The Hush by Skye Melki-Wegner

unsteady. He touched the orange lamp and let its melody flow down into his fingers. The Music was warm and welcoming and it filled his veins like a shot of whiskey.
    In the driver’s cabin, Sam adjusted the wheel. ‘Awake, are you?’
    â€˜Either that, or I’m sleepwalking.’
    â€˜Feeling any better?’ Sam swivelled on his stool, looking him up and down with a critical expression. ‘Told you a bit of rest would do you good.’
    Chester’s mouth was dry. ‘What time is it?’
    Sam shrugged. ‘About seven at night, I’d guess. Hard to tell in the Hush, since it’s always so –’
    Chester jerked. He felt as though someone had shot another needle through his body, but instead of dispensing a sedative, it flooded his veins with a cold rush of horror. ‘Seven? But sundown …’
    â€˜What about it?’
    â€˜I haven’t done the recital!’
    â€˜Good.’
    Chester gasped. ‘What?’
    â€˜You gotta wean yourself off it at some point,’ Sam said, ‘and I figure it’s best to go cold turkey.’
    Chester stared. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He had hummed the Sundown Recital every night of his life. When he had been too young or too sick, his father had hummed it for the both of them. That was how it worked. You couldn’t stop performing the recital. It renewed your allegiance to the Song. It kept you alive and healthy. It protected you from evil magic. And if you failed to perform it …
    â€˜Calm down,’ Sam said. ‘Looks like you’re having a heart attack.’
    Chester dropped to his knees. He covered his eyes and tried to focus. Was it still sundown? Was it too late? Either way, he had to try. He summoned up the tune in his mind and began to hum. The notes rolled upwards, one after another, until –
    Sam clapped a violent hand across his lips. ‘Shut up!’
    Chester squirmed, trying to break free. The older boy’s hand was rough and calloused, but Chester kept humming the melody, pushing its muffled notes through the folds of Sam’s palms.
    â€˜Shut up!’ Sam said. ‘Do you want ’em to find us?’
    Out in the darkness, something shrieked.
    Chester froze. He stared at Sam, as the older boy slowly withdrew his hand. Sam’s eyes glimmered in their usual pale blue, but there was something else in them now. Was it fear? Sam reached up and wrenched a lever beside the steering wheel. Around them, the echoboat shudderedand jerked to a halt. It lay still and silent, a bulk of lifeless wood and sails. It was as though Sam wanted to hide their Musical signal from someone …
    Or something.
    Another shriek. Chester’s lungs seemed to curl inwards, shrivelling up at the sound of the cry. It wasn’t a human shriek. It wasn’t a scream.
    It was the cry of a beast on the hunt.
    â€˜What …?’
    Another cry, and another. They didn’t come from the same direction: some howled from the left, while others shrieked from the right. And with a terrible chill, Chester realised the question he had been about to voice wasn’t ‘What is it?’ but rather ‘What are they ?’
    There was a patter out in the darkness, almost like a roll of drumbeats, and the faint whistle of a broken tune. The tune played in and out, like the wheezing breaths of an asthmatic. A snatch of music, a gasp, silence. Then another tune rolled in, and another, each from a different direction, as though a pack of living melodies was prowling through the dark.
    Sam grabbed Chester’s shoulders, pressed his mouth against his ear and began to whisper, very quiet and very fast. ‘They’re called Echoes. They’re blind, but their hearing’s damn sharp. Can’t touch me, but if they get their hands on you, you’re dead. One little touch and you’ve got Musical venom melting the flesh off your bones. Got it?’
    Out in the