Chapter 58

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Around two hours later the living room is a mess of papers and documents

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Around two hours later the living room is a mess of papers and documents. I sit on the floor by the coffee table, skimming through the Records of the Finis that Cupid stole from the archives.

Cal crouches on the floor beside me flicking through sepia photographs while Cupid is slumped in his armchair. I peer up at him - his eyes are bleary as he looks through a heavy looking file with Employee Details embossed on the front. Behind us Crystal's gentle snores fuse with the sound of the crackling fire. 

An array of dirty coffee cups surround us.

After a while Cal sighs and runs an agitated hand through his hair.

"Anything?" he asks.

I shake my head.

"It would help if we knew what we were looking for" says Cupid with a sigh, throwing the file down on the floor. "I say we change tact. Let's try and get Crystal to wake up."

He makes a move to get up, pushing his muscular arms against the sides of the chair. Cal glares at him.

"And how do you suggest we do that?" he says.

They stare at each other a moment before Cupid shrugs, slumping back down in his seat.

"Fine" he says "You got me. I have no idea."

We fall back into silence for a few moments before Cupid stands again.

 "Anyone want another coffee?" he says raising an eyebrow.

I pass my mug to him and he strides out into the hallway. Cal frowns.

"There must be something" he says, dropping the photographs onto the coffee table.

I peer over to look at them. Some are rusty and sepia in colour, others are bright and new. They all seem to be depicting the same posed shot of a group of cupids.

"She said she wasn't always a receptionist. That has to mean something" he mutters.

He reaches behind me for the file Cupid has dropped onto the floor. I lean past him and slip the sepia image from the top of the pile and examine it - squinting my eyes.

It shows the reception area of the Matchmaking Service.

The image is faded but I notice a male in his early teens is stood behind the desk in Crystal's place. I scan it - trying to find her - but she's not there. There's something else about the room that looks different than usual - like something is missing - but I can't put my finger on what it is.

I glance down to the corner of the image.

March, 1887 is written on it in black marker.

Why does that year mean something to me?

I frown and pull the Records of the Finis towards me - opening it on Crystal's account of her meeting with the Minotaur.

Whitechapel, London, 1888 is written at the top of the page.

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