The Eighth Gate

28 | Night at the Museum

Mary leaned her bike against Tamara’s front porch, climbed up the creaky steps, and stood before the door, heaving a predatory breath.

She so did not want to do this.

Mary had considered other alternatives. Mason had offered to buy a new voice box to replace the one she had accidentally dumped into the sea, but he didn’t understand that the connection Tamara had with her equipment was equivalent to that between a mother and child. She knew all her devices so well that she’d be able to spot the difference between her old voice box and a new one in an instant. Noah had offered to take the blame for the voice box; he’d tell Tam it was he who used his force to attack the demon but he’d missed and hit her voice box instead, sending it flying into the water.

But Mary wouldn’t have it. She couldn’t go through with lying to Tam’s face, even if it would save her from having to face Tam’s wrath. Even if lying wouldn’t undo the progress the two girls had made in their relationship. Mary decided she’d been living with enough guilt as it was. The right thing to do was to come clean, and to do it in person, right after school on a Wednesday afternoon. Besides, Mary had a feeling that even if she did allow Noah to take the blame for her, Tam would somehow wind up twisting the situation so that the blame fell more heavily onto Mary’s shoulders than his. She tended to go a lot easier on him than she did on her, for whatever reason.

Tam opened the front door and greeted Mary. She’d been expecting her—Mary had texted Tam saying the two needed to talk in person and asked if she was home. Mary stepped inside and followed Tam into an office den located directly to the right of the house’s narrow foyer. Tamara sat down on a rolling chair behind the desk on one side of the area and gestured for Mary to take a seat on the couch opposite.

“So what did you want to talk about?” she asked.

Mary shared a brief glance with Noah. The look he gave her was sympathetic and nervous. He smiled encouragingly but it didn’t touch his strained eyes.

Mary’s stomach tightened. She bit her lip and started toying with the sleeve of her trench coat as she recounted yesterday’s events at Marina Harbor.

“And so here’s where we get to the part I wanted to talk to you about,” Mary continued hesitantly, her heart pounding. “I was at the edge of the boat with the man, and the demon came at me out of nowhere. I reacted quickly and swung around to face it, and in doing so your voice box slid out of an opening on the backpack I was wearing. Apparently in my haste I hadn’t closed the zipper all the way. And your voice box, it… it fell.”

Tam blinked. Her right eye twitched fractionally. “It fell?” she echoed, voice sharp. “Fell where?”

Mary ducked her head. “Into the water. It went overboard.”

There was a beat of silence before Tam laughed, cold and humorless. “Wow.”

Mary dared to lift her eyes back up to Tam’s. Her lips were set into a thin, angry line; her eyes were completely dead; her nostrils were flaring and she kept running her fingers through her hair, huffing.

“Tam, I—I’m sor—“

“Don’t,” she cut her off, abruptly getting to her feet. Mary winced but remained silent.

“Do you have any idea how much that voice box cost me?” she demanded, now pacing back and forth. She was gesticulating wildly, with exaggerated, angry arm movements. “How much it meant to me? It was the very first ghost hunting device I had ever bought.  I told you to be careful, Mary; I told you. I trusted you with my stuff and this is what you do. You throw it into the ocean.”