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Chapter Two – Matchmaker

"Gyah. Gyah. You know, Richard, the first word he said to her… was gyah. I mean, what does that even mean?"

The tall, scrawny boy answered, in a voice smooth as clockwork, "I don't know, madam."

Her hands ran through her hair, like they always did when she got stressed out. She unpinned it, letting her hair cascade in waves down her shoulders. Quickly, she grasped a small chunk of hair that lay just over her eye and began to twirl it in her fingers. After a hiatus, she declared, "Richard, I believe this… is what we call 'love'."

"Nonsense, madam," came the response she so desperately wanted to hear.

She spun around, facing him accusingly. "Richard, we control the magic around here. We control the love. Did I order them to fall in love? No, I did not."

"You did not, madam."

"Why then," she seethed, aiming her weapon right at her advisor, "are they in love?"

The man cleared his throat, completely unfazed. "That is the wrong arrow, madam, and, if madam so desires, she will still remain in control of the situation."

The teenager softened slightly, lowering her arrow. She spun it in her hands. "What of the broken hearts?"

"Broken hearts, madam?" Richard enquired, feeding her with just the questions she wanted. She liked the center of attention. It was nice.

"Yes," she replied, "the broken hearts. Unlike the other angels, I do not fully have angel powers. Do you remember now, Richard? Or have I not told you this tale?"

He responded, "Do tell, madam. I yearn to hear your voice."

She did not smile. "I almost died at birth," she responded coldly. "Therefore, half of my soul is dead, cold. But that doesn't matter. The point is… dead souls are powerless. They cannot grow, like so many wretched infertile soils cannot grow a beautiful tree. So, my dead, infertile soul is chained to five broken hearts. Do you understand?"

"Yes, madam," the voice drawled, soft as a kitten's fur, reassuring as a mother's hug.

"Now," the girl whispered, followed by a soft, yet diabolical, chuckle. "Let's make some magic."
***
"Gyah," Crow mumbled, tossing a wooden sphere in the air and catching it again. "Gyah," he repeated to himself. "You know, Crow, the first word you said to her… was gyah. I mean, what does that even mean?"

Suddenly, there was a knock on the large, metal door of the bazaar. The teen leapt up from the pile of boxes he was lying on and pulled the curtain aside. He waited.

Five, four, three, two, one…

The first knock was then followed by a rhythmic one. It was code, the code that only the Black Ravens knew. It was only used on the door of the bazaar, to show that a Black Raven was about to enter the bazaar to seek Crow's attention. True, Socket and Wren had forgotten the last time they were vying for his attention, but, as he called, "Come in," he was in for a shock.

A lone girl entered the room. Her brown hair had grown longer over the past few years, but it was also grimy and hung in tangled clumps. When she was smaller, she had used to tie it up into two small pigtails, but she had taken to a quick, efficient ponytail in the back. Her blue eyes were clouded, and her small hands were tightly clasped together, so tightly they were white. She was trembling. However, her current expression or hairstyle wasn't the most shocking thing about her. No, the most shocking thing about her was…

She was alone.

"Wren?" Crow enquired softly, more than a little bit surprised to see her. She was supposed to be at position six, by far, the most pleasurable of all the stations.

She swallowed. "Crow," she whispered, ashamed, "I have something to tell you."
***
Jennifer poked at her plate of chicken and rice tentatively with her fork.

"Eat it," Layton urged her. "It won't bite." With that, he took a mouthful of his own supper. But the girl couldn't eat. She felt sick to her stomach, the way she usually felt when trouble was brewing. With that, she set her fork down on her napkin.

"Professor, I want to go home."

The man arched his eyebrow. "We haven't even seen the Golden Garden yet," he pointed out. Frowning, he also put down his utensil. He folded his hands on the surface of the table. "Jennifer, whatever is the matter?"

Troubled brown eyes met his gaze. "I feel queasy," she explained. It was enough for him to decipher the meaning of her words.

"I see."

There was a long pause. Both people picked up their forks and started chewing their food slowly.

After about fifteen minutes, Jennifer had finished eating. She stared at the scholar. He looked troubled and puzzled. "Professor, are we leaving?"

"I'd like to see the Golden Garden again."

Jennifer shrugged. Surely he could understand that she didn't like fights. She looked back down at her plate, then set her fork down.

"Eat up," Layton repeated himself, motioning to her plate with his right hand.

The student swallowed nervously. She pushed her chair away from the table and stood up with a small rustle. "Professor," she mumbled. "I'm not feeling well; I think I should go to bed."

Rather awkwardly, but with the utmost concern, the man nodded at her. He also stood up, abandoning his meal, and offered, "Let me tuck you in."

The prodigy smiled weakly, but refused his offer, in a voice as quiet as the water droplets slowly plinking into the sink. Then, as her words drifted away on the cool, watery breeze coming from that pesky crack in the door, the slow trickling of the tap became the only sound.

After a short pause, the professor muttered, "I'll have to see about discussing that leak with the inn manager."

"Yeah," the teenager responded, then disappeared out of the kitchen area.

Once the girl was out of earshot, the teacher let out a deep, worried sigh. He clasped his hands together into an indiscernible knot and simply stared at it, his back, no, his entire body hunched over it.

Jennifer looked at the pathetic figure and bit her lip. She didn't like seeing him like that, but she also didn't want to make it worse.

Oh well, better to have tried and failed rather than not have tried at—

Hey, what was that?

A lone piece of white stuck out from within the walnut drawer carved rather lazily into the end table next to the bed.

The student looked back at her teacher slumped over the table, and then back at the white. As quietly and sneakily as she could, she slid the paper from its hiding place. Not that it was a very good hiding place. After another glance at the man, she gleefully unfolded the paper. She just loved investigations. It was a handwritten letter, addressed to one…

Jennifer Uta?

She scanned the page. The words were scrawled onto it, and it gave off the impression of the author being in a hurry. However, the message itself didn't make any sense.

Jennifer, it said, the world needs your help. The world as we know it is being threatened by a mysterious force. She is indestructible, unless you and one other embark on a journey to fulfill five broken hearts. Find the other who shares this message. Once you find your significant other, you will receive another message. Thank you, but I must be taking my leave. —R.

Then there was an odd symbol. It was a heart, divided into four sections: two larger, and two smaller. Jennifer sat for a moment to try and puzzle it out, then simply dismissed it as a signature of some sort. However, the obvious question now arose. Why was it there, sandwiched in the drawer?

There was only one conclusion.

The professor had been hiding it from her!

"Professor," she stated clearly, sharply. She kept her back to him.

She could hear the rustle of his coat, his soft sniffle. "Mm? Jennifer?" was his response. He was pretending like nothing was wrong. Like that would help him now.

Jennifer tapped the paper with the back of her hand, a smug smile accompanying her air of grandeur. She could feel it. The professor had winced in pain with each tap.

"Professor," she repeated. "Do you know what I hold in my hand right now?"

The man swallowed nervously, a single drop of sweat gliding down his face. "No, Jennifer," he responded, as confidently as he could under the pressure.

"Really?" the girl replied, resting her hand on the paper. "I find that hard to believe." She paused. "Professor, do you honestly believe I would be this blind?"

He didn't answer. The girl continued with her confrontation.

With deliberate steps, Jennifer mused, "No, no, with the way you're worrying right now, it seems as if you have everything to hide." She stopped suddenly, placing her hand on her chin. She closed her eyes with a small sigh.

She let the silence hang over the man like a thick blanket, suffocating him. He felt his lungs ache, his heart hammering; his heart the only thing in his body that he was sure worked. Is this how others feel when I confront them?

"Professor Hershel Joseph Layton," she began accusingly. She whirled around, a flash of green and brown embodying her.

It happened so fast. When the scholar could see again, he was met with an index finger. It was staring him right between the eyes. A fatal shot.

"You have been hiding this letter from me, and I want to know why!" the girl shouted.

The man gulped. A single drop of sweat dropped from his forehead to his hand. "Yes," he admitted, his voice ashamed. This was not the Professor Layton she knew. "I hid it from you because I saw the man who delivered it."

Jennifer lowered her hand so it rested at her side. She wanted to say something to make it all better, but the professor merely continued, brokenhearted.

"He was dressed in all black, and he was not the regular postman, whom I happen to know personally. This strange man had merely slipped the note under the door, and tried to leave. I was in the yard at the time, enjoying the flowers, and I stopped him. He was a tall, lanky fellow, with rather gangly arms and legs, but, as soon as I approached him, he ran. I managed to grab ahold of his coat, but he twisted out of my grasp and sprinted even faster."

This man had to be important. He just had to be! Even if he weren't, it was the girl's only lead. So, she slowly advanced towards the teacher, then, without any warning at all, slammed her hands down on the table he was sitting at, so hard and so fast that he jumped, letting out a surprised yelp. "Tell me more," she insisted.

The scholar hesitated, recalling the incident. "I do believe," he responded slowly, "he was wearing a golden cuff on his right wrist, underneath his coat." He paused again, wracking his brains for another useful tidbit. "It had a heart or two on it, I believe," he frowned.

Jennifer set the page down on the table. "A heart like this?" she asked, motioning to the strange insignia scrawled on the bottom of the page.

The man studied it, then shook his head. "No, no, it was just a regular heart; a heart that one may see in a graphic text or animated media component of some sort."

Jennifer's voice was monotone, mocking him. "You mean a comic or a cartoon?"

Layton was unfazed. "Yes, quite."

The girl rolled her eyes, then placed one olive hand on the page. "So, the next course of action would be to find this… 'significant other' mentioned in the letter."

The man pursed his lips. He hadn't liked that wording. Well, there wasn't anything he could do about that, was there? So, he responded, "Yes, that seems about right. Now, we must deduce that the other must be from Misthallery."

"Yeah," Jennifer agreed. "So, we just hit the streets and question everyone, right? That is how you do things, right?"

"Hm," was the man's only response.

The two then sat down and puzzled through the mystery. At some point during the night, the professor had managed to scrounge up a directory of all the residents of Misthallery. They worked into the wee hours of the morning, discovering more and more puzzles in that mere scrap of paper. By the morning, they were two exhausted, yet triumphant, researchers.

"Well then," the professor mumbled tiredly, holding up a crumpled scrap of paper that had suffered through much abuse, what with the scribbles and notations made on it. "That's that."

"Mmhmm," Jennifer responded, before her head landed on the table with a loud thump.

ZzZzZz…
***
"What are you insinuating?" His voice was laced with suspicion as he drummed his fingers on the wooden stage. His companion flinched. At that, Crow softened. He pulled a comb from a pocket within his red coat and tapped the seat next to him. "Come, sit," he invited her.

Wren nodded, and used her minimal arm strength to push herself onto the stage, next to her leader.

"Turn around," he urged.

She did as instructed.

"Good," he applauded her. He then pulled the hair tie from her hair. He took a part of her hair, then pulled the comb through it. Repeatedly. Again and again, until the section of hair was knot-free, at which point he merely moved on to the next clump of hair. Wren sat, motionless, and a bit confused.

After a moment, she piped up. "Crow…?"

"Yes?"

"Why are you combing my hair?"

Crow paused before answering. "Because it's so messy!"

Her expression was shocked, then sudden clarity rushed to her eyes. "You're joking," she accused him. She wanted to see his expression, but she couldn't turn around. Smart.

The teen chuckled. "Of course I am," he confirmed. "I just enjoy brushing girls' hair."

"Oh, I see."

They sat for another moment, then the leader broke the silence.

"So you saw… a man in black?"

"Uh-huh," she responded. The girl bit her lip, afraid of his response.

The boy hesitated. The comb stopped plowing through the hair for a minute. Then, it continued, along with his rather soothing voice. "So, there's a note for me now…? From a mysterious black figure…?"

"Uh-huh."

"I see. Do you have this letter for me?"

Wren pulled it out of her pocket and handed it to Crow. He took it from her and set it aside, trying to curb his insurmountable curiosity to finish brushing his companion's hair. After a short while, he ran his fingers through Wren's now-smooth hair, set the comb down on the stage, and grabbed the letter, unfolding it and scanning its contents.

Crow, it said, the world needs your help. The world as we know it is being threatened by a mysterious force. She is indestructible, unless you and one other embark on a journey to fulfill five broken hearts. Find the other who shares this message. Once you find your special snowflake, you will receive another message. Thank you, but I must be taking my leave. —R.

At the bottom, there was a strange symbol. It was a heart, divided into four sections: two larger, and two smaller. It must have been a signature of some sort, Crow decided, and let it be. There was a more pressing concern at hand: who was this 'special snowflake'?

His now-forgotten companion cleared her throat, nervously clasping her hands in her lap. "Crow," she began, shifting in her seat. "I have something else to tell y—"

"Not now, Wren," the teen dismissed her. "We have bigger fish to fry." With that, he leapt off the stage and sprinted out of the metal doors of the bazaar.

The girl sighed deeply, and pulled a small rectangle from the pocket on the left side of her black button-up jacket. She stared at it. Before the Ravens were founded, Brock, Marilyn's dad, had taken them all to Highyard Hill, to the police station so they could meet Misthallery's police force. He let them all take turns in the photo booth while they were waiting, but they had had so much fun that, after they had finished taking all their photos, it was time to go home. Brock had told them all to take the one strip of pictures they wanted most. The first picture was just her and Socket. They were making funny faces at each other, then the second one was her with a white scarf over her eyes and Crow dramatically covering her eyes with his scarf. The final one was a picture of the Black Ravens, eight of them. Scraps, Marilyn, Louis, Tweeds, Nabby, her and Socket, and, last but not least… Crow.

Her favourite was the one with her and Crow. Back when they were only eleven, before all the Black Raven, black market stuff came up, they were just two normal kids with a mom and a dad. Well, not precisely, as Wren had never had a father; he had left before she and Socket were born. But Crow had had a father back when he was eleven, back when he and the brown-haired Raven had been friends.

It was strange, but, thinking back on it, he had never talked about his family with his friend. He had just messed around with the girl, laughing and playing, until his father came out of the house and ordered him inside. As if by magic, Crow would suddenly become subdued and meek, and merely respond, "Yes, sir." He'd wave goodbye to Wren, then disappear into the red brick house with a black metal raven on the roof.

Then, on his twelfth birthday, he had come to Wren's house and told her that his father had passed away… accidentally suffocated, he had coughed uncomfortably. But then he explained to her a new, innovative way for him; Wren; her twin brother, Socket; and a few others to earn money for their parents… or, in Crow's case, for himself. She eagerly agreed, but she knew little of what she had gotten herself into. She saw Nabby take the position she so desperately coveted: the second-in-command. Nabby had told her it was nothing personal, that it was because she had a twin brother, and he would have been jealous. He also told her that it was because she was a girl.

Wren couldn't believe it at the time. She couldn't believe that Crow would be sexist like that. She thought back to when they were friends, the countless times he had thrown mud at her, didn't mind getting her clothes and face caked in dirt and mud and water and sweat… How could he have been so blind? But then, she started to believe it. The only other girl let into the black market was Marilyn, and the leader of the Ravens had never let Marilyn go anywhere but her designated fruit stand, position two. So she had merely thanked her lucky stars for being privileged enough to hang around with Socket and be able to go places.

There was nothing to do about that.

With a tiny sigh, Wren placed the rectangle back inside her pocket, and slunk off the stage, into the market.
***
Crow stared at the paper. He turned it over and over in his hands. He shook it to see if anything would fall out. He sniffed it. He sniffed it again.

Aha!

He distinctly smelt a whiff of lemon. So, gleefully, he ran to Scraps and Badger in Market West. However, he then strode up to them and asked quietly, "Hey, have either of you got an iron?"

Scraps threw a banana peel aside. "Nope," he answered scornfully. "Why don't you search in the trash for a change, huh, Crow?"

The teen sighed. "Scraps, don't be like that. 'Least you have parents, right? Paying for those spiffy glasses of yours." He tapped the curly-haired teen's round, shiny spectacles.

Badger, the spiky-haired Raven, pulled a metal contraption from the roof. "Here's an iron," he responded to Crow. "Dunno what it's doing on the roof, but here it is." He scrounged around a bit more, coming up with nothing but a small, flat object. He jumped down from his post and shoved his treasure into his leader's hands. "Here," he grunted. "Do ya want the coin too?" He opened his palm to reveal a shiny, gold coin with the insignia of a hat on it.

The boy hesitated before taking it. "Who knows," he told his minions, "it might come in handy someday." He pocketed it in one of his favourite pockets: a small one made of a patch of fabric sewed onto the back of his scarf.

Badger shook his head, letting his mop of brown hair shift over his eyes. No one had ever seen his eyes before. However, his eyes weren't the only mysterious things about him. He was one of the only Ravens that didn't have an existing family. No one knew where he was from. When he had first arrived, there were rumors that his parents were tourists that left him there. There were stories of his involvement with a large fire that had started in Misthallery's police station at that time. There were tales that he was really from the forest, and had been raised by wolves. But no one really knew who he was, or from where he had come.

The Raven nodded, after which, he turned and slowly made his way back up to his stand. Crow smiled at him. He didn't return it. After a short, awkward moment, Crow turned and left. Then, for his next order of business, he made his way up to the southern area of the market, position two.

"Marilyn," he greeted her warmly. "How is the produce doing?"

She smiled back. "Oh, they're getting enough sun, all right," she responded. Subsequently, she smiled mischievously. "So what do you really want, Crow?"

He laughed lightheartedly. "Oh, nothing," he brushed it off, shrugging.

Marilyn's face was unsmiling now. "Crow, you never talk to me unless you want something. So spit it out."

I need to work on that. I didn't realize that I spent so much time backstage. Crow resolved to make a schedule for when he'd chat with the Ravens. One-on-one time with each of them. He shivered a little, thinking of spending time alone with Wren. They had used to be such good friends, but, ever since the black market started up, she had grown ever so distant. How awkward would it be to spend an hour or two with her? Come on, Crow. Be strong, be courageous. We are smart, we are cunning— No, we have a new chant now. More cunning than a wolf, closer than brothers, as black as the night sky. Ironic, as we aren't really all that close.

"May I use that block you're standing on?"

The girl gave him a skeptical look, then agreed, "Sure," as she stepped down from it.

Crow bent over it, placing the iron over it. He turned it on, and…

Nothing?

He heard the teen giggle. She picked up the outlet cord and waved it in front of his face. "Nice going, genius," she chortled.

"Shut up," the leader responded, feeling his face turn a bright scarlet. He collected the iron and the letter, and went in search of Louis. As expected, he was on Grand Bridge, flicking his hair around and looking smart.

"Louis," Crow began.

The boy cut him off. "You're looking for an electrical source of power. Marilyn told me."

"…Right," the teen responded sheepishly. "Do you have anything for me?"

"Mm. That depends," he grinned. "Can you solve my puzzle?"

The exasperated businessman sighed, "Louis, no—"

Puzzle! No. 001
Cat Corner
30/30

"Louis," the boy groaned, batting the tan sheet of paper away from the boy's smug face. "I don't have time to solve puzzles."

Louis droned, "There was a man who had a mad obsession with cats. He had large ones, small ones, tan ones, striped, spotted, you name it, he had it. He was so mad about these cats that he themed everything in his house after them, even his front door lock. However, he has forgotten the code. He remembers this much:

- He locked it based on the first five cats he owned: Fluffy, a striped happy cat; Ginger, a tan happy cat; Puffy, a neutral spotted cat; Clawdia, a white grumpy cat; and Olga, a striped grumpy cat.

- The leftmost cat was striped.

- The grumpy cats were next to each other.

- The striped happy cat was not next to the tan happy cat.

- The tan happy cat was in the middle.

- Olga was not at the far right, but she was to the right.

Can you help this man with his cat conundrum?"

Crow sighed. He knew how stubborn Louis could be when he wanted to prove how smart he was. And that puzzle was really a stumper. Reluctantly, he closed his eyes and thought. What could the answer be?

After several long moments, he opened his eyes and shouted excitedly, "I've got the answer!"

Description
Chapter Two – Matchmaker

"Gyah. Gyah. You know, Richard, the first word he said to her… was gyah. I mean, what does that even mean?"

The tall, scrawny boy answered, in a voice smooth as clockwork, "I don't know, madam."

Her hands ran through her hair, like they always did when she got stressed out. She unpinned it, letting her hair cascade in waves down her shoulders. Quickly, she grasped a small chunk of hair that lay just over her eye and began to twirl it in her fingers. After a hiatus, she declared, "Richard, I believe this… is what we call 'love'."

"Nonsense, madam," came the response she so desperately wanted to hear.

She spun around, facing him accusingly. "Richard, we control the magic around here. We control the love. Did I order them to fall in love? No, I did not."

"You did not, madam."

"Why then," she seethed, aiming her weapon right at her advisor, "are they in love?"

The man cleared his throat, completely unfazed. "That is the wrong arrow, madam, and, if madam so desires, she will still remain in control of the situation."

The teenager softened slightly, lowering her arrow. She spun it in her hands. "What of the broken hearts?"

"Broken hearts, madam?" Richard enquired, feeding her with just the questions she wanted. She liked the center of attention. It was nice.

"Yes," she replied, "the broken hearts. Unlike the other angels, I do not fully have angel powers. Do you remember now, Richard? Or have I not told you this tale?"

He responded, "Do tell, madam. I yearn to hear your voice."

She did not smile. "I almost died at birth," she responded coldly. "Therefore, half of my soul is dead, cold. But that doesn't matter. The point is… dead souls are powerless. They cannot grow, like so many wretched infertile soils cannot grow a beautiful tree. So, my dead, infertile soul is chained to five broken hearts. Do you understand?"

"Yes, madam," the voice drawled, soft as a kitten's fur, reassuring as a mother's hug.

"Now," the girl whispered, followed by a soft, yet diabolical, chuckle. "Let's make some magic."
***
"Gyah," Crow mumbled, tossing a wooden sphere in the air and catching it again. "Gyah," he repeated to himself. "You know, Crow, the first word you said to her… was gyah. I mean, what does that even mean?"

Suddenly, there was a knock on the large, metal door of the bazaar. The teen leapt up from the pile of boxes he was lying on and pulled the curtain aside. He waited.

Five, four, three, two, one…

The first knock was then followed by a rhythmic one. It was code, the code that only the Black Ravens knew. It was only used on the door of the bazaar, to show that a Black Raven was about to enter the bazaar to seek Crow's attention. True, Socket and Wren had forgotten the last time they were vying for his attention, but, as he called, "Come in," he was in for a shock.

A lone girl entered the room. Her brown hair had grown longer over the past few years, but it was also grimy and hung in tangled clumps. When she was smaller, she had used to tie it up into two small pigtails, but she had taken to a quick, efficient ponytail in the back. Her blue eyes were clouded, and her small hands were tightly clasped together, so tightly they were white. She was trembling. However, her current expression or hairstyle wasn't the most shocking thing about her. No, the most shocking thing about her was…

She was alone.

"Wren?" Crow enquired softly, more than a little bit surprised to see her. She was supposed to be at position six, by far, the most pleasurable of all the stations.

She swallowed. "Crow," she whispered, ashamed, "I have something to tell you."
***
Jennifer poked at her plate of chicken and rice tentatively with her fork.

"Eat it," Layton urged her. "It won't bite." With that, he took a mouthful of his own supper. But the girl couldn't eat. She felt sick to her stomach, the way she usually felt when trouble was brewing. With that, she set her fork down on her napkin.

"Professor, I want to go home."

The man arched his eyebrow. "We haven't even seen the Golden Garden yet," he pointed out. Frowning, he also put down his utensil. He folded his hands on the surface of the table. "Jennifer, whatever is the matter?"

Troubled brown eyes met his gaze. "I feel queasy," she explained. It was enough for him to decipher the meaning of her words.

"I see."

There was a long pause. Both people picked up their forks and started chewing their food slowly.

After about fifteen minutes, Jennifer had finished eating. She stared at the scholar. He looked troubled and puzzled. "Professor, are we leaving?"

"I'd like to see the Golden Garden again."

Jennifer shrugged. Surely he could understand that she didn't like fights. She looked back down at her plate, then set her fork down.

"Eat up," Layton repeated himself, motioning to her plate with his right hand.

The student swallowed nervously. She pushed her chair away from the table and stood up with a small rustle. "Professor," she mumbled. "I'm not feeling well; I think I should go to bed."

Rather awkwardly, but with the utmost concern, the man nodded at her. He also stood up, abandoning his meal, and offered, "Let me tuck you in."

The prodigy smiled weakly, but refused his offer, in a voice as quiet as the water droplets slowly plinking into the sink. Then, as her words drifted away on the cool, watery breeze coming from that pesky crack in the door, the slow trickling of the tap became the only sound.

After a short pause, the professor muttered, "I'll have to see about discussing that leak with the inn manager."

"Yeah," the teenager responded, then disappeared out of the kitchen area.

Once the girl was out of earshot, the teacher let out a deep, worried sigh. He clasped his hands together into an indiscernible knot and simply stared at it, his back, no, his entire body hunched over it.

Jennifer looked at the pathetic figure and bit her lip. She didn't like seeing him like that, but she also didn't want to make it worse.

Oh well, better to have tried and failed rather than not have tried at—

Hey, what was that?

A lone piece of white stuck out from within the walnut drawer carved rather lazily into the end table next to the bed.

The student looked back at her teacher slumped over the table, and then back at the white. As quietly and sneakily as she could, she slid the paper from its hiding place. Not that it was a very good hiding place. After another glance at the man, she gleefully unfolded the paper. She just loved investigations. It was a handwritten letter, addressed to one…

Jennifer Uta?

She scanned the page. The words were scrawled onto it, and it gave off the impression of the author being in a hurry. However, the message itself didn't make any sense.

Jennifer, it said, the world needs your help. The world as we know it is being threatened by a mysterious force. She is indestructible, unless you and one other embark on a journey to fulfill five broken hearts. Find the other who shares this message. Once you find your significant other, you will receive another message. Thank you, but I must be taking my leave. —R.

Then there was an odd symbol. It was a heart, divided into four sections: two larger, and two smaller. Jennifer sat for a moment to try and puzzle it out, then simply dismissed it as a signature of some sort. However, the obvious question now arose. Why was it there, sandwiched in the drawer?

There was only one conclusion.

The professor had been hiding it from her!

"Professor," she stated clearly, sharply. She kept her back to him.

She could hear the rustle of his coat, his soft sniffle. "Mm? Jennifer?" was his response. He was pretending like nothing was wrong. Like that would help him now.

Jennifer tapped the paper with the back of her hand, a smug smile accompanying her air of grandeur. She could feel it. The professor had winced in pain with each tap.

"Professor," she repeated. "Do you know what I hold in my hand right now?"

The man swallowed nervously, a single drop of sweat gliding down his face. "No, Jennifer," he responded, as confidently as he could under the pressure.

"Really?" the girl replied, resting her hand on the paper. "I find that hard to believe." She paused. "Professor, do you honestly believe I would be this blind?"

He didn't answer. The girl continued with her confrontation.

With deliberate steps, Jennifer mused, "No, no, with the way you're worrying right now, it seems as if you have everything to hide." She stopped suddenly, placing her hand on her chin. She closed her eyes with a small sigh.

She let the silence hang over the man like a thick blanket, suffocating him. He felt his lungs ache, his heart hammering; his heart the only thing in his body that he was sure worked. Is this how others feel when I confront them?

"Professor Hershel Joseph Layton," she began accusingly. She whirled around, a flash of green and brown embodying her.

It happened so fast. When the scholar could see again, he was met with an index finger. It was staring him right between the eyes. A fatal shot.

"You have been hiding this letter from me, and I want to know why!" the girl shouted.

The man gulped. A single drop of sweat dropped from his forehead to his hand. "Yes," he admitted, his voice ashamed. This was not the Professor Layton she knew. "I hid it from you because I saw the man who delivered it."

Jennifer lowered her hand so it rested at her side. She wanted to say something to make it all better, but the professor merely continued, brokenhearted.

"He was dressed in all black, and he was not the regular postman, whom I happen to know personally. This strange man had merely slipped the note under the door, and tried to leave. I was in the yard at the time, enjoying the flowers, and I stopped him. He was a tall, lanky fellow, with rather gangly arms and legs, but, as soon as I approached him, he ran. I managed to grab ahold of his coat, but he twisted out of my grasp and sprinted even faster."

This man had to be important. He just had to be! Even if he weren't, it was the girl's only lead. So, she slowly advanced towards the teacher, then, without any warning at all, slammed her hands down on the table he was sitting at, so hard and so fast that he jumped, letting out a surprised yelp. "Tell me more," she insisted.

The scholar hesitated, recalling the incident. "I do believe," he responded slowly, "he was wearing a golden cuff on his right wrist, underneath his coat." He paused again, wracking his brains for another useful tidbit. "It had a heart or two on it, I believe," he frowned.

Jennifer set the page down on the table. "A heart like this?" she asked, motioning to the strange insignia scrawled on the bottom of the page.

The man studied it, then shook his head. "No, no, it was just a regular heart; a heart that one may see in a graphic text or animated media component of some sort."

Jennifer's voice was monotone, mocking him. "You mean a comic or a cartoon?"

Layton was unfazed. "Yes, quite."

The girl rolled her eyes, then placed one olive hand on the page. "So, the next course of action would be to find this… 'significant other' mentioned in the letter."

The man pursed his lips. He hadn't liked that wording. Well, there wasn't anything he could do about that, was there? So, he responded, "Yes, that seems about right. Now, we must deduce that the other must be from Misthallery."

"Yeah," Jennifer agreed. "So, we just hit the streets and question everyone, right? That is how you do things, right?"

"Hm," was the man's only response.

The two then sat down and puzzled through the mystery. At some point during the night, the professor had managed to scrounge up a directory of all the residents of Misthallery. They worked into the wee hours of the morning, discovering more and more puzzles in that mere scrap of paper. By the morning, they were two exhausted, yet triumphant, researchers.

"Well then," the professor mumbled tiredly, holding up a crumpled scrap of paper that had suffered through much abuse, what with the scribbles and notations made on it. "That's that."

"Mmhmm," Jennifer responded, before her head landed on the table with a loud thump.

ZzZzZz…
***
"What are you insinuating?" His voice was laced with suspicion as he drummed his fingers on the wooden stage. His companion flinched. At that, Crow softened. He pulled a comb from a pocket within his red coat and tapped the seat next to him. "Come, sit," he invited her.

Wren nodded, and used her minimal arm strength to push herself onto the stage, next to her leader.

"Turn around," he urged.

She did as instructed.

"Good," he applauded her. He then pulled the hair tie from her hair. He took a part of her hair, then pulled the comb through it. Repeatedly. Again and again, until the section of hair was knot-free, at which point he merely moved on to the next clump of hair. Wren sat, motionless, and a bit confused.

After a moment, she piped up. "Crow…?"

"Yes?"

"Why are you combing my hair?"

Crow paused before answering. "Because it's so messy!"

Her expression was shocked, then sudden clarity rushed to her eyes. "You're joking," she accused him. She wanted to see his expression, but she couldn't turn around. Smart.

The teen chuckled. "Of course I am," he confirmed. "I just enjoy brushing girls' hair."

"Oh, I see."

They sat for another moment, then the leader broke the silence.

"So you saw… a man in black?"

"Uh-huh," she responded. The girl bit her lip, afraid of his response.

The boy hesitated. The comb stopped plowing through the hair for a minute. Then, it continued, along with his rather soothing voice. "So, there's a note for me now…? From a mysterious black figure…?"

"Uh-huh."

"I see. Do you have this letter for me?"

Wren pulled it out of her pocket and handed it to Crow. He took it from her and set it aside, trying to curb his insurmountable curiosity to finish brushing his companion's hair. After a short while, he ran his fingers through Wren's now-smooth hair, set the comb down on the stage, and grabbed the letter, unfolding it and scanning its contents.

Crow, it said, the world needs your help. The world as we know it is being threatened by a mysterious force. She is indestructible, unless you and one other embark on a journey to fulfill five broken hearts. Find the other who shares this message. Once you find your special snowflake, you will receive another message. Thank you, but I must be taking my leave. —R.

At the bottom, there was a strange symbol. It was a heart, divided into four sections: two larger, and two smaller. It must have been a signature of some sort, Crow decided, and let it be. There was a more pressing concern at hand: who was this 'special snowflake'?

His now-forgotten companion cleared her throat, nervously clasping her hands in her lap. "Crow," she began, shifting in her seat. "I have something else to tell y—"

"Not now, Wren," the teen dismissed her. "We have bigger fish to fry." With that, he leapt off the stage and sprinted out of the metal doors of the bazaar.

The girl sighed deeply, and pulled a small rectangle from the pocket on the left side of her black button-up jacket. She stared at it. Before the Ravens were founded, Brock, Marilyn's dad, had taken them all to Highyard Hill, to the police station so they could meet Misthallery's police force. He let them all take turns in the photo booth while they were waiting, but they had had so much fun that, after they had finished taking all their photos, it was time to go home. Brock had told them all to take the one strip of pictures they wanted most. The first picture was just her and Socket. They were making funny faces at each other, then the second one was her with a white scarf over her eyes and Crow dramatically covering her eyes with his scarf. The final one was a picture of the Black Ravens, eight of them. Scraps, Marilyn, Louis, Tweeds, Nabby, her and Socket, and, last but not least… Crow.

Her favourite was the one with her and Crow. Back when they were only eleven, before all the Black Raven, black market stuff came up, they were just two normal kids with a mom and a dad. Well, not precisely, as Wren had never had a father; he had left before she and Socket were born. But Crow had had a father back when he was eleven, back when he and the brown-haired Raven had been friends.

It was strange, but, thinking back on it, he had never talked about his family with his friend. He had just messed around with the girl, laughing and playing, until his father came out of the house and ordered him inside. As if by magic, Crow would suddenly become subdued and meek, and merely respond, "Yes, sir." He'd wave goodbye to Wren, then disappear into the red brick house with a black metal raven on the roof.

Then, on his twelfth birthday, he had come to Wren's house and told her that his father had passed away… accidentally suffocated, he had coughed uncomfortably. But then he explained to her a new, innovative way for him; Wren; her twin brother, Socket; and a few others to earn money for their parents… or, in Crow's case, for himself. She eagerly agreed, but she knew little of what she had gotten herself into. She saw Nabby take the position she so desperately coveted: the second-in-command. Nabby had told her it was nothing personal, that it was because she had a twin brother, and he would have been jealous. He also told her that it was because she was a girl.

Wren couldn't believe it at the time. She couldn't believe that Crow would be sexist like that. She thought back to when they were friends, the countless times he had thrown mud at her, didn't mind getting her clothes and face caked in dirt and mud and water and sweat… How could he have been so blind? But then, she started to believe it. The only other girl let into the black market was Marilyn, and the leader of the Ravens had never let Marilyn go anywhere but her designated fruit stand, position two. So she had merely thanked her lucky stars for being privileged enough to hang around with Socket and be able to go places.

There was nothing to do about that.

With a tiny sigh, Wren placed the rectangle back inside her pocket, and slunk off the stage, into the market.
***
Crow stared at the paper. He turned it over and over in his hands. He shook it to see if anything would fall out. He sniffed it. He sniffed it again.

Aha!

He distinctly smelt a whiff of lemon. So, gleefully, he ran to Scraps and Badger in Market West. However, he then strode up to them and asked quietly, "Hey, have either of you got an iron?"

Scraps threw a banana peel aside. "Nope," he answered scornfully. "Why don't you search in the trash for a change, huh, Crow?"

The teen sighed. "Scraps, don't be like that. 'Least you have parents, right? Paying for those spiffy glasses of yours." He tapped the curly-haired teen's round, shiny spectacles.

Badger, the spiky-haired Raven, pulled a metal contraption from the roof. "Here's an iron," he responded to Crow. "Dunno what it's doing on the roof, but here it is." He scrounged around a bit more, coming up with nothing but a small, flat object. He jumped down from his post and shoved his treasure into his leader's hands. "Here," he grunted. "Do ya want the coin too?" He opened his palm to reveal a shiny, gold coin with the insignia of a hat on it.

The boy hesitated before taking it. "Who knows," he told his minions, "it might come in handy someday." He pocketed it in one of his favourite pockets: a small one made of a patch of fabric sewed onto the back of his scarf.

Badger shook his head, letting his mop of brown hair shift over his eyes. No one had ever seen his eyes before. However, his eyes weren't the only mysterious things about him. He was one of the only Ravens that didn't have an existing family. No one knew where he was from. When he had first arrived, there were rumors that his parents were tourists that left him there. There were stories of his involvement with a large fire that had started in Misthallery's police station at that time. There were tales that he was really from the forest, and had been raised by wolves. But no one really knew who he was, or from where he had come.

The Raven nodded, after which, he turned and slowly made his way back up to his stand. Crow smiled at him. He didn't return it. After a short, awkward moment, Crow turned and left. Then, for his next order of business, he made his way up to the southern area of the market, position two.

"Marilyn," he greeted her warmly. "How is the produce doing?"

She smiled back. "Oh, they're getting enough sun, all right," she responded. Subsequently, she smiled mischievously. "So what do you really want, Crow?"

He laughed lightheartedly. "Oh, nothing," he brushed it off, shrugging.

Marilyn's face was unsmiling now. "Crow, you never talk to me unless you want something. So spit it out."

I need to work on that. I didn't realize that I spent so much time backstage. Crow resolved to make a schedule for when he'd chat with the Ravens. One-on-one time with each of them. He shivered a little, thinking of spending time alone with Wren. They had used to be such good friends, but, ever since the black market started up, she had grown ever so distant. How awkward would it be to spend an hour or two with her? Come on, Crow. Be strong, be courageous. We are smart, we are cunning— No, we have a new chant now. More cunning than a wolf, closer than brothers, as black as the night sky. Ironic, as we aren't really all that close.

"May I use that block you're standing on?"

The girl gave him a skeptical look, then agreed, "Sure," as she stepped down from it.

Crow bent over it, placing the iron over it. He turned it on, and…

Nothing?

He heard the teen giggle. She picked up the outlet cord and waved it in front of his face. "Nice going, genius," she chortled.

"Shut up," the leader responded, feeling his face turn a bright scarlet. He collected the iron and the letter, and went in search of Louis. As expected, he was on Grand Bridge, flicking his hair around and looking smart.

"Louis," Crow began.

The boy cut him off. "You're looking for an electrical source of power. Marilyn told me."

"…Right," the teen responded sheepishly. "Do you have anything for me?"

"Mm. That depends," he grinned. "Can you solve my puzzle?"

The exasperated businessman sighed, "Louis, no—"

Puzzle! No. 001
Cat Corner
30/30

"Louis," the boy groaned, batting the tan sheet of paper away from the boy's smug face. "I don't have time to solve puzzles."

Louis droned, "There was a man who had a mad obsession with cats. He had large ones, small ones, tan ones, striped, spotted, you name it, he had it. He was so mad about these cats that he themed everything in his house after them, even his front door lock. However, he has forgotten the code. He remembers this much:

- He locked it based on the first five cats he owned: Fluffy, a striped happy cat; Ginger, a tan happy cat; Puffy, a neutral spotted cat; Clawdia, a white grumpy cat; and Olga, a striped grumpy cat.

- The leftmost cat was striped.

- The grumpy cats were next to each other.

- The striped happy cat was not next to the tan happy cat.

- The tan happy cat was in the middle.

- Olga was not at the far right, but she was to the right.

Can you help this man with his cat conundrum?"

Crow sighed. He knew how stubborn Louis could be when he wanted to prove how smart he was. And that puzzle was really a stumper. Reluctantly, he closed his eyes and thought. What could the answer be?

After several long moments, he opened his eyes and shouted excitedly, "I've got the answer!"