Chapter 43

Isobel opened her eyes in time to see Lucifer, sporting the most awful plaid suit, disappear into the very air itself.

So his appearance wasn't a dream.

Holy crap, I mouthed off to Satan.

And lived.

Epic.

What of Christopher, though?

She rolled on to her side to see him staring at the ceiling with more interest than it deserved. She checked it out to see if she'd missed something, but no, it was still strung with soot marks and cobwebs. No divine messages or easy escape.

Pushing up on her elbows, she took a better look around. Fat candles in wall sconces lit the boxy space, so at least they weren't stuck in the dark, but that was about as positive as it got.

"I had the weirdest dream," Chris stated, his voice flattened by the stone all around. "In it, my father was here, and you were bitching him out. He asked you to stop looking for your dad. You essentially told him to piss off, and then he said he'd help us. Kind of."