Free Epoch by Timothy Carter Page B

become your worst nightmare.”
    “I thought you said they didn’t come until the portals close,” Vincent said.
    “Most come then,” Nod explained, “then they go back where they came from. But some choose to stay on Earth to hunt down those who escaped their wrath. We can’t fight them, they’re too powerful even for us. All we can do is run, and hope they don’t get us. Or taste us.”
    “Taste you?”
    “Yeah, taste us,” Nod said. “A demon’s tongue is a better tracker than a dog’s nose. All he’s gotta do is taste a spot where you’ve been and he can track you for miles.”
    “Is that what happened in the building?”
    “Yeah,” Nod said. “That place, it’s crawling with them. I stayed hidden behind people and under desks until I thought the coast was clear, then I went for the fire alarm.”
    “And the coast wasn’t clear?”
    “Almost. I saw the demon just after I pulled the alarm. It had its tongue out, and it sensed something was up. I hid, but then it licked the alarm handle and got my taste. I had no choice but to make a run for it. And when that thing comes to, it’ll come for me.”
    “Oh, no,” Vincent said.
    “Don’t worry, he’ll be out for a while,” Nod said. “We’ve got time. I’ll take you home, then I’ll have to split.”
    “Can’t the other pixies help you?” Vincent asked.
    “Not against a demon,” Nod replied. “He’d get their taste, then he’d hunt them all down one at a time. Best if I run alone.”
    “There’s got to be someone who can help you,” Vincent said, looking down at the world below. They’d reached the intersection of Dufferin and Steeles, and a large superstore.
    An Alphega Corp. superstore.
    “That’s it!” Vincent said. “Take us down, Nod. The one person who can help you is in there.”
    • • •
    The supermarket was one of the largest Vincent had ever seen. Aisles of foodstuffs stretched as far as the eye could see, in both directions, and fronted with a line of cashiers. Hundreds of customers bustled about this way and that with bags, baskets, and carts, and employees in tacky orange uniforms rushed all around them trying to get their jobs done.
    “Does ‘needle in a haystack’ mean anything to you?” Nod asked as he surveyed the store from his vantage point on Vincent’s shoulder.
    Vincent didn’t answer; he just stood there clutching his chest. The pain had hit him a lot harder when they’d landed in the parking lot, and the walk over had been sheer torture. Nod had said it was a good thing—the more pain Vincent was in, the more pain the demon would be in—but Vincent hadn’t found that bit of news comforting.
    “This way,” he croaked, and staggered forward. “We’ll ask, see if she’s here, then go find her.”
    They approached the first cashier. He looked about twenty, worn out, and stressed. He scanned items quickly with exhausted arms, all but throwing them into bags for the customer who stood beside his till. Two large monitors stood above his register; one displayed the scanned items and their prices, and the other remained blank.
    “Excuse me?” Vincent said. The cashier ignored him and continued his work.
    “Sir?” Vincent tried again, tapping the man’s shoulder.
    “What?” the cashier spun around quickly, his irritation obvious.
    “I need to know if Chanteuse Sloam is working today,” Vincent said.
    “Yeah, I think so,” the cashier said, then he quickly returned to his duty.
    “Can you tell me where she is?” Vincent asked.
    “I don’t know,” the cashier said, turning back to Vincent. “She works cash. Just walk up and down here, you’re bound to ... ”
    Suddenly, the blank monitor sprang to life. A digitized mock-up of Barnaby Wilkins’s dad appeared on the screen, wearing a reproachful frown.
    “Robert Landers,” said the pixilated Mr. Wilkins, “you are neglecting your customer. A one-hour pay cut will be applied to your account.”
    “Oh, great,” the cashier said