“Lovely men,” Bridget said, hands clasped over her bosom. “They’d do anything for you. I used to have terrible trouble with my pipes, and they’d come in here and fix it all up. Wouldn’t even let me pay them for their trouble.”

“Did you ever meet any of their friends?” Valkyrie asked, sifting through a handful of documents.

Bridget nodded. “All the time. They hosted the best dinner parties, and knew the most fabulously interesting people.”

“I know some of those same people,” Temper said.

“You do? You don’t look half old enough.”

Temper chuckled. “I remember them from when I was a kid. A couple of them were a bit much, don’t you think? They were a little – I don’t know what the right word is … scary?”

Bridget gave a nod so quick she reminded Omen of a bird pecking at a crumb. “A few of them were,” she confided, like she’d been given permission to gossip. “A few of them were downright weird – and I know weird. I grew up here. I was living in this house during the Summer of Love. I was a Deadhead. I thought I’d seen it all … but there were one or two of those friends who just gave me the heebie-jeebies.”

“Do you remember any names?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t. A lot of hippy names, though – that I do remember.”

Omen pulled a small photo album from the case and flicked through it. The first third, or thereabouts, was filled with old pictures – black and white and sepia-tinged – of Melior and Vega. The first few were posed and stiff, the pair unsmiling, but gradually they eased, until their smiles were broad and their arms were around each other’s shoulders. There was even a kiss here and there. Colour started seeping in as the decades brought their own advancements, and the hairstyles got progressively sillier. One photo, discoloured by age and sunlight, showed Melior and Vega standing with two other men and a woman. The men were all wearing bowling shirts and holding a trophy aloft, and the woman, who had a gigantic Afro and hoop earrings, was laughing. Omen frowned, and looked closer. The man standing to Savant’s right was Parthenios Lilt.

“Found something,” he said, and handed the album to Valkyrie. Her eyes widened.

“See something interesting?” Temper asked.

For a moment, Valkyrie didn’t answer, then she flipped the album so he could see. “Recognise anyone?”

“That’s Lilt,” Never said, pointing.

Temper’s own eyes narrowed. “The woman,” he said. “She’s an old friend. Her name’s Tessa Mehrbano. You know her?”

“Not her,” said Valkyrie, “and not Lilt.” Her finger jabbed at the image of the small, smiling man next to Richard Melior. “Him.”

Temper took a moment, and his eyebrows slowly rose. “Wow. Nice hair.”

Omen and Never crowded round.

“Who is he?” Never asked.