However long Phoenix stared at them, however full of fiery determination he was, Wright and Co.'s collection of law textbooks never got any less intimidating.

          "Hey, Nick?"

          He didn't need to look at Maya -- her smile was cheeky and her eyes danced with mischief. He knew that expression like the insides of his eyelids.

          "Reading books is easier when you open them."

          Phoenix sighed, and forfeited his staring contest with the spine of Litigation in Concurrent Tribunal. "It's not as easy as it sounds, you know."

          "Well, you've gotta start somewhere," she chirped.

          Pages rustled, and Phoenix glanced to Maya -- lounging across the armchair, kicking her sandaled feet in the air,  absorbed again in the tabloid spread colourful over her lap. She wasn't exactly one to talk about advanced reading, but the point stood. With a steeling breath, and with Mia's stern presence ghosting in his thoughts, Phoenix placed fingertips on a leather-bound tome and tugged it from the shelf. 

 

          "Ooh, another Agent sighting! With a jetpack and everything!"

          Musing over a book's title counted as reading, really. Right and Responsibility: Sixth Edition. Very educational.

          "Do you honestly believe those things?" he asked. Phoenix couldn't look at a tabloid headline anymore without wondering whose lunkheaded best friend was at the core of the story. "You don't believe in Agents?!" Maya squawked, "They stand for everything good in the world, Nick! They're defenders of the innocent! Helpers of the underdogs! Shining beacons of truth and justice!"

          With a pitch like that, it was a wonder Agents didn't have a line of action figures.

          And, smirking, Maya added, "They're a lot like lawyers, you know."

 

          Phoenix paused in sliding his thumb under the book's cover, and he frowned. It was a wonderful thought -- mysterious heroes swooping to the rescue -- but too saccharine for his tastes. Bad things happened to good people. That was just how the world worked. If a quick song and dance could right everything, why would lives end up ruined? Why would anyone know the feeling of being scared, or heartbroken, or without a friend in the world?   

          Justice, it seemed was a harsh mistress, and not one to approve of shortcuts. The thought sat bitter-savoury -- and before he could reconsider, Phoenix opened his book.

 

 

          Lunch came and went; Maya chattered about the latest boogeyman theories and polished off more than her share of the pizza. Phoenix reached the end of the textbook's table of contents, and strongly considered the possibility of turning the page.

          That was when the front door's hinges creaked distant. Maybe a client, and maybe another month's rent -- barely noticing the textbook thump against the desktop, Phoenix straightened his tie and left the office.

 

          The visitor gazed idly around the foyer, tucking a purse under her arm and smoothing night-coloured bangs to one side -- her eyes landed on Phoenix, and lit. She smiled as he introduced himself and Maya, a proud, knowing smile that seemed to fill the room.

          "Stella," she replied, and offered a firm handshake, "Stella Nocturne. I've heard a lot about you, Mr. Wright."

          "You're practically famous, Nick!" Maya prodded him with an elbow.

          Stella slid her tinted sunglasses to perch in her hair. "Famous enough where I'm from. Which is why I'm here, it's--"

 

          And the liveliness left her blue eyes, the smile drained away -- familiar distress replaced it, a plea to echo her words.

          "My friend needs your help, Mr. Wright, he's been arrested for murder. But he'd never do that, I know he wouldn't!"

          Phoenix thought of the detention center, of someone trapped there, alone and frightened. It always stirred a feeling he couldn't name -- aching, fiery and full of teeth.

          "When is the trial?" 

          Stella wilted. "Wednesday morning."

          Maya's hand flew to her mouth. "Tomorrow?!"

          "We don't have much time." And with ever harder plea in her eyes, "He'll be assigned an attorney if we don't choose one by four o'clock. I didn't know who else to ask ..."

          A panic-spurred race  -- typical for his clients. Phoenix looked to his watch and nodded. "We have a few hours, let's go meet your friend. Maybe we can figure something out."

          Clasping a fist to her breastbone, Stella smiled, small and grateful. "Thank you. I ... Well, you'll see."

         

 

          Phoenix got the cramped center seat of the cab, Maya's robe folds against one arm and Stella's ruffled sleeve against the other as the city streamed by.

          "So," he asked, glancing to Stella, "Can you tell us what happened?"

          She looked to her lap and frowned. "He -- Stewart -- he was in Foster Park, at the same time an elderly lady was murdered. Just this morning."

          "And the trial's tomorrow," Maya murmured, "That's awfully fast, isn't it?"

          It was -- not enough time for the police and the prosecutor's office to assemble a proper case, never mind the defense. Phoenix squinted at nothing. But only someone bold would kill a harmless old lady, in broad daylight, in a public park. News like that caused outrage and fear in people, a knee-jerk reaction on a massive scale; maybe the police department hoped to prevent backlash before it started. Declaring someone guilty could do that.

          "I don't know why they think Stewart did something so awful ..." Stella tapped fingertips on her bare knees. "He was running away from the park, he said, maybe he looked suspicious."

          "Running?" Phoenix asked. Why would an innocent person flee the scene of a crime?

          "Well, that's ..." Stella's voice dropped; her tapping quickened into a nervous, muted tune. "I can't tell you."

          "You can't?"

          She shook her head, long hair swaying. "I'm sorry, Mr. Wright. We need your help but ... you'll have to find out from Stewart."

         

          Suspicion prickled, low in Phoenix's gut. The last thing he needed was another client with dark secrets, another agonizing trial he couldn't win -- he was a defense lawyer, he was supposed to fight for the innocent. He was supposed to have truth on his side.

          Stella's tapping continued, blending with the radio mutter Phoenix hadn't noticed before. She watched out the windows, following the streaked grey of passing high-rises, and worry gripped her face. Something held her tongue; once that was gone, the information would be his, and the uneasy weight would lift from Stella. It was too early for a leap to conclusions.

             "Well, uhh, meetings at the detention center are confidential," Phoenix tried. He glanced to the back of the cab driver's head -- an eavesdropper, enough to keep anyone tight-lipped. "You can speak freely there, your information is safe with us."

          Stella still watched the scenery, but she smiled, slow and golden. "That's good to know. Thank you." 

          Odd, how familiar her idle tapping seemed even though he couldn't place the tune. If Phoenix didn't start paying more attention to the radio Top Forty, he'd soon get the delight of Maya calling him old again. He watched Stella's hands for a moment -- two fingernails began tracing circles over her knees -- and he nodded. "We're here to help, Ms. Nocturne." 

          Touch broke him from the reverie, Maya's small hand on his arm and her gaze bright from under her bangs.

          "That's the spirit, Nick! We'll take care of it!"

          No matter what his past held, no matter how bleak the case looked, Phoenix had to believe in his clients. He nodded, and watched traffic sluice past -- the truth always came out, and this case would be no exception.

 

 

          The detention center always felt cold, always looked winter-stark in its fluorescent lights. Maya stayed pressed to his elbow and Stella found a wall to lean against, to fold her arms and stare away some more. Phoenix knew every inch of the grey concrete and glinting metal, and he examined it all anyway, and half-remembered dozens of visits that felt the same. Movement snatched his attention -- blue-clad officers, and a man being ushered to the visitation chair. His jeans were worn, his blond mop swayed free -- young, maybe Phoenix's age, maybe someone he could have gone to school with. The defendant sat, settled a clear bag full of something in his lap, and faced Phoenix. This, apparently, was Mr. Stewart Lowe.

          "Mr. Wright?" he asked, smiling regretful, "Well, d'ya think you guys can help me out?"

          "We'll need to know a bit more first, Mr. Lowe." Phoenix folded his hands on the table, and leaned closer to the plexiglass seperating them. "What happened?"

          "I haven't told the police anything, not without a lawyer," Stewart said -- wariness drew him tighter, straight-backed. He adjusted his grip on the bag, plastic crackling. "An' they aren't tellin' me much, either. I was at work in Foster Park at the same time some lady got killed this morning, that's all I know. Guess I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

          That was how most people got swept into murder cases, after all. Curiosity stirred in Phoenix -- Maya voiced it first.

          "What do you have in that bag?"

          "This? Oh."  Stewart set the bag in front of him with a thump: it held dress shoes, glossy black and immaculate. "They took my suit for testin', I don't mind that, but the shoes, well... I really don't want 'em outta my sight. The police checked 'em already, they're lettin' me hang on to 'em."

          "You're really serious about your shoes, arent you?" Maya's voice held a teasing note. Her hair shifted over her back as she eyed Stewart.

          He grinned, sheepish. "Hey, they cost an arm an' a leg, awright? I just don't want anybody messin' with 'em."

          Open and smiling, but the man hadn't told his story yet. Questions swelling, shifting colour in his mind, Phoenix laid his palms flat on the table. "Mr. Lowe, what is your job? What were you doing, exactly, when the police apprehended you?"

 

          Silence fell, smothering. Stewart tightened more, shoulders squared -- he held Phoenix's gaze.

          "I ... You're gonna have to figure that out yourself, Mr. Wright." Apology swam over his face, in his sand-green eyes but he held firm. "It's not somethin' I can just come right out an' tell ya."

           If Phoenix had Maya's magatama to palm, if borrowed magic sharpened his vision, Stewart would surely be heavy with chains. And how could Phoenix have faith in a client full of secrets? I didn't kill anyone, dude, the memories hissed.

          "Mr. Lowe." Phoenix hated his suspicions, hated the cold-blooded need to know and asked anyway. "I need you to be honest with me: were you involved in this murder in any way?"

          A quick blaze in Stewart, tightening fists and set jaw. "No," he snapped, "Never! Nobody deserves that!"

          And slowly, the blaze faded, dwindled to stubborn coals until Stewart slanted his gaze away and took a steeling breath.

         "I can tell ya ... that my job is helping people. When they're in trouble an' they need it. I wouldn't hurt anybody, Mr. Wright, you gotta believe me on that."

 

           Full of secrets, maybe, but not all secrets were black-hearted. Phoenix of all people ought to know. Before he decided, he glanced to Maya, for her nod and clasp of hands -- she liked this client, and would work and ache and bleed for him, they both would.

          "I believe you." Memories be damned; it wasn't as though he had never solved a mystery before. Phoenix opened his briefcase and sifted papers. "So let's make this official."

          "You don't know what this means, Mr. Wright," Stewart murmured, "Thanks."

          He didn't know -- creeping awareness, echos of experience told Phoenix he'd know worlds more before the trial was over.

         

         

          Stella stayed leaning on the detention center wall as they passed, and smiled at Phoenix and Maya in turn. "Lots of questions and not much time, I guess?"

          That summed it up in a neat package.

          "Let us know what you find, Mr. Wright, Miss Fey," and a fond light came to her eyes, "I'm sure you'll figure it out."

 

Chapter 2