Judas sighed, dropped the butt of his cigarette to the pavement, and crushed it under his heel. The street was quiet as the day started to wind down, the sun dipping ever lower toward the horizon. The few mortals passing by wouldn’t be able to see him through his glamour, but he knew it would do nothing to deter Foster. Should he try to call first?
His fingers twitched toward his pocket for another cigarette, but movement in one of the upstairs windows caught his eye. Judas glanced up, focusing in on the curtain that had been pulled aside on the fourth floor and the little Hispanic woman who stared directly at him. Her judgmental expression had him reconsidering another smoke, and he lifted his hands in surrender.
She sniffed haughtily, nodded in approval, and let the curtain fall closed again. Judas shivered. He had never quite warmed up to Foster’s neighbor the way the other man had; she seemed to know way too much, even for a witch.
Shaking off his hesitation, Judas sauntered across the street and through the hole where a gate should’ve hung in the rickety fence. This place was a total shithole, but it was what Foster could afford on the remnants of his mother’s estate, since he refused to use Luce’s money anymore. Judas had tried to convince him to move somewhere less dilapidated, even offered Foster a loan, but the other man was as stubborn as his father.
Judas slid his spare key into the lock on the front door and headed up the stairs to Foster’s apartment, knocking briefly on the front door before letting himself into the apartment. Foster was halfway to the door and scowled when he saw Judas hadn’t waited to be welcomed in.
“The spare key is for emergencies, asshole,” Foster grumbled, but there was no heat behind it. Judas, on the other hand, wasstruggling to maintain his cool now that his friend was before him.
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 lyingmore,” Judas snarled, a spark of rage ripping through him at the weak attempt. “TheGospel,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 youlied.”
“I know.”
“You killed a damnkid,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’sdead,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—youall 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.”
