At twenty minutes to eight, there was a knock on the door of Christine's dressing room. She was just finishing putting up her hair, so she quickly donned her feathered mask and opened the door.

There stood the phantom of the opera, in his black coat and trousers, white ruffled shirt, and long, flowing opera cloak. He wore a plain black mask.

Something was wrong, though; Christine couldn't put her finger on it exactly. Was he angry? Erik only wore the black mask when he was angry. She didn't recognize this mask, though; it wasn't his usual black one. "What happened to Red Death?" she asked.

"He is downstairs, waiting for you in the grand ballroom. I'm to escort you to him, mademoiselle," the phantom explained with a bow.

Christine recognized the former manager's voice and burst into a peal of delighted laughter. "M. Carrière! So Death sent a ghost to bring me to him," she remarked. "How appropriate."

"Ah, well, you know his sense of irony," Gerard replied. He offered her his arm and they started down the back stairs toward the ballroom.

"So whose idea was it? Your costume, I mean?"

"His, of course. That sense of irony again; I think he just wanted to tweak the Cholettis a little, and well… I had no objection to that." Gerard's eyes twinkled behind the mask, and Christine smiled.

"You look a lot like him," she noticed. "He's taller, of course, and has a different bearing, but your eyes are the same."

Gerard gave a self-deprecating shrug. "I used to have a somewhat prouder bearing when I was younger, mademoiselle, and as to the eyes…" he glanced down at her. "I've just told him, today, that I'm his father."

"You did? How did he take it?"

Gerard chuckled. "He'd known already, because of the eyes, he said. My son is no fool. But now we should change the subject, mademoiselle." There were people on the stairs, and he didn't want to be overheard. "What time are you meeting the count?"

"In about fifteen minutes."

"Erik may listen in, you know," Gerard warned her. "Through the walls."

She looked at him and spread out her hands in an obvious gesture. "Why do you think I chose my dressing room for the talk? I have nothing to hide."

They arrived at the door to the grand ballroom, where there was a queue waiting at the doors. "Shall we go in together, then?" Gerard asked. "Or perhaps mademoiselle would prefer not to be seen with a ghost?"

"I'd be honoured to go in with you, Monsieur le Fantôme," Christine said with a smile.

Gerard nodded, and was about to join the queue when he thought of something. He leaned in close to her and whispered, "However the evening ends, mademoiselle, do not worry."

"What do you mean, monsieur?" Christine was puzzled, but by the time she asked, Gerard had already stepped up to the front of the queue. Startled, the others fell back and allowed him to go ahead of them.

"Must we be announced?" Gerard asked the footman quietly.

The footman, recognizing the voice of his former employer, nodded with an appreciative twinkle in his eye as he examined Gerard's outfit. "M. Choletti didn't want there to be any confusion."

Gerard sighed. "Doesn't he realize that half the fun is guessing who the guests are supposed to be?"

The footman shrugged infinitesimally. "Nevertheless, he wants everyone announced." He went into formal mode and spoke more loudly. "Now, monsieur, if I could have your name, and that of your companion?"

"You may announce me as the Phantom of the Opera," Gerard announced grandly. Christine half-expected a cymbal-crash when he said it.

"Yes, sir. And your companion?"

Christine had heard the last exchange, was struck by a sudden idea. Erik hadn't actually told her who she was supposed to be dressed as, so on a whim she decided to be daring. "Persephone," she told the footman.

Gerard jerked his head to look at her in surprise. He was well-versed enough in Greek mythology to recognize the reference. "Mademoiselle?" he asked. Are you sure? Was the question behind his single word.

Christine gave him a decisive nod. "Persephone," she repeated. "Queen of the underworld."

Gerard nodded slowly. With her black-rose-colored dress and black mask and gloves, not to mention her pale, delicate beauty, she certainly fit the part.

The footman turned and bawled out their names into the ballroom. "The Phantom of the Opera, and his companion, Persephone, queen of the underworld!"

The music stopped abruptly, and they walked into the ballroom to see everyone staring at them and starting to whisper. The ballroom was packed with revellers, and Christine would see every face turned toward them. Her smile faltered.

And then she caught sight of a peculiarly-masked white face atop a rich, dark red outfit, and her smile returned.

Red Death was standing all alone in the centre of the room, with all the revellers around him giving him a wide berth. He looked up as if startled when he heard them announced, and then made his way toward them. Partiers fell back out of his way as he moved, his walk smooth, graceful, and lordly. He reached them and bowed, sweeping his plumed hat down to the floor. "Monsieur le Fantôme," he greeted. "Madame Persephone." The warm gleam in his grey eyes showed Christine how much he appreciated her name; her choice bore some interesting implications for him.

Gerard bowed. "Monsieur le Mort Rouge, good evening."

"Thank you for escorting the lady, Monsieur le Fantome," he said with a formal courtesy.

"It was my pleasure, monsieur," Gerard replied with good humour. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I must be about my business."

Erik caught his arm and leaned close. "You'll remember what to do?" he asked in a low voice.

Gerard touched the outside of his breast pocket and nodded. "I remember." He patted Erik's hand, where it rested on his arm. "Have fun tonight, son—but be careful."

Erik nodded, his eyes softening a little at being called "son," and turned to Christine. "Madame Persephone, may I have the next dance?"

Smiling behind her mask, she gave him her hand and he led her onto the floor. She glanced around for Philippe, but saw no one in a white mask. The music started up again and Erik took her into his arms and whirled her away into the throng of dancing couples.