Epoch by Timothy Carter Page A

notified. You will ... ”
    “Oh, shush,” Chanteuse said, and she switched the screen off.
    The superstore had its own café, complete with fast food, fountain drinks, and a large sitting and dining area. After buying two root beers for Vincent and Nod (“You bet I like the stuff! Who doesn’t?” Nod had said) and an orange juice for herself, Chanteuse led them over to a table at the back.
    “It’s a long story … ” Vincent began.
    “And we don’t have time to tell it,” Nod interrupted. “I have a demon chasing me, and I need help to shake him. Can you do it?”
    “A demon?” Chanteuse said. “Don’t be silly. Demons are make-believe.”
    Just then there was a loud crash, and the ceiling over the cereal aisle caved in. Customers screamed in alarm, but they didn’t see the three demons that flew in through the hole. Vincent and Nod did, and from the look on her face they could tell that Chanteuse saw them, too.
    The lead demon twirled its tongue in the air, then turned in their direction.
    “Those aren’t make-believe,” Vincent said as the demons came toward them.

As the demons drifted slowly toward the supermarket café, tongues waggling before them like an insect’s antennae, Vincent had time enough to be disappointed. He’d thought Chanteuse knew everything there was to know about fantasy creatures, but she hadn’t known about demons. It shook up his world, and he wondered if she really knew anything. After all, she’d thought that elves were friendly folk before they’d stuck a magical bug up his nose.
    He was disappointed, all right, but he was smart enough to know that now was not the time to dwell on such things. They had to do something, and fast.
    “We’ve got to do something,” Vincent said. “And fast.”
    “Vincent … ” Chanteuse said, and he could see she was very frightened.
    “They can’t hurt us,” he told her. “Not without hurting themselves. But they can hurt Nod. That’s why they’re here.”
    The demons drifted closer, their tongues waving over the crowd that had formed beneath them. The people stared at the hole in the ceiling, oblivious of the creatures that slowly moved in Vincent’s direction.
    What’s taking them so long? Vincent wondered. He’d thought the demons would zoom straight in, when instead they were taking their time. It looked almost like they were searching a dark room, not seeing their target but knowing its rough location.
    Vincent looked down at the table, and saw Nod cowering in his cup of root beer. He was in up to his eyes in the fizzy liquid, and Vincent’s first thought was that his wings would be all sticky. He looked up and saw the demons, who had stopped three tables away, and he realized something.
    The root beer was masking the pixie’s taste. Not completely—the demons still knew Nod’s general location—but they couldn’t get a lock on him. Vincent lowered his head to the cup and whispered urgently.
    “Don’t move,” he said. “Stay in there. I’ll get you out of here.”
    Vincent put the lid back on Nod’s cup, sealing him inside. Then he stood up, and motioned for Chanteuse to follow him. They slowly made their way toward the exit, keeping an eye on the hovering demons.
    “I might be able to do a cloaking spell,” Chanteuse said as they walked. “If it works, it would mask your friend’s presence.”
    “Let’s just get out of here,” Vincent said. The exit was only a few meters away, but what then? The demons could still track Nod, and they were faster than he was. The pixie would have to spend the rest of his life in the cup, and even that wouldn’t be enough. Things looked bad for Nod, all right, but if they made it to the exit he might have a chance.
    “Hey! Chanteuse! Where d’you think you’re going?”
    Vincent turned and saw a tall, thin man with a beard and a frown coming toward them. He didn’t need to be told this was Chanteuse’s manager. Some things you can just tell.
    “Mr. Lunts, I …