Chapter 10 #3
Foster looked tired, sure, but he also looked so... normal. Judas couldn’t wrap his mind around the idea of his best friend having not only killed a child, but to then be able to go on about his life as if nothing had happened.
“What’s the matter man?” Foster arched a thick eyebrow, concern etched on his face. “You look like you’re gonna be sick.”
“How often have you lied to me, Foster?” Judas forced the words out before he could lose his nerve. Tension mounted in creeping waves as they stood facing each other in the living room of the apartment, the air between them going thin and taut.
“What the hell are you talking about, Judas?”
“Don’t insult me by lying more,” Judas snarled, a spark of rage ripping through him at the weak attempt. “The Gospel, Foster. The goddamned rituals.”
Silence stretched, until Foster cleared his throat and turned away to head into the kitchen. “You want a drink?”
“Seriously?” Judas asked, incredulous.
“All I have is Corona, that cool?” Foster called back as he bent into the fridge and came back with two glass bottles of beer.
“I didn’t come here to drink, Foster.”
“Well, this is a conversation I want a drink for.” Foster eyed him flatly. “You might as well have one too.”
He carried the beers to the armchairs that faced his tv stand, sinking into one and gesturing to the other. Judas frowned but came to sit in the second chair. He took the beer Foster passed him and removed the cap with a spark of magic before he took a swig.
Finally, he turned to his friend, hoping the hurt he was feeling wasn’t visible on his face as he asked quietly, “What the hell, man?”
Foster took his time opening his beer and taking a long sip, and it seemed like he was choosing his words carefully. After a moment, he scrubbed his face roughly with his free hand and sighed. “I don’t even know, Judas. It’s all gotten so damned messy.”
“You told me you weren’t going to go through with it,” Judas frowned. “You looked me in my face and you lied.”
“I know.”
“You killed a damn kid, Fos!”
“It was a mercy killing,” the other man muttered, but Judas could see guilt and shame in the deep brown pools of his eyes. God, he was going through hell over this.
“Foster, you can still stop,” Judas said softly, setting his beer on the coffee table to focus his attention on his friend. “It’s not too late to end this.”
Foster’s glare was biting as he looked up at him. “End this, huh? Just give up on my mother, like the rest of you?”
“She’s dead, man,” the Fallen tried to keep his tone compassionate, despite the frustration that welled up in him. “I know it’s hard, but it’s a part of being mortal.”
“And yet, here you are,” Foster snapped. “Why is that you, Christos, Mags—you all got to Rise, while my mother’s soul is trapped in the Void so that I can’t even visit her spirit!”
“I don’t know,” Judas shook his head. “Sometimes, when souls are too damaged, they end up in the Void. It’s awful, but man, you can’t dabble in black magic to try and undo fate.”
“Fuck fate,” Foster snarled, and his grip tightened so hard on his beer that the bottle shattered in a pop of liquid and glass. “And fuck you, Judas. You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“Nah,” he frowned. “I’m your friend, and that means telling you when you’re wrong. You’re making a mistake, Foster.”
Foster rose to his feet abruptly, shaking out his dripping hand to clear away the mess, and jerked his chin towards the door. “Time to go.”
“Foster,” he protested, and the demigod lunged forward to grip him roughly by the bicep.
“Get the fuck out,” he said, low and dangerous, as he dragged Judas to his feet and started towards the door. “I’m so tired of people who were content to do nothing trying to interfere now when I finally have a chance to see her again.”
Judas struggled against his iron grip, trying to buy more time to talk and attempt to get through to his friend. “Foster, you don’t understand. The Gospel, it’s dangerous. It’s forbidden for a reason.”
“Yeah, Gabe said you would say that,” Foster muttered.
“Because it’s true,” Judas insisted. “Mags had a vision—”
“Was it of my mother returning to life?”
“No, it was of—”
“Then I don’t care,” Foster interrupted, yanking the apartment door open and trying to shove Judas through it. “Now get out and give me my damn key back.”
Judas frowned, digging his heels in to stay inside the apartment. “Come on, Foster, this isn’t like you. Don’t you see how insane this is?”
Foster’s eyes narrowed. “I’m done entertaining this bullshit, Judas, and I’d appreciate if you all would stop coming around just to patronize me.”
“We’re worried about you.”
A laugh that was more like a bark spilled from the demigod’s lips. “Right, and that’s why you’re the only one who ever bothered to come around. You know what?”
Judas tensed, but Foster planted his hand in the center of the Fallen’s back and shoved hard, sending him stumbling over the threshold. Judas could feel the sting of the wards as he passed through, letting him know he was officially persona non grata in Foster’s apartment.
“Don’t bother coming back around, Judas.” Foster spat the name like venom and Judas recoiled. “You or the other sycophants who follow my father around like puppies. None of you are welcome here.”
Before Judas could try any more feeble arguments, the door slammed in his face. He could feel a wash of power as Foster redoubled the wards, and his chest ached with the rebuff.
“Well, it was worth a shot,” he grumbled, and turned back to the stairwell. He walked slowly down the steps, half-hoping that Foster would come after him but knowing that he wouldn’t. Morningstar men were stubborn and proud, the damn fools.
The moment he cleared the front door, he jammed a fresh cigarette between his lips, looking up at the melting twilight as he lit the tip with a flame from his fingertip. Letting his head fall back against the exterior of the building, Judas closed his eyes with a heavy sigh.
He smoked the cigarette down to the filter, desperately wishing the little poison sticks could do anything to settle his nerves, like tobacco used to when he had been a mortal man.
Unfortunately, they were just a bad habit with none of the side benefits now.
He discarded the butt in the dirt and ground it out before tucking his hands into his jacket pockets and walked back into the night.
He had hoped Foster would see reason, but it turned out their friendship carried little weight against whatever hold Gabriel had on the other man.
All the Fallen could hope for now was that something Judas had said might get through to the troubled demigod, before they ended up with more bodies on their hands.