We slip through the doorway and emerge into one of the main rooms of the museum. 

In the place of the wax models that populated the hall earlier this week are twelve small podiums. The Curator stands on the red carpet in the centre of the room; his balding head a deep shade of crimson and his eyes excitable. He licks his lips as the line of girls are paraded past him. A tape measure hangs from the pocket of his brown stained apron which he takes out as the models are led onto the different podiums by the top hat wearing demon.

Rebecca, Jared, and I hurry behind a screen that has been made to resemble something that celebrities would pose in front of on the red carpet of a film premiere. We peer out behind it.

"There's more of them," whispers Jared over my shoulder.

I look around, and note there are four more of the sallow faced demons stood around the room. I feel a twist in my gut.

They're making sure none of the girls escape.

The curator clears his throat.

"Welcome, models. You will all be displayed in this very room for the enjoyment of our clients this time tomorrow. First, though, you must be judged so that any...amendments...can be made before the big day."

He extends his tape measure and walks up to the first girl. She looks to be around eighteen, long blonde hair, blue eyes, and porcelain skin. He measures her legs then looks over his shoulder at the other demon.

"Nice face. But too short. She needs adjusting. We'll need a replacement."

Confusion passes over the girl's face but she doesn't move. The main spindly looking gentleman nods, he walks over to a taller, brunette girl and points at her. The Curator nods and makes his way past them all to the doorway that leads down the stairs to the dungeon area and, I think with a jolt, his workshop.

He clicks his oily fingers.

"Well, come on then," he says – a burst of irritation in his tone, "You two, this way please."

The girls catch each other's eyes, both looking slightly put out. Then they step down from their podiums and follow the curator down the steps to his workshop.

To their deaths.

I feel a wave of nausea. But behind that I feel my anger growing.

"He's going to cut their legs off," I say. "Like he did to Eleanor."

"Not if we kill him first," says Rebecca.

I turn to face her and Jared. She grins at us but it doesn't reach her eyes.

"Let's take out the demons in this room, then we'll have no interruptions when we find our wax demon downstairs."

My heart begins to pound against my ribcage. Jared runs his hand over his closely shaved hair.

"It's five against three," he says, "we don't have any guns for Frankie, and I doubt the gymnastics will be of much help this time." He gives me a look, "You really should do some training with Carter, you know."

Rebecca gives him a hard look.

"Not helping, Jared..."

"I'll be OK," I say. 

And as I say it I know it's true. I can feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins like fire. And I can feel Eleanor too.

She's angry. And so am I.

And together we are a force to be reckoned with.

Jared must see the resolve in my eyes because his expression changes and he nods. He pulls a pocket knife out of the pocket of his dark jeans, and Rebecca pulls one out each of her boots.   

"Plus, it's not five against three, is it," I look pointedly towards the girls on the podiums. "It's three of us, and ten of them."

And all of the girls inside of me.

Rebecca grins. She offers me a knife but I shake my head.

We've got this, says the voice in my head.

"I've got this," I say. "Now are we going to kill them or what? Time is running out for the girls downstairs."

Rebecca nods, her weapon raised.

As a three we step out from behind the screen.