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Excerpt:

“He’s after me,” I told her. “He knows I’m here.”
“Who knows you’re here? Ivy, you’re not making any sense.”
“Lucifer,” I whispered, leaning into her so that no one else would hear me. “He thinks I know.”
“He thinks you know what?” she asked, looking at me as though I had gone mad.
“When Jesus is coming. He thinks I know.”
“Do you?” she asked. “Do you know?”
A hiss filled the air in the room as the wind picked up and gushed through the open window. I drew a breath but I dared not answer.
She was listening.