The next two days were tense. The looming doom hung over everyone, as well as the unanswered questions.

When this was over, and presuming they were alive, where would they go?

How do they kill him?

What happens to Ravel?

Is there a time limit to Ghastly, Saracen and Anton's newfound liveliness?

Ravel's presence had managed to get on everyone's nerve and Ghastly had barely left the tailors. They trained together, individually, in pairs and as a group. They played card games and board games. But they were scared. They all were.

It was the morning of the dance when Ghastly came out. He hollered for everyone, including Ravel, to gather around the table. Clothes were piled along.

"You made these in two days?" Valkyrie asked incredulously. Ghastly modestly shrugged. "I was stressed."

"When I'm stressed I eat gallons of ice cream," Ezra said, clearly impressed.

The clothes were beautiful, the masquerade them met perfectly. The suits were much the same, a jacket with tails, a waistcoat with intricate patterns, different for each man, and perfectly fitting slacks. Dexter's was all black, with muted silver details. Skulduggery's was black on black, the designs a glossy black in contrast with the matte black of the rest. Saracen's was black and blue, like sapphires, Ravel's black and white. Anton's was a dark, deep leaf green on black and Ghastly's was blood red on black. A light green dress with a gold sheen to it for Ezra, that was tight and then fell loosely to her ankles with a nifty little slot for her Arnis to slide into, and a satin gold shawl to hide it completely. Valkyrie had a tight-fitting dress that was black, with little silver accents along the neckline and saucy slit going to her mid-thigh. Her shawl was silver. Everyone went about to get ready, the bunker unusually quiet. Everyone knew that there really was only one good way for tonight to go, and those odds were pretty slim. If they failed, Hades would kill them. Macon could kidnap them, torture them, kill them, the usual. Or they could kill Macon. Which also had its threats. If they succeeded, his minions might kill them. Once everyone was ready, they went and met at the table again, where Ghastly had laid out the most beautiful intricate masks they'd all ever seen in their lives. Ezra gently lifted hers. It was one that covered her eyes, half of it gold and half of it green, the middle looked like vines on fire, trying to dominate more of the mask. Dexter tied it gently in the back for her. His own mask was black, with silver bordering it. They were a good looking bunch of people, that was for sure.

Valkyrie had her brown leather holster directly above the slit of the dress, the cold silver dagger pressed against her inner thigh.

Dexter pulled her close.

What if this breaks the wall completely?

Ezra looked at him, her blue eyes wide with fear. She shrugged in response.

"Do you know where we're going?" Skulduggery asked.

"Yes. Macon showed me in a dream." Ezra replied warily. Everyone linked up, and heard the roaring of wind and then they were in the foyer of a grand building, the floor, and ceiling white marble. Everyone let go, except Valkyrie and Skulduggery, Ezra and Dexter. A man in a black suit and plain black mask stood there.

"Names?" He asked in a bored, monotonous voice. Everyone looked at each other.

"Skulduggery Pleasant."

"And?" Valkyrie rolled her eyes, frustrated at having to unnecessarily go through their names.

"Valkyrie Cain."

"Erskine Ravel."

"Ghastly Bespoke."

"Ezra Bloom."

"Saracen Rue."

"Dexter Vex."

"Anton Shudder."

The man marked them off on his stupid little clipboard and then stepped aside to grant their entry. They walked through, Valkyrie's arm through Skulduggery's, Ezra's through Dexter's.

The ballroom was beautiful. White marble stretched on for miles it seemed, pillars wrapped with silver lights. Tables were tastefully spread throughout, some with guests, some without. The grand, empty area was full of people swaying and twirling, a beautiful band, complete with a cellist and violinist, playing in the corner. Women were in jewels up to their teeth, their dresses dramatically ballooning out at the bottom, their hair was done up in gravity-defying styles. The men were handsomely dressed, wearing deep jewel-toned colours, with waistcoats and masks and pocket watches. It was a beautiful scene, but one thing. It looked like a fairy tale or a Victorian dance for the wealthy.

Were it not for the fact that everyone's eyes were the colour of blood.

"They're all demons?" Ghastly asked incredulously, subconsciously edging closer to his partner. Old habits die hard, after all.

"We don't like to be called that." Said a rough voice behind Dexter. He whirled around to be face to face with his father, Macon. He hadn't made an effort, his greasy hair still hanging down like worn rope, his eyes looking like a dead fish. His date, Blaise, was quite the opposite. She was wearing a very, very short dress with feathers hanging down and diamonds crawling up. Her mass of blonde hair confusingly held into place by diamonds, her green eyes replaced by red. Macon grabbed his son in a forceful embrace, smiling. Dexter lurched back, nearly knocking into Skulduggery were it not for Saracen's hand steadying him. Macon ignored his son and turned to Ezra. He grabbed her hand and pressed his lips firmly to her hand. He winked at her as he straightened. Ezra pulled her hand back as if she had been stung, but Macon grabbed it once more, looking at the ring on her finger. His jaw clenched and his grip on Ezra's wrist tightened until she cried out. He pulled her closer. "I enjoyed your screams for three hundred years, don't think I wouldn't enjoy three hundred more years of those pleas." He said then let go as Dexter stepped forward. Macon smiled again.

"You're staying the night here tonight. My treat. Now go, eat, dance, enjoy yourselves." He said. Blaise smirked then walked away. Ezra slumped against her fiancé, her eyes wide but tired. The Dead Men moved as one, finding an empty table. They all sat quietly, unsure of what to do or say.

Meanwhile, deep within the sanctuary stood a very stiff Tanith and China. The phone rang and Tanith almost threw up then and there. China picked it up, to here that wretched girl's voice.

"All eight are here. Have a nice night, ladies."

China closed her eyes in relief, the phone falling from her hand. Tanith dropped the knife and visibly slumped against the wall.

"Was it worth being screamed at for lack of security?" Tanith asked, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. China eyed the blonde with a mixture of dry humour and that relief that hadn't dispersed yet.

Thanks for reading! I hope you're all enjoying it so far!