The Eighth Gate

26 | The Science of Cartography

 “A demon?” Tam squeaked. “You mean, like the one that possessed Noah the night in the abandoned house? And the one I saw in the mirror at Mason’s place?”

 Mary nodded grimly.

Tamara’s face was momentarily blank before it scrunched up in a clear image of disgust, shot through with a tinge of horror. “Eww! Oh my God.”

Beside Mary, Noah snickered. Mary herself could feel her lips tugging up into a smile that was destined to break into a laugh, but she couldn’t afford the luxury of uncontrolled vocal volumes now— not with her parents’ perceptive ears in the house, not when she and Tam and the three ghosts in their company were in the midst of doing something that would surely get them in trouble.

“Shh,” Mary shushed. “My parents might hear you. This may be my bedroom, but they have no qualms about barging if their paranoid minds think the noise means I’m in trouble.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Tam replied, not looking sorry at all. Unless looking like she wanted to puke was her new apologetic face. “I just can’t believe Mason made out with a demon possessing a corpse! He’s never going to live that one down.”

Mary couldn’t disagree with that. “Have you heard from him today?”

“No. Have you?”

Mary shook her head. Last night, Mary returned to Tam’s house treading water in spite of the wind blowing past her as she rode her bike through the dark, empty streets. Thankfully Tamara’s father didn’t ask any questions. He simply got her a change of clothes from Tam’s closet along with a towel. Then he drove her home. Her parents were curious about how her night had turned out; Mary could tell by the way they eyed her wet hair that they were eager to know the story behind it. She had told them that she and Tam had planned to watch Titanic, but she couldn’t have possibly gotten that into the movie. One pre-planned lie and ham and cheese sandwich later, Mary was dismissed to retreat upstairs to sleep after declaring that Tam was coming over the next day.

She’d spent the entire rest of the night thinking about Mason, replaying every moment they’d spent together over and over from the moment she found him in between the rocks to when he planted a sloppy, yet sure kiss on her cheek and thanked her before she left. She was worried about him, worried about the boy who cried into her shoulder, worried about where he was right now. She wondered what he was doing, and if he was okay. After all that had happened, she didn’t think he possibly could be, but she hoped he was too drunk to notice. She hoped he was already passed out on someone’s beat up couch, taking a pleasant vacation from reality.

Mary’s pills and subsequent exhaustion after receiving a good beating by the waves allowed her to easily drift off into a deep sleep. She was thankful, because otherwise she would have been too restless over the night’s events to even consider closing her eyes and powering down for the night. But when she’d awoken, Mason jumped right back into her thoughts all too eagerly. It was like he was a song she had hit pause on the moment she fell asleep, only to hit play again as soon as she came back into consciousness. Even now, as she sat with Tam in the middle of her bedroom floor with a pile of ghost equipment spread out over the wooden planks made chilly by the snow falling on this cold Saturday afternoon, Mary couldn’t help but think about whether Mason was home already, suffering from a killer hangover. She wondered how much he would recall about the night before, and a part of her felt guilty for selfishly wishing that he’d remember it all, because that would save her the trouble and discomfort of having to repeat it to him.

“Anyway,” Tam said. “Let’s move on to the real reason why we’re here.” She gestured to the ghost equipment settled neatly over a large towel. Mary had retrieved it before Tam had even arrived because she knew her ex-best friend wouldn’t tolerate her children making any subtle contact with a dirty, scratchy floor. The various devices gleamed in silver and black beneath the stream of midday sunlight pouring through Mary’s bedroom window; the occasional red or green eye blinked up at her. “I’m going to try and get in contact with Noah and his two ghost friends, and you’re going to pay very close attention to me as I explain how to do so with this equipment. That way we’ll both be getting what we want. Capiche?”