Professor Layton vs Phoenix Wright: The Frigid Melody

The Spirit on the Doorstep pt. 1

Phoenix hopped from foot to foot until the door had swung open enough to dash inside, at which point he slammed the door behind him, dropped his and Trucy's luggage under the coat hooks and heaved a sigh of relief.

Somehow a cloudless sky had made this place even colder.

He clenched his gloved hands in front of his mouth and breathed into them. There was only so much his gloves had been able to do to protect him from the breeze outside, and he couldn't go around everywhere with his hands in his pockets. All he'd do was make himself look even more suspicious.

Thank goodness it was nice and warm in here. The Professor or Trucy must have turned the radiator on.

He pocketed his gloves and pulled off his jacket, and he hung it along with his hat on the hooks beside the front door.

Hopefully those cops wouldn't come calling again, or else they'd see the Professor's coat very conspicuously hanging there too. Quite frankly, the fact that they hadn't noticed it the last time they were here was nothing short of miraculous.

Speaking of which, where had the Professor gone to? And Trucy, for that matter?

Probably hiding in the bathroom again. He hadn't had any way of telling them he was returning, after all. They might have thought he was one of the villagers. This did seem like the sort of place where people kept their doors unlocked and anyone could drop in at any time for a cup of tea.

Up until now, at least. Considering the deaths in this village recently, it wouldn't be surprising if they tightened up their security a bit.

Uh-oh. What if somebody actually had come by while he was gone?

It was probably fine, but he didn't have any immediate way to tell.

Well, perhaps one.

He jogged over to the cupboard he had used earlier and opened it, and sighed in relief when he saw the case still there, tucked behind the tins. He nudged them aside and pulled the case out, knocking the cupboard closed with his hip once he had stood up.

The countertop? No, the dining table would be better. He didn't want this thing anywhere near the sink.

He took the case to the dining table and laid it down so gently that he surprised himself with his own silence, and once he was sure it wasn't going to slip off, he unlatched the lid and slowly, carefully, lifted it open.

"...wow..."

This violin was unlike anything he had ever seen. Its wood was black. A deep, rich black that he had never known a violin could be made of. He felt almost like he could reach his hand into it and see his fingers swallowed by darkness, and yet that darkness shined. It gleamed. That must have been the varnish Jack had mentioned.

Its silver strings sparkled in the pale light that trickled through the kitchen window, and Phoenix ran his fingers over the thin metal, unable to avoid another breathless sigh of amazement.

The bow was made of the same black wood as the violin and bore similar silver fixtures. Its strings were a shining, flawless white. Somehow he felt as though picking it up, just clasping it in his fingers, would imbue him with incredible magic powers. It would be the closest he ever came to wielding a real, powerful, honest-to-god magic wand.

Wow, this case even had rosin!

He pulled it out of its little indentation and unwrapped the cloth, revealing a cylinder of rich amber deeply indented in its top. So much use, yet it still looked fresh. Even its colour perfectly complimented the monochrome of the black violin and bow with its silver details.