Epoch by Timothy Carter Page A

unrighteous to face the Triumvirate on their white thrones at the moment of death. Was that happening to him now?
    The pain became so great that Vincent could no longer think. He let his captor take him where they would, and hoped it would all be over soon.
    And then it was.
    Vincent blinked, felt his head. The pain was gone. Completely.
    It was replaced by a severe tickling in his nostrils. He sneezed, then sneezed again. When he sneezed for the third time, a bug flew out of his nose.
    Vincent stared down at the ladybug, and realization dawned. That bug had been the obyon. Now that it was out of him, he was free.
    “I’m free!” he cried, looking up. He was inside Chanteuse’s house, just beyond the front door. Chanteuse stood beside him; it had been her who had grabbed him, not the Soul Harvester.
    Grimbowl stood in the doorway, looking most displeased. Max ran up the front steps behind him, looking confused.
    “What in Creation is going on here?” he asked.
    “I’ll explain later, Max,” Vincent said, then he looked up at Chanteuse. “What did you do?”
    “I brought you inside,” she replied. “My house is protected by magical wards. Any magic items that enter here are instantly rendered useless.”
    “Hah!” Vincent said, smirking smugly at Grimbowl. He saw the ladybug skittering away and wanted to squash it, but before he could Chanteuse snatched it up off the floor.
    “What is this?” she asked the elf.
    “A bug?” Grimbowl said innocently.
    “It is a lot more than that, elf,” Nod said from the apron pocket.
    “Tell her,” Vincent said. “Tell her what you and your friends did to me.”
    Grimbowl opened his mouth as if to speak, then he charged forward. He tried to get out through the front door, but Max had that exit blocked.
    “There is no escape for you, evil one,” Max said, thrusting forward his Text.
    “Oh yes there is,” Grimbowl said, turning and running the other way. He zipped past Vincent and Chanteuse and nearly made it to the backdoor.
    “Aagh!” Grimbowl cried as a large hand clamped around his waist.
    “Where do you think you’re going?” Miss Sloam said, holding the elf triumphantly.
    “Tell me,” Chanteuse said, holding out the insect. “What is this thing?”
    “It’s an obyon,” Grimbowl said, and he told her what an obyon was. Chanteuse listened with growing horror, and when the elf finished she was in a full-blown rage.
    “How could you!” she shouted at the elf. “How could you do that to my friend? You little monster!”
    “You used your wicked sorcery to command my brother,” Max said. “There is no mercy in Heaven for a wretch like you.”
    “I would rather you had done that to me,” Chanteuse continued, “than to one of my friends.”
    “I couldn’t do that!” Grimbowl said. “You’re … well, you’re the one person we elves can trust. And you treat us like we’re good.”
    “I was clearly wrong about that,” Chanteuse said.
    Grimbowl reacted as if slapped. Tears formed in his eyes, and for a moment Vincent actually felt sorry for him. It seemed the elf was more dependent on Chanteuse’s good graces than he’d let on.
    Not that Vincent could blame him. He knew he’d be devastated if Chanteuse called him a bad person. She was like that. You couldn’t stand for her to not like you.
    “What shall we do with him?” Chanteuse’s mother asked.
    “Burn him,” Max said. “Then burn that little one in the apron. And as for the witch ... ”
    “Max, not now,” Vincent said, standing back up. “There’s a lot here you don’t understand.”
    “And I’m not waiting around for him to figure it out,” Grimbowl said, and then his whole body went limp.
    “What happened to him?” Vincent asked, walking over to Chanteuse’s mom.
    “Don’t know,” said Miss Sloam, giving the elf a shake. “Looks dead. Didn’t think I squeezed him that hard.”
    Vincent reached out and poked Grimbowl’s stomach. Nothing happened. He flicked one of