Chapter 24 #2
“No...” He snatched his hand back, pieces of broken plaster raining down on the ruined carpet. A dark blue mark like an ink stain spread across his palm, though it was vanishing before his eyes. No, no, no, no.
A mark like this was a glaring indicator that someone had been casting destructive magic recently, leaving a physical stain only visible to those with Divine power.
Foster knew it hadn’t been him—all magic he worked was within the walls of his heavily warded apartment, to prevent any interference in his process.
A thought brushed the back of his mind, a fleeting glimpse of a memory, and he shoved it down under the glass with his emotions. No, nope, not going to happen. He refused to even consider that possibility.
Foster stomped as furiously as he dared to reach the familiar ground of his apartment.
The fire had been ruthless with his building, but his own apartment had been relatively spared by his protective warding.
Though that wasn’t to say it had been untouched.
His furniture was heavily damaged, and soot singed the walls. The carpet was a squishy, sodden mess.
The wards on his closets had mostly held, though the bookshelves were barely upright. He entered the kitchen and opened a charred cabinet, smiling faintly as he plucked out the fresh bag of coffee beans Cwall had tried to pilfer just days ago.
He tossed a handful in his mouth and crunched down, curious, only to gag and spit them into the sink.
How the hell did the little demon just eat raw beans like that?
Disgusting. He brushed off the coffee pot as best he could, giving the hot plate a little zap of energy to account for the lack of power and setting a pot to brew as he walked down the hall to his room.
Foster looked into his mirror, cracked from the heat, and frowned at the shredded remnants of his clothing and the blood splatter that dominated his chest. A kernel of regret burned in his gut.
This was his favorite shirt. Tugging off his ruined top and throwing it over the mirror, he dug into his closet for something clean to wear.
Redressed and refreshed, Foster made his way back to the living room.
He dug his favorite mug out of the cabinet, poured himself a cup of freshly brewed coffee, and smiled when he saw his favorite chair was relatively unharmed.
Settling in, he crossed one leg over his knee and took a sip from the mug, waiting.
The knock was both ridiculous and unnecessary.
True to form, his father had no respect for his wishes, and Foster sensed him hovering out in the hallway for a good two minutes before he announced his arrival.
He waved a hand lazily and the door swung inward with a creak.
Lucifer swept inside, casting his gaze around the room as he crossed to stand in front of his son.
“Your manners are terrible.”
Foster looked up through his lashes. “Blame my upbringing.”
“Don’t insult your mother like that.”
He gripped his mug so hard the handle snapped off. “Don’t speak about my mother.”
“You’re not in a position to tell me what I can or cannot speak about, Foster.”
“Aren’t I?” He scoffed and drained his cup. “Who knows the limits of my new power?”
Luce leaned in and gripped the arms of the chair, eyes glinting with fury. “I can say with certainty that your limits are irrelevant. You have not surpassed me.”
Foster tried to lunge out of his seat but found he was unable to move. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”
“You need to listen, Foster!”
“It may be destroyed, but this is my fucking house.” He strained against his gleaming white bonds, writhing with furious determination. “You come into my home and bind me to my own fucking chair and expect me to hear you out?!”
“In fact, I do!” Lucifer snapped, stalking forward and leaning into Foster’s face. “Because I love you enough to want to save your life, even as you’re happily throwing it away!”
“What the fuck does that even mean?”
Luce sneered. “I’ll gladly explain if you settle down.”
“And you had to restrain me?”
“Would you listen if I hadn’t?”
“I won’t even listen now.” He scoffed and focused on harnessing his new power to direct it towards unravelling his binds. Trying to grasp the power was like trying to grab a live snake with soapy hands, but he concentrated on reaching deep and pulling it up.
“Of course you won’t,” Luce grumbled. Stubborn, arrogant—he was his father’s son after all. “But I’m going to speak because you need to hear it. You are aware, of course, that I was exiled from Heaven for treason.”
“Not surprising, given how unreliable you are.”
"Enough!" Lucifer shouted, his power cracking like a whip between them.
Foster bit back a retort as he tried to focus, and Luce tried a different tactic.
"Foster," he tried to speak as gently as he could, but frustration and the sense of urgency colored his tone with impatience. "Gabriel is a conniving, manipulative traitor. You have no idea the crimes he is guilty of, or the sins he has committed.”
Foster rolled his eyes. His father’s magic was stronger than his, loathe as he was to admit it. But if he could distract him, then maybe the lapse of focus would be enough to even the odds.
“That's why you’re lucky to have me as a father,” Luce was saying as he paced the floor before the chair. If he rolled his eyes any harder, Foster might be at risk of permanent vision loss.
“This angel you’re so fond of is a fraud, a charlatan. A liar." Luce spat the word as if it was poison. “He framed me, Foster!”
“I mean, I would frame you for something right now if it would get you out of my face, so I can’t say I disagree with the choice.”
“So cavalier with your venomous retorts, ha-ha yes, so witty.” Luce narrowed his eyes and leaned in, his breath hot against Foster’s face and making him flinch involuntarily back.
“But if he was willing to betray me, who he followed so devoutly and loved so dearly, what will he do to you when you outlive your usefulness?”
“He loves me like a son,” Foster spat, relishing his father’s own recoil, “which is more than you ever did.”
“I adored you, always,” Luce snapped. “You are my son, not Gabriel’s, and I have borne burdens for you that would crush him.”
“Not from my perspective,” the younger man snorted. “What burdens you’ve had to carry! Oh, it must be so difficult lounging around a castle while your son grieves and struggles alone!”
“My distance was my sacrifice!” Lucifer roared, gripping the arms of the chair so hard they splintered.
Foster fell silent, shocked that he had coaxed such a reaction from his flippant father.
“I was so afraid, so convinced I would ruin you, that I alienated you. I see now that I fed the very beast I meant to starve, and for that I curse myself a thousand times over. But that’s why I need you to understand. ”
“Understand what?”
“This is what he wanted, Foster! This wedge between us, this animosity! It makes you easier to control.”
“Liar!” Foster surged up from the chair again, severing the bonds that had contained him. He flew at his father, caught off guard, and wrapped strong fingers around his throat. “Gabe has always taken care of me! He would never use me!”
“He was willing to risk your life in pursuit of power!” Luce pried at his hands, forcing them off his neck and tossing his son into the nearby wall. The apartment shook from the force, small chunks of charred plaster raining down on them. “What if you hadn’t been able to handle the surge?”
“Gabe knew that I could! He taught me to use my powers; he knows my limits!”
“He doesn’t care if you live or die!”
“You’re just jealous!” Foster came right back at his father, eyes glowing red with fury. “He’s a better father to me than you, just by showing up. And you can’t stand it.”
“I am a better man than Gabriel on my worst day,” Luce said coolly. “He corrupted two innocent souls in my name, lied under oath about it, made my lover complicit in my destruction, and had a hand in the death of your mother.”
“Shut up!” The fury boiling in Foster’s veins rose to uncontrollable levels. At the callous mention of his mother, Foster lost himself. “Shut up, shut the fuck up!”
Something surged in his blood like an electric shock, and without thinking, he raised his hands and released a brilliant white blast of energy.
The force of it rattled the cabinets and shook the floor.
It sent the very walls groaning as the building strained to hold itself together.
Foster himself was thrown backwards from the recoil, crashing through the remnants of his coffee table and sliding back into the exterior wall.
His head rocked back into the plaster with a thunk.
Across the room, Luce still stood—with Michael down on one knee before him.
The angel panted hard, winded from his sprint up through the building and from bearing the brunt of Foster’s attack.
His gorgeous tawny wings were badly singed, steaming from the impact, and his shoulders twitched from the strain of holding them aloft as a makeshift shield.
“Michael!” Luce dropped to his knees, grabbing the larger man by the jaw with both hands. “You absolute moron, what were you thinking!”
“You restrain yourself with him,” he said, his voice wavering slightly, and Luce cupped Michael’s hands flat between his own palms.
“An astute observation,” his tone was equal parts fond and chastising. “Please refrain from getting yourself killed on my behalf.”
“Yeah,” Foster groaned, pushing himself to his feet. “He sure doesn’t deserve it.”
Michael turned to him, wings drooping as he let them fall back to rest. “I owe your father much more than this. If you had seen what we have seen...”
“Blah blah, ‘we saw some shit, and you should change your mind’ yeah,” Foster scoffed. “I prefer to base my feelings off my own experiences and not what you claim to have seen.”