she was looking for would miraculously materialize at last.

The front door opened and she froze. "Edmund …" she whispered.

She rushed out of the living room, towards her husband and grabbed his arm. Alarm crept up his features. "Irma, what's wrong? What happened?"

His wife dragged him along and promptly started to rummage the mess again. "Where's the letter?" Her breath was hitching.

"Letter? What do you mean?" Edmund dropped his briefcase and watched his agitated wife.

"The letter." She turned to face him. "The invitation."

"The -" It dawned on him. "I – Let me think." He rubbed his forehead. "It was on the coffee table."

"Are you sure?" Irma pushed aside the books on the table, opened and shook them.

"Yes. With the other letters that came that day."

Irma stared at him, but looked right through him.

"Honey?" Edmund touched his wife's shoulder. She was trembling.

"Those … weren't letters."

"What do you mean?"

She shook her head fiercely as if that would undo what had happened. Edmund pulled her into a hug, an icy chill traveling down his back.

"Oh my God."