Page 27

Chapter

Twenty-Seven

Erin

T he machine doesn’t work.

With a frustrated sigh, I pick it up and move several feet to the left, in the direction of the cabin that’s just out of sight. I fiddle with the nobs, move the extra-long antenna this way and that, but again— nothing . I swallow down the disappointment welling inside of me, trying not to let it show on my face.

This has to work. I spent so much time, worked too hard, for it not to. There’s got to be something I’m missing, something I overlooked.

Reluctantly, I flash a glance at Syros, who’s been watching silently, crouched beneath a tree with low-hanging branches. His red eyes glow in the dim light of the setting sun, lasered in on me.

“What is it, Erin?” Tyler’s voice comes through the speaker loud and clear; it’s the best I’ve been able to hear him since we first made the connection. The signal is stronger out here, in a small clearing in the forest, but it’s still not enough. The connection isn’t strong enough to form a tear between our worlds.

“It’s… not working,” I admit, fighting to keep my voice level. Crying over something so stupid as a radio signal feels ridiculous, but I can't shake the depression growing heavy in my chest. “I know it’s not midnight, but I expected something to happen.”

A spark, a sizzle, anything .

This isn’t good, and it doesn't bode well for our midnight attempt.

What if all of this was for nothing? What if it doesn’t work after all, and I really am stuck here until the next solstice?

I chew my bottom lip to keep it from wobbling.

A disgruntled noise comes through the radio. Tyler’s obviously as disappointed as I am.

“So, what now?” he asks, and the question hangs heavy in the air around us.

The truth is, I have no idea.

Even though I tried not to get my hopes up when Syros agreed to help, a faint shred of optimism settled in my gut and grew, festered over the last several hours. I’d nearly convinced myself that this would work, that I would be face to face with Tyler or at least see a sliver of home through a faint portal.

To see nothing is soul-crushing, defeating.

“I don’t know,” I mutter. “I don’t know… I—”

Syros gets to his feet, shaking out his limbs, which are probably stiff from being still for so long. I expect him to tell me to give up, to encourage me to abandon this crazy idea. After all, I can tell he’s disappointed about me leaving. It’s evident in the wall he’s constructed between us, the distance he’s keeping.

He paces over, and my eyes slowly climb his form, locking with his glowing red gaze through the gloominess.

“Come,” he says, offering me a hand. “Maybe there is something else we can use. Something we overlooked.”

Reluctantly, I reach for his hand, trying not to get my hopes up again. I don’t know if I can make it through another let down without tears falling, and I’ve held it together so well. But I’ve come too far to give up now; I have to keep trying, especially if Syros thinks there might still be a chance.

I nod once, leaving the radio laying amongst the underbrush. He drops my hand as we head back to the cabin, putting an uncomfortable distance between us, but he holds the curtain open for me to dip inside.

I stare around at the familiar space, the place I’ve committed to memory over the last few days. I’ve searched through his belongings, gathered all the useful metal I could possibly use for an antenna.

Was there something I missed? Something I didn’t think of?

I stand in the middle of the room while Syros peruses his collection, opening boxes, rummaging through small piles, clinging to the faintest whisper of hope that he’ll find something useful. However, dread keeps me rooted to the spot, my feet feeling like lead. I can’t move, my mind spinning a thousand miles per hour, as I watch him.

When he finally stops and grunts approvingly, my eyes snap to him. He’s making his way back over, and I nearly laugh when he holds out a fork to me.

“Will this help?” he asks, and I stare down at the utensil.

“There’s only one way to find out.” I force a smile on my face, twirling the fork around in my fingers. It’s heavy, though I’m not sure what kind of metal it’s made out of, and I can bend the prongs in different directions to get a stronger signal.

It’s worth a shot.

It’s my only shot.

When we head back outside, it’s darker, the sky overhead nearly pitch black with a few pinpricks of light shining through.

Are those stars? I can’t help but wonder as he leads us back to the radio.

With numb fingers, I set to work again, using the extremely limited lighting to see while I work. I attach the fork, and Syros bends the prongs in strange angles according to my directions; the fork might as well be a bendy straw for how easily he manipulates it.

With the mess of metal and wires I’ve already assembled, this has to be enough.

I hold my breath and flip on the radio.

Instead of Tyler’s voice, I hear static, and my heart plummets.

Shit.

Did I make things worse instead of fixing it?

Twisting the dial, I run through the channels, listening as the static morphs into all different sounds. Music, static, muffled voices, more static… I stop on a channel that sounds otherworldly, a melodic, ethereal hum coming through. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever heard before, and makes me wonder if there are other worlds out there that I could also make a connection with.

Are there other monster realms? Aliens?

My heart lurches into my throat

“Tyler?” I call, going through the channels more slowly.

His voice fades in through the static, becoming clearer. I turn the dial again, searching for a new frequency.

“Tyler?”

The air around the antenna begins to vibrate, and I jump back when his voice comes through again. It’s so loud, so crystal clear, that it’s like he’s right next to me.

“I’m here, Erin. Can you hear me?”

A shaky exhale escapes me. “Yes, I can hear you.” The air shifts in front of me, almost like it’s trembling. Supercharged with invisible energy, twisty with a hazy image of something that isn’t really there.

It’s working.

“Holy shit,” I whisper under my breath, watching as the air shifts and pulsates before me. “Syros, it worked!” I squeal. “Do you see it?”

I look over at him, to his glowing red eyes, but he doesn’t respond. He’s watching me in silence, his shoulders sagged, skull tilted slightly toward the ground.

Unease turns my stomach. I hate seeing him like this, knowing I’m doing this to him. My heart squeezes in my chest.

“I think it’s going to work,” I say, turning my attention back to the radio. “At midnight, the signal will hopefully be strong enough for the portal to open. We just have to wait a little longer.”

A relieved sigh comes through the radio, followed by Tyler’s voice. “Hold tight, Erin. I’ll see you soon.”

Waiting is grueling. The minutes drag by, and the sky overhead gradually grows darker. We keep an ear out for any movement in the trees, listening for the rustling of leaves or the thump of approaching footsteps, but the forest is silent. We’re completely alone.

I try to force conversation, but Syros barely acknowledges my questions. He’s checked out, staring into the distance, simply waiting for this to all be over. Waiting for me to leave.

“You know, if this works, I can always visit you,” I attempt after countless minutes in the silent dark. “This doesn’t have to be goodbye forever.”

Syros grunts in response. “Returning would not be a wise idea for you, little human. It is not safe for you here, and there is no promise that I will be the Grim you encounter when the portal opens again.”

My shoulders sag. As difficult as it is for me to hear, I know it’s the truth.

The idea of seeing him every solstice, of traveling back and forth through the portal, comes with enormous risks that might not be worth the payoff.

Still, the thought of never seeing him again causes a dull throb in my chest.

It sinks all the way to my marrow, making my bones ache.

As much as I need to leave, a part of me will always belong here, in this wasteland of a world.

With him.

“How will we know when it’s midnight?” I ask to change the subject. My eyes are prickling a little too much for my liking, and I blink the tears away. “You said you don’t keep track of time here.”

“His skull tilts back, his glowing eyes lifted toward the dark sky overhead, and he points up to the dark expanse with a long, slender claw.

“Do you see that glowing speck?” he asks. “It is pale blue and doesn’t flicker like the others?”

I follow his line of sight and squint through the darkness at the dot he’s referring to. It glows softly against the pitch black backdrop, a pinprick in the night like a star on Earth, but it doesn’t twinkle like one. Could it be another planet?

My mind spins with the possibilities.

“I see it.”

“When it reaches the center of the sky, it will be your midnight,” he says confidently. Ah, so like the sun… kind of.

It’s nearly there now.

“Syros, I—” I want to say something, some final goodbye that will serve as closure for us both, but there are no words to express how I feel. My mind is a mess of confusion and sadness, tangling with longing and desperation. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I have to go home.”

I wait, and his fierce red orbs fall to me once again. If I expect him to accept my apology, I’m mistaken.

“It’s almost time,” he says instead.