Page 1 of Minotaurs and other Magic

CHAPTER 1

While Nate wouldn’t have called it a run, it was pretty bloody close. He ducked his head, hoping to hide in the shadows of the stolen cloak he was wearing. Behind him, he was shouted at by who he assumed were the cops—not that he understood a word they were saying.

Two men, or men-like things, stepped out of the bar. Their eyes flashed yellow, and one of them laughed, revealing teeth that were far too pointy. He’d seen a few of them around, along with other people-like beings and other creatures that he only knew from myths.

Nate caught the heavy door before it closed and slid into the warmth of the bar. He eased along the wall, searching for the deepest shadow. There were plenty of them as the bar was only lit by lanterns. And while the myth-people talked, it was with low voices so the music could still be heard.

He sunk to the floor in a corner, pulled the hand-sized loaf of bread out of his shirt, and ripped off a chunk, stuffing it into his mouth to stop his belly from growling and giving him away. Except while it looked like bread, it didn’t taste like any bread he’d ever eaten. It was layered with herbs and cheese and meat.He ate fast, tearing off pieces and shoving them into his mouth as fast as he chewed and swallowed them.

If he kept busy, he didn’t have time to break.

That was a lie. Every night when he rolled up in the cloak, in what he hoped was a safe place, he broke a little. He had no idea where he was, only that he wasn’t dead.

Or maybe he was, and this was hell or something. He’d never been much of a believer, so maybe there was no heaven or hell for him, only a place where he understood nothing and was cold and hungry and alone.

He squeezed his eyes closed, refusing to lose his shit while enjoying dinner and music. He was learning how to survive. The clothes he’d stolen helped him blend in walking around town. That he’d found a town was amazing because after his supplies had run out, he hadn’t known what was safe to eat in the forest.

The hike was supposed to be a day trip with a couple of friends.

The last thing he remembered was a rumble of thunder and a rockslide. When he’d woken up, it had been almost dark. There was a savage gash on his shin, scrapes on his arms, and a cut on his head. Maybe the myth-people spoke English and language had been knocked out of him.

But he didn’t think so.

This place was filled with beings best suited to fantasy books. Unlike the heroes of those books, he was not up for any kind of questing. All he wanted was to go home. He’d spent the first two days trying to do just that. Then when his supplies ran out, he realized he was fucked and that he needed a new plan.

The door to the bar slammed open, and a man shouted.

The music stopped.

Fuck.

It had to be the cops, and they were there for him. If there was a back door to this place, he might be able to sneak out. Hestuffed the remains of the bread into his mouth and crouched, ready to scuttle around the edges.

Someone stepped in front of him.

Nate lifted his gaze. The cop wore all black except for the red flower emblem on his sleeves. When he spoke to Nate, two long fangs glinted in the light.

Nate swallowed. Was the man a vampire?

The vampire said something else, and even though Nate wanted to slink away, his body disobeyed, and he stood.

What the hell?

The vampire gave another order, and this time, Nate’s feet walked him out of the shadows and into the center of the bar where the other black-dressed cop was waiting.

“Please, I don’t know what you’re saying,” Nate begged. He was sure they were accusing him of stealing the bread. It had been a risk to take it, but he hadn’t eaten in a day.

The vampire cops didn’t seem to care. They asked more questions he couldn’t answer. People around him in the bar were staring and pointing and talking.

The vampire removed Nate’s stolen cloak, and he was unable to struggle. Then the cop removed the stolen tunic. Without them, he was going to freeze, and it was now rather obvious he didn’t belong. His clothes were odd compared to the homespun tunics and pants everyone else wore. Stealing the clothes hadn’t been easy. Now he’d have to start over.

Assuming they let him go.

Both men were armed with swords and knives.

They wouldn’t kill him in the bar, would they?

While he couldn’t lift a hand to defend himself?

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