God stepped aside, revealing someone lying on the ground behind Him. Thorn’s heart dropped in his chest.
Amy’s skin was deathly pale. Blood seeped from the stab wound in her side and pooled on the marble floor. Bits of grass and dirt speckled her clothes and her hair. Although her breaths came in shallow gasps, she appeared lucid, and quite frightened of the unfamiliar location in which she suddenly found herself.
Thorn ran to her with the desperation only love can bring, and knelt beside her. “Amy.” Just saying her name stirred feelings within him that he’d buried during the last hectic twelve hours. He hadn’t expected to see her again, and now that this girl with whom he’d spent the last thirteen years was here, his joy at seeing her mixed bitterly with the sorrow he felt for her demise. But why was she still bleeding in Heaven?
“She’s not dead,” said the Creator as if in response. “Not yet. I took her from the night she was stabbed, just before they drove her to the hospital.”
Amy’s weak gaze grew fierce when she spied Thorn above her. “H—Help me,” she croaked out. Blood dribbled from the side of her mouth. Thorn couldn’t think of an adequate response. He looked to the angels for any shred of sympathy they might offer, and found that they all looked quite ill at ease. Even a nearby pair of beagles started whimpering at the sad sight of the dying girl.
Thilial’s voice arose from behind God, and He turned to her. “Please, Lord,” she whispered, as if trying to keep Thorn from hearing, “don’t do this. Find another way to coerce him.”
God whispered as well. “Thilial, silence. Go back to your place.”
“I care for this girl!” Thilial protested.
God snapped His fingers, and Thilial instantly teleported backward forty feet. She jumped at the shock of it, then grimaced when she realized what had happened. The whole event baffled Thorn.
Thilial cares for the girl?
Cooped up in the Atlanta quarantine zone, when would Thilial ever have encountered Amy?
God turned back to Thorn, and again spoke in His normal, preternaturally clear voice. “Ordinarily, Amy would be welcome here if she dies.” Thorn found that strange, since as far as he knew, Amy was not a believer. “But now I’m rethinking where she goes. Up or down. Cool or scorching hot. She might not even die, actually. Just a wave of My hand, and she’ll be healed. She’ll live a full life, grow old…” God’s firm hand rested on Thorn’s shoulder, a gesture of mock comfort that felt more like a cold grip. “But maybe not.”
Thorn glanced up at God: His smooth, feminine face was all reassurance, except His eyes. Thorn had seen those eyes countless times before. In Marcus. In Xeres. In all the humans he’d ever driven toward lust for power. These were eyes that craved total control over other beings.
“Then again, Thorn, I don’t feel like choosing Amy’s fate today. My mind is more occupied with whether you’ll accept My offer. So I think I’ll let
you
choose whether Amy lives, or dies and goes to Hell.”
Thorn bristled at the threat. He felt his skin grow hot. He wanted nothing more than to rise up and slay the Almighty where He stood, but such an act was doomed to failure. God may not have been omnipotent, but He did wield exceptional power. “Please, God, just let me be. Let me live out my life in peace, on Earth. I won’t join the demons again. I just want to be free.”
“But you’re free right now. Free to choose between one future or another.”
Thorn turned back to Amy, who coughed weakly as she watched him weigh his options. Amy was Thorn’s home. He went to her when he was lonely or sad. Just her presence nearby would comfort him in times of distress. He’d ruined her life, then helped her rebuild it. She was the only human who had ever seen him, and though they’d only ever spoken twice before now, Thorn considered Amy to be his best friend.
Then Thorn’s dark side spoke to him. The side that had tempted humans to vice for millennia past.
This is your last chance for freedom
, it said.
If there is a way to avoid both Heaven and Hell, you should take it. Even at the expense of Amy’s life.
“But I love her,” Thorn silently told himself. “I could never live with my choice if I let her die.”
That’s exactly what God wants. He wants you cornered. He wants reconciliation, but only on His terms. Terms that would keep you under His thumb for all eternity. If you remove your attachment to Amy, you remove your weakness.
Just minutes ago Thorn had sacrificed his life for Crystal and Cole—two humans he barely knew. He cherished Amy much more than either of them. Yet in the Sanctuary, he knew for a fact that he would die. He’d had no hope, and had thus chosen to die for a purpose: so that others might live. And now…
And now…
There was a way out. A slim chance. An unlikely shot in the dark. God clearly hadn’t anticipated it, but Thorn saw the opportunity. Yet it would cost Amy her life.
The scales were evenly balanced for Thorn. On one side was life for both Amy and him—but it came with an eternity of servitude in Heaven, never being able to act toward his own goals, stuck slaving away forever for the benefit of a questionable God. On the other side of the scales lay death for Amy and probable death for Thorn, but also the slim possibility of Thorn’s total, permanent freedom from both God and demonkind.
This is where other demons’ stories end
, Thorn realized.
They come home to Heaven, listen to God’s big speech, then choose a future of quiet and blind obedience.
It saddened Thorn deeply to think that Xeres might have stood in this exact spot centuries ago, had been forced to make the exact same decision. Xeres had chosen the submissive option, the easy option. And so had all the other demons who now were angels.
Thorn thought a moment longer, and the scales slowly tipped. He sorrowfully touched Amy’s cheek and leaned down toward her pallid face. She looked deep into his eyes, and he into hers. “I love you,” Thorn whispered to his dying charge. “Please remember me as I am now. Please remember that I love you.” His voice wavered as his hand left her face. “Remember me.”
He left it at that, then stood and spoke firmly to the Almighty Creator of the Universe. “I accept Your offer of angelhood.”
Every angel in the room seemed to relax a bit. Thilial looked disappointed. God’s demeanor snapped back, and He once again became the cordial host. “Well, great!” He smacked Thorn on the back. “Like I said, Balthior, welcome. I’ve always felt a special bond with ones like you—with demons who want to be good. It took you some time, but you’ve become a truly independent thinker, and I’m glad I’ve been able to keep you from backsliding.”
Thilial stepped forward. “What about Amy?”
Anger flared on God’s face. He spoke through His teeth. “Thilial, we can discuss this later.”
“But shouldn’t she be the priority here, not Thorn? If she dies—”
“Relax,” God said, though His harsh tone did nothing to relax Thorn. “Let’s not discuss this in front of our new guest, please. If you could…”
As they bickered, Thorn took a step backward. Then another. Most of the angels were focused on God’s spat with Thilial. Thorn glanced out the window toward the Sanctuary wall, which displayed coordinates for the Sanctuary now containing Brandon, Heather, and Virgil. Then he looked down at his feet to find Amy, and a small puddle of her blood. He took in the animals around them, the immaculate landscaping in God’s House, and, most majestic of all, the serene view of planet Earth—his true home, presiding over all.
Thorn scooped Amy into his arms and leaped out the window.
•
“Thorn!” he heard Thilial yell behind him. He heard a great commotion of voices from the marble room, then the rushing wind drowned them out.
Thorn was falling, and the sensation startled him, for he had only physically fallen once before: when he was cast out of Heaven at the beginning of time.
Can I escape this place again?
The world spun, and Thorn fought to orient himself. Air surged against him, his suit and tie flapping in the gusts. He struggled to keep his grip on Amy, whose wound leaked droplets of blood upward, some flying into empty air above them, some staining Thorn’s clothes.
When he finally got his bearings, he took in a brief view of the vast celestial city rising up the hillsides into the mountains. Its belfries, steeples, and minarets appeared even more golden in the gleaming light of dusk.
But the ground was approaching quickly. Thorn rotated his body so that Amy would absorb the least of the impact, and braced himself.
He slammed hard into the golden ground. It jolted him, and caused biting pain for a few moments, but nothing in his body broke. This was Heaven, after all. Amy bounced off of him and fell nearby, moaning in pain of her own. “I’ve got you! I’ve got you.” She winced, inhaling through her teeth as Thorn scooped her up again.
“After him, you fools! Go!” God’s voice bit crisply into Thorn’s ears even from a great distance, and the anger in it terrified him.
Thorn looked up. A great host of angels was streaming from the window where Thorn had jumped. A few flew outward to blockade the nearby roads, but most gathered into a massive cone formation that reached downward toward Thorn and Amy. Once again, the entirety of Heaven sank into a deep red coloration. Alarms sounded.
Thorn ran.
The surface is death. I need to get underground.
The streets looked vaguely familiar, but much had changed in his absence, so he couldn’t be certain where he was going.
“Demon!” an angel on the street shouted, pointing at Thorn. “It’s a demon!” At the sight of Thorn, deceased humans and several other angels scampered indoors to hide. Thorn saw their eyes peering at him through shutters as he ran past.
Thorn turned a corner, and the drop to Earth loomed a ways ahead. For a moment he considered running for it, but the distance was too great. The angels would catch up to him before he reached the drop, and besides, Amy wouldn’t survive the vacuum of space. Instead he raced toward an archway beneath an oriel in one of the more florid buildings, with stairs beneath it leading down into Heaven’s subsurface road network.
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 now, fearsomely close, and gaining. “I hope we’re going somewhere with transit doors?” Thorn asked Karthis.