Page 22 of The Satyr's Guilt
Ram dropped his illusion when his fuckingD-chip signaled a call.What do ya need, Magic Man? I was alittle busy dodging bullets, about to pursue some guys.
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Tyr stepped out of the portalwith a grin on his face. “What an awesome ride. I love to travelbetween realms.”
“You’re seriously screwed up. Through thatdoor.” After exiting the garage, Ram pointed. “Three of them. Armedand shooting.”
Both warriors’ boots thudded on thecobblestone as they pounded their way toward the door their targetshad taken. Ram entered first, turning left in the cavernouswarehouse with concrete floors and pillars. It was empty. He heldup a hand to listen, his satyr hearing acute. “Out that way.”
They thundered toward the exit. That dooremptied into another alley.
Tyr caught sight of a guy heading intoanother side door. “There.”
“Yep. That’s them. I recognize the baseballcap.”
Thud. Thud. Thud.
They pulled up short inside the nextbuilding. The room was dark. Ram eyed a big screen. Vin Diesel’svoice boomed across the movie theater.
Bigger than life, right on the screen wasone of Ram’s heroes. A ridiculously small crowd slouched in seatswhile they watched Buster inFast and Furious. This was thebest part of the flick. His bald idol spouted a good motto to liveby. “It don’t matter if you win by an inch or a mile. Winning’swinning.”
Ram searched the rest of the movie house.Spotting the three miscreants hauling ass along the aisle, thesatyr Firebrand jumped onto the closest seat back. He used the nextrow and the next as steppingstones to the center aisle.
Good thing the place was nearly vacant. InRam’s estimation, too few people went to good movies thesedays.
Adrenaline pumped through the satyr. Heloved a good fight.
Hell, almost as much as he loved a good…Nah. Not quite that much.
He barreled ahead just as the targetssprinted out the lobby door onto the street.
He and the warlock raced after them. The NewOrleans boulevard was crowded. Jam packed for the season.
Shouldn’t these humans be in bed?
Any other time, Ram would have been happy tojoin a celebration, preferably with a curvy female on his arm, anymph with a willing mouth and two big assets.
He searched for the targets since he wasitching for some blade-on-blade, fist-on-fist action. Firing off agun never excited him. Anyone could do that. So, he’d have todisarm them first. Not much of a challenge.
“There.” Tyr pointed to the right, pushingrevelers out of his way.
“Hey,” shouted some human in the crowd.“Watch it.” When he turned around, Tyr growled at him. The guyswallowed his next words before they departed from his lips.
The warlock was an intimidating picture. Alldecked out in black leathers. At least, the coat hid his weapons.Likely his sickle-sword was stashed there since he didn’t goanywhere without the gift from his father. Nothing said loving likean ancient Assyrian sword from Daddy.
Ram unfortunately wore his arms in fullview. A couple Scottish dirks stuck in a chest holster and twoshort swords strapped to his back. With all the other costumedMardi Gras drunks, maybe he fit in. Of course, his and Tyr’sget-ups were less about “let’s party” and more about “let’s maimand kill.”
A baseball cap bobbed in the crowd, the malesurrounded by party-goers. “There,” shouted the satyr.
“If I can get a steady fix on one of them, Ican cast a spell to hold him in place,” Tyr yelled over thenoise.
They pounded forward, shoving through thecrowd, ignoring angry voices, but eventually they lost sight of thethree males.
They hunted the streets, popping in and outof music venues, bars, and other joints for a half hour with nosuccess.
Tyr halted. “Let’s cut and run.”
Ram snarled, his upper lip twisting.
