Epoch by Timothy Carter

was, the centaurs wouldn’t let us.”
    “They blocked all the portals,” Clara said, “and fought with anyone who tried to get through. A few made it past them, but not many. Centaurs are very powerful magic users, Vincent. When Nod and I tried to get past them, they knocked us back easily.”
    “Why didn’t they want you going through?” Vincent asked.
    “Because they’re jerks,” Nod said.
    “Because of balance,” Clara clarified. “Each species has its role to play in the natural order of things. The centaurs wanted the world to stay just the way it was.”
    “But it didn’t, right?” Vincent said.
    “Nope,” Nod replied. “The demons hunted down and killed every last one of them, and most of every other race as well.”
    “And that’s what will happen to you,” Clara added, “if you don’t find the portals soon.”
    “Sorry to dump all this on you, kid,” Nod added. “We’ll tell you if we find the Portal Site, but if we can’t … well, good luck to all of us.”
    After the pixies departed, Vincent sorted through the information they’d given him. A hundred new questions burned in his mind, and all of it came down to one thing; the world was going to end, and soon.
    As he lay on the floor of the chapel, mulling it all over in his mind, he realized he had to do something about it. But what?
    “I must talk with Chanteuse again,” he said. “She’ll know what to do.”
    • • •
    When the Chapel doors finally opened (the proper way), Vincent braced himself for what was to come. His father and brother might have woken up believing that the previous night’s excitement had been a dream, but Vincent couldn’t count on that.
    Before they’d left, the pixies had helped him restore the Chapel to its former pristine state. The altar stood once more, the pop bottles were gone and even the smallest of chip crumbs had been picked off the floor. There was no sign that anyone other than Vincent had been in the Chapel all night, and certainly no evidence that he’d enjoyed himself.
    No evidence except my brother and father’s memories, Vincent thought as he turned around to face the music.
    Instead of his father or Max, however, Vincent saw his mother. He blinked in surprise even as he shielded his eyes from the bright basement light.
    “I trust you’ve learned your lesson?” his mother said.
    “Indeed I have,” Vincent said, expecting some kind of lecture.
    “Good,” his mother said. “Come along and have breakfast. I made pancakes.”
    Vincent blinked with surprise once more. What was all this about?
    “What is all this about?” Vincent asked as he followed his mother back upstairs.
    “I thought you deserved a treat after spending all night in the Chapel,” she replied.
    “You did?” Vincent said, his surprise growing as he sat down at the kitchen table. His mother had already made the pancakes, and had even got out the 100% pure maple syrup. They only ever used that on Christmas morning, yet there it was.
    “Yes, I did,” his mother said, sitting down across from him. “Can a mother not spoil her child every now and then?”
    “I thought the Triumvirate didn’t allow that sort of thing,” Vincent said, eyeing her suspiciously. That had certainly been his parents’ policy up until now.
    “I thought so, too,” his mother replied, serving up the pancakes, “but an angel told me differently last night.”
    Vincent, who’d been reaching for the syrup, stopped.
    “Angel?” he asked.
    “Yes, I awoke last night to see an angel putting your father back to bed,” his mother said. “He said the Triumvirate were angry with the way we’d been treating you.”
    “Did he?” Vincent said, smiling inwardly. That cheeky little pixie!
    “He said I should spoil you,” his mother said, “so that’s what I am doing.”
    Vincent thought this was jolly good fun, but then he saw the look in his mother’s eyes. She looked scared, very much so. Vincent guessed she was feeling the