Cwall skidded to a stop and turned to gape at Gabe. “Ya ain’t gonna stop ‘im?!”
“I couldn’t if I tried.” he smirked softly, something like wonder in the softness of his gaze. “That’s Lucifer’s boy if I ever saw it in him. Stubborn as hell and determined to get there.”
For once, Foster felt something like pride in the comparison. But he wasn’t just Lucifer’s son, he was Angela’s too, and she always knew right from wrong. And this was right, he knew that. He took off like a shot, racing back toward the apartment.
“Stop!” One of the firemen shouted, a look of alarm clear on his face. “Kid, ya ain’t even wearin’ a shirt!”
“He’s crazy!” Another man shouted back, angling his hose higher to blast at the relentless flames. “Somebody stop ‘im!”
One of the emergency responders tried to snatch at his arm as he passed, but Foster blew past. There was no chance of a mortal stopping him. He was divinity, born of the Godblood. He was untouchable.
He was slammed roughly from the side and tackled to the ground, rolling twice before he ended up on his back.
“What the fuck?” he groaned, attempting to rise to his elbows only to be pinned back down. He blinked, and the shadows above him settled into his father’s face. For a moment, he would’ve sworn the expression there was terror. Then he blinked again, and it was gone.
“You reckless, ridiculous child!” Luce bellowed, eyes alight with rage. “You could’ve died!”
“No, I couldn’t!” Foster protested, struggling against the iron bands of his father’s grip on his biceps. “I have to go back in, she’s stillin there!”
“Who?!” Luce demanded, shaking his son as if he could force the answers out of him.
“Señora Delgado!” Foster shouted back, fighting to get free. “My downstairs neighbor! She’s still inside!”
“These firemen will get to her, that’s their job.”
“I can get there faster!”
“At what cost?” Luce shook him again, fear creeping back into the edges of his tone. “Tell me, what mortal is worth myson?”
Foster stilled, momentarily caught off guard by the question, then renewed his struggle. “Any of them! That’s the problem with you Divine pricks! Mortals matter too!”
“I will not risk you!”
“It’s not your choice to make!” His throat was raw as the words tore from it. “Who are you? Who are you to show up now and decide my life?!”
“Yourfather!” Luce snapped, hauling Foster to his knees. “Your father, who wants a chance to make amends before I lose you for good!”
“Too little, too late!” Foster staggered upright and shoved his father away. “I have so few people left that matter to me. I won’t let you stop me from saving one of them!”
He started to run back towards the doorway, only to freeze in his tracks at the sight before him. The blaze was lower but still burning. The firemen advanced steadily on the building, beating at the flames with jets of water. From the blackened doorway, a team hauled out a black and yellow stretcher with a prone form atop it.
“Carmen!” Mr. Fernandez gasped, and Foster dropped to his knees like a stone.
“No,” he murmured, whimpered, pleaded. “Please no.”
A hand settled on his shoulder, and for a moment, he leaned away from it. Then Gabe sank to his knees beside him and forced him to meet his gaze.
“She is not dead.”
Foster’s heart, which had been slowly tightening in his chest, skipped a beat. “What?”
“Look.” He tapped under Foster’s chin with two fingers, lifting the younger man’s gaze to the stretcher again. “She moves.”
It was true; her fist clenched and unclenched repeatedly on her rosary as the old woman moaned and muttered prayers in Spanish.
“¡Abuela!” Foster shouted, springing back to his feet. “¡Abuela, todo estará bien!”
He pulled away from Gabe and rushed to the stretcher. There was a small commotion, but the firemen settled when he declared himself her grandson. Luce watched him climb into the ambulance at her side, riding safely away from the dwindling inferno.
