Jezebel stumbled but regained her footing quickly, as if she’d only tripped. She gave a fretful, almost apologetic neigh and trotted more carefully forward. Hettie supposed that even freed, a creature like her father’s magicked mare wouldn’t want to venture into hell, or wherever this place was.
She’d expected the nightmare tunnel of blades and fire that seemed to be her customary entrance into Diablo’s realm, but now she understood that had just been the hell gate, her private entrance to the bad place Diablo supposedly hailed from. This place was dark and cool and close. Hettie’s skin crawled, and a feeling of restless anxiety invaded her.
“So…which way?” she asked out loud.
“No need to travel any farther.” The man who emerged from the darkness had Hettie gasping.
It was her father.
