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The Midnight Hotel looks inviting, standing on its own in the middle of a snow white field. There’s lights on downstairs and in a couple of the rooms upstairs.
Dex just knows that when he walks inside, there will be a fire burning in the fireplace. And Anton will be working, standing behind the reception desk, going through ledger after ledger to sort through the last year.
Reality is almost comically close to his imagination, the only difference being that Erskine is sitting in a lounge chair at the fireside and chattering at Anton more than with him.
“Evenin’”, Dex greets. “Would there be a room for me, kind sir?”
Anton’s eyes narrow, then drift over to Erskine.
Erskine looks back at him with his most gentle smile that has at this point become synonymous with him being up to something. He never looks quite that happy when he isn’t.
“Hello, Dexter”, Anton says with a sigh. “Should I just prepare three more rooms while I prepare yours?” His tone is dry but the corners of his mouth have just a smidge of an upward turn.
“That would probably be good”, Dex replies with a grin.
Anton sighs again and shakes his head: “Remind me why I let you lot into my life?”
“Because we’re incredible.”
“You’re unbelievable. That’s what you are.”
Anton has left the room before either Erskine or Dexter can offer a retort and then Erskine starts laughing loudly, his head thrown back and everything and Dex can’t help but join in.
He’s happy. So very happy. There hasn’t been a proper Dead Men get together since the war ended and that’s already five years in the past.
It takes three more hours until everyone is there, the last two hours only up to Saracen who arrives exactly two minutes before midnight.
They all laugh and look at their watches and pay up to Anton who looks way too smug but tries to hide it by playing the prim and proper gentleman - taking Saracen’s coat that’s wet all the way through and handing him a cup of tea.
“Was the snowstorm already going on when you all arrived?”, Saracen asks and settles in the chair closest to the fireplace.
His hair is matted to his face and his ears and nose are bright red because Saracen refuses to wear a hat - even a nice one from Ghastly - no matter how cold or hot the weather may get.
Erskine wrinkles his nose: “No, because they said there’d be one on the radio and none of the rest of us are idiots.” He carefully drapes a warm woolen blanket around Saracen’s shoulder. “Were you angling to outperform that flu you got in ‘95?”
Saracen sighs dramatically into his teacup: “If I never have to feel that rotten ever again, it will be too soon.”
Dex hides his laugh behind his hand but it’s not enough because Saracen glares at him and then Dex can’t hold it in anymore and breaks out in uncontrollable peals of laughter.
And then the Hotel shifts, the feeling as always sort of strange but not quite uncomfortable.
“Oh my!”, Ghastly says when it’s over, his tone dry as the Sahara desert. “I seem to have forgotten the time. And since you will only return to Ireland next week, I shall have to stay until then. How unfortunate!”
“How unfortunate”, Skulduggery agrees.
And though Anton would probably deny it all if anyone ever asked about it, he shakes his head with something that most people would classify as a smile: “You lot will be the end of me”, he says but the smile stays put and Dexter can’t help but smile back.