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    He fled down the steps. At the sight of Thorn, a man who’d been walking up toward the main road screamed and ran back the way he’d come. Calls of “Demon!” followed Thorn as he ran through the expansive underground tunnels. Anyone he saw quickly hid. That’s right, I’m a ferocious demon. Don’t gang up on me. Let me through.
    Thorn checked Amy. She was still breathing, but her eyes seemed far away. “Hang in there, Amy. I’ve got you.”
    Ahead, at last, he found a public map of the city. He stopped next to it and checked his location—You Are Here—relative to his destination. Not too far…
    “Demon, desist!” an angelic guard called from far behind him. Thorn turned to see a group of them flying full speed down the walkway. He ran again, as fast as his body was able, but his legs felt gummy, unused to the sensation of hitting the ground and springing forward. He moved much more slowly than he would have in spirit form.
    When he came to a crystal gate set into a small gap in a wall, he sped through it, then thrust it shut and latched it behind him. He raced down another flight of stairs and found himself in what looked like an entryway to some great cathedral. Gargoyles and buttresses adorned the underground building, at the front of which stood a golden doorway three stories high. The angel guarding the door ran for cover at the sight of him. Next to the doorway an ornate sign read “NO HUMANS BEYOND THIS POINT—VIOLATORS WILL BE PENALIZED”, but Amy was already in danger of much more than a slap on the wrist, so Thorn bolted through the doorway and into the room beyond.
    As he ran through the building, he heard shouting again from close by: “Demon! Demon!” But this time the voices didn’t sound frightened… They sounded hopeful . Thorn slowed to take in his surroundings.
    He’d ventured into a prison. The place was several stories tall, and the long hallway at its center stretched for over half a mile. Small cells lined the whole distance—golden grids confining the prison’s occupants, many of whom now called for Thorn’s attention.
    Even more alarming than the mere presence of these heavenly cells was the identity of their occupants. As far as Thorn could see, every prisoner bore the wings of an angel.
    Thorn approached one of the inmates. “What is this place?”
    “Let me out! Please, please, let me out.”
    “ What is this place? ” he demanded.
    The long-faced angel stammered, then said, “It’s where God puts dissenting angels. Each of us once spoke out against Him, and He shut us in here. He fears a second uprising. He calls us rebels.”
    “Rebels? Why didn’t He clip your wings? Cast you down to Earth?”
    “I don’t know. Now please. I can help you escape. Let me out.”
    “How?”
    “The cell door can be opened by anyone filled with the righteousness of God.”
    “Splendid,” Thorn said, yanking on the grid, which wouldn’t budge. “What does that even mean?”
    “Not you! Her!” The angel reached his arm through the bars and tapped Amy on the forehead.
    Thorn glanced back at the prison entrance. The wingbeats of his pursuers stirred up dust just outside. He clasped the back of Amy’s hand, then used it to grab the golden grid imprisoning the angel. It slid backward easily. Righteousness of God? In Amy? Thorn remembered her virulent fights with her mother, her bout of anorexia, her low sense of self-worth. Never once had he seen her pray or go to church, and for many years Thorn had fought to keep her immune to the Enemy’s charms. And now this? What does this mean?
    “I’m Karthis, an Angel of Fairness,” the angel said as he strode out of his cell.
    “Thorn. I’m a demon of rainbows and puppies. You gonna get us out of here?”
    Karthis gave a curt nod then darted down the walkway. Thorn followed. They passed a hundred more jailed angels on their way out of the prison, but passed them without slowing; God’s guards flew in sight behind them