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 Ifinallyhave 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’sdangerous. 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 passedthrough, letting him know he was officiallypersona non gratain 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.
Chapter Eleven
Shrugging into his leather jacket, Foster pocketed his projector cube and his keys before stepping out into the hall and locking his door. Not that a lock would keep out any of the people he was worried about getting in—the wards he’d just refreshed inside would have to pick up the slack at that point. The lock deterred the mortal residents of his building. Eyeing the grimy carpet and the ever-growing pile of trash bags at the head of the stairs, Foster could admit he didn’t live in the most reputable neighborhood.
But as he descended the stairs, he picked up the scent of sizzling bell peppers and a hint of cilantro. Some of the building’s residents weren’t as bad as the others. As if he had summoned her with his thoughts, the door to D3 popped open. Señora Delgado bustled out into the hall like a woman on a mission, all five feet of her wrapped up in a colorful, striped cardigan.
“¡Diablito!” she announced his nickname matter-of-factly and with a hint of reprimand, as if she’d been expecting him and he was late. Her accent was thick and always sounded a bit agitated, but he could tell when she was genuinely mad and when she was just rambling in her peculiar way, like right now.“I knew it was you,Diablito.I’m always hearing you stomp-stamping down these stairs in you big scarybotas. Always the stamping, like you need to making a fuss or you will die,dio mío.”
“Si, señora.” He grinned, winking at her. “I will absolutely die.”
“You a bad boy,” she chastised, but smiled wide enough to reveal a slight snaggletooth. “Come inside, I cookingpastelito, and youtanflaco,Diablito! You need to eat more! You a growing boy!”
“¡Yo tengo trente años!” Foster protested, and okay, that wasn’t exactly true, but it was a close enough approximation for mortals. There was no real point to his argument anyway, because he knew age was all relative to Señora Delgado. Anyone younger than her was considered a child, which was pretty much everyone in the building.
“I no care.” She waved a chubby hand dismissively, and Foster caught it in his larger one so he could brush a kiss over her knuckles. She snatched her hand back, blushing, and swatted his head. “¡Ay! ¡Este maldita chico, sin vergüenza!”
He laughed, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Si, si,no shame.And also very busy, lo siento.Save me a plate,abuela?”
“Maybe,” she sniffed haughtily, arms folded over her chest. “Always running around at every hours, doing what?”
