Beautiful Darkness (Caster Chronicles 2)

Aunt Prue shook her head. “No good can come from talkin’ ’bout him.”

But Aunt Mercy could never resist an opportunity to defy her older sister. “Our granddaddy used ta say Abraham Ravenwood played on the wrong side a right and wrong—tempted fate. He was in league with the Devil all right, practicin’ witchcraft, communin’ with evil spirits.”

“Mercy! You stop all that talk!”

“Stop what? Speakin’ the truth?”

“Don’t you drag the truth inta this house!” Aunt Prue was flustered.

Aunt Mercy looked me straight in the eye. “But the Devil turned on him after Abraham had done his biddin’, and when the Devil was done with him, Abraham wasn’t even a man anymore. He was somethin’ else.”

As far as the Sisters were concerned, every evil deed, deception, or criminal act was the work of the Devil, and I wasn’t going to try to convince them otherwise. Because after what I’d seen Abraham Ravenwood do, I knew he was more than evil. I also knew it had nothing to do with the Devil.

“Now you’re tellin’ tales, Mercy Lynne, and you best quit before the Good Lord strikes you down here in this house, on All Souls, a all days. And I don’t want ta get hit by a stray bolt.” Aunt Prue whacked Aunt Mercy’s chair with her cane.

“You don’t think this boy knows ’bout the strange goin’s on in Gatlin?” Aunt Grace appeared in the doorway in her own nightmarishly lavender hat. Before I was born, someone made the mistake of telling Aunt Grace lavender was her color, and nearly everything she wore had been disproving it ever since. “No use in tryin’ ta put the milk back in the jug after it’s spilt.”

Aunt Prue banged her cane on the floor. They were speaking in riddles, like Amma, which meant they knew something. Maybe they didn’t know there were Casters wandering around in the Tunnels below their house, but they knew something.

“Some messes can be clean

ed up easier than others. I don’t want any part a this one.” Aunt Prue pushed past Aunt Grace as she left the room. “This ain’t a day ta be speakin’ ill a the dead.”

Aunt Grace shuffled over toward us. I took her elbow and guided her to the couch. Aunt Mercy waited for the tapping of Aunt Prue’s cane to echo down the hall. “Is she gone? I don’t have my hearin’ aid turned up.”

Aunt Grace nodded. “I think so.”

The two of them leaned in as if they were about to give me launch codes for nuclear missiles. “If I tell ya somethin’, you promise not ta tell your daddy? ’Cause if you do, we’re bound ta end up in the Home for sure.” She was referring to the Summerville Assisted Seniors House—the seventh circle of hell, as far as the Sisters were concerned.

Aunt Grace nodded in agreement.

“What is it? I won’t say anything to my dad. I promise.”

“Prudence Jane’s wrong.” Aunt Mercy dropped her voice to a whisper. “Abraham Ravenwood’s still around, sure as I’m sittin’ here today.”

I wanted to say they were crazy. Two ancient, senile old ladies claiming to see a man, or what most people thought was a man, no one had seen for a hundred years. “What do you mean, still around?”

“I saw him with my own eyes, last year. Behind the church, a all places!” Aunt Mercy fanned herself with her handkerchief, as if she might faint from the thought of it. “After church on Tuesdays, we wait for Thelma out in front, on account a she has ta teach Bible study down the way at First Methodist. Anyhow, I let Harlon James out from inside my pocketbook so he could stretch his little legs—you know Prudence Jane makes me carry him. But soon as I set him down, he ran ’round the back a the church.”

“You know that dog can’t mind ta save his life.” Aunt Grace shook her head.

Aunt Mercy glanced at the door before continuing. “Well, I had ta follow him because you know how Prudence Jane is ’bout that dog. So I went ’round back and jus’ when I turned the corner ta holler for Harlon James, I saw it. Abraham Ravenwood’s ghost. Out in the cemet’ry behind the church. Those progressives at the Round Church in Charleston got one thing right.” Folks in Charleston said the Round Church was built that way so the Devil couldn’t hide in the corners. I never pointed out the obvious, that the Devil usually had no problem marching right down the middle aisle, as far as some of our local congregations were concerned.

“I saw him, too,” Aunt Grace whispered. “And I know it was him, ’cause his picture’s on the wall down at the Historical Society, where I play rummy with the girls. Right up there in the Founders Circle, on account a the Ravenwoods bein’ the first ones in Gatlin. Abraham Ravenwood, plain as day.”

Aunt Mercy shushed her sister. With Aunt Prue out of the room, it was her turn to call the shots. “It was him, all right. He was out there with Silas Ravenwood’s boy. Not Macon—the other one, Phinehas.” I remembered the name from the Ravenwood Family Tree. Hunting Phinehas Ravenwood.

“You mean Hunting?”

“Nobody called that boy by his given name. They all called him Phinehas. It’s from the Bible. You know what it means?” She paused dramatically. “Serpent’s tongue.”

For a second, I held my breath.

“There was no mistakin’ that man’s ghost. As the Good Lord as my witness, we cleared outta there faster than a cat with its tail on fire. Now, Lord knows I couldn’t move like that these days. Not since my complications…”

The Sisters were crazy, but their brand was usually based in crazy history. There was no way of knowing what version of the truth they were telling, but it was usually a version. Any version of this story was dangerous. I couldn’t figure it out, but if I had learned anything this year, it was that sooner or later I was going to have to.

Lucille meowed, scratching at the screen door. Guess she’d heard enough. Harlon James growled from under the couch. For the first time, I wondered what the two of them had seen, hanging around this house for so long.