Within the hour, Abraham Ravenwood was denounced as the Devil, a cheat, a scoundrel, a no-goodnik, and a thief. He’d kept their daddy’s daddy’s daddy from the southeast corner of his old apple orchard, which was rightfully his, and his daddy’s daddy from a seat on the county board, which also was rightfully his.
And on top of all that, they were more than certain that he danced with the Devil up at Ravenwood Plantation on more than one occasion, before it burned during the Civil War.
When I attempted to clarify, they didn’t want to get more specific than that.
“That’s what I said. He up and danced with the Devil. He made a deal. Don’t like talkin’ ’bout or thinkin’ ’bout him neither.” Aunt Mercy shook her head so violently, I thought her dentures were going to come unglued.
“Let’s say you did think about him, though. Where would you picture him?” Link tried again, just as we had all night.
Finally, it was Aunt Grace who found the missing piece to the scrambled crossword puzzle the Sisters considered conversation.
“Why, at his place, a course. Anybody with a lick a sense knows that.”
“Where’s his place, Aunt Grace? Ma’am?” I put my hand on Link’s arm, hopeful. It was the first clear sentence we’d gotten out of her in what felt like hours.
“The dark side a the moon, I reckon. Where all the Devils and Demons live when they’re not burnin’ down below.”
My heart sank. I was never going to get anywhere with these two.
“Great. The dark side a the moon. So Abraham Ravenwood is alive and well in a Pink Floyd album.” Link was getting as crabby as I was.
“That’s what Grace Ann said. The dark side a the moon.” Aunt Mercy looked annoyed. “Don’t know why you two act like that’s such a conundy-rum.”
“Where, exactly, is the dark side of the moon, Aunt Mercy?” Amma sat down next to Ethan’s great-aunt, taking the old woman’s hands in her lap. “You know. Come on now.”
Aunt Mercy smiled at Amma. “ ’Course I do.” She glared at Aunt Grace. “ ’Cause Daddy picked me ’fore Grace. I know all sorts a things.”
“Then, where is it?” Amma asked.
Grace snorted, pulling the photo album off the coffee table in front of them. “Young people. Actin’ like they know everythin’. Actin’ like we’re one step from the home just ’cause we got a year or two on you.” She leafed through the pages madly, as if she was looking for one thing in particular—
Which, apparently, she was.
Because there, on the last page, under a faded pressed camellia and a stretch of pale pink ribbon, was the ripped-off top of a book of matches. It was from some kind of bar or club.
“I’ll be danged,” Link marveled, earning himself a swat on the head from Aunt Mercy.
There it was, marked with a silvery moon.
THE DARK SIDE O’ THE MOON
N’AWLINS’ FINEST SINCE 1911
The Dark Side o’ the Moon was a place.
A place where I might be able to find Abraham Ravenwood and, I hoped, The Book of Moons. If the Sisters were not completely out of their minds, which was a possibility that could never be discounted.
Amma took one look at the matches and left the room. I remembered the story of Amma’s visit to the bokor and knew better than to press her further.
Instead, I looked at Aunt Grace. “Do you mind?”
Aunt Grace nodded, and I pulled the antique shred of matchbook from the album page. Most of the paint was scratched off the embossed moon, but you could still see the writing. We were going to New Orleans.
You would have thought Link had solved the Rubik’s Cube. The moment we got into the Beater, he started blasting some song from Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon and shouting excitedly over the music.
When we slowed at the corner, I turned down the volume and cut him off. “Drop me off at Ravenwood, will you? I need to get something before I leave for New Orleans.”
“Hold on. I’m comin’ with you. I promised Ethan I’d keep my eye on you, and I keep my promises.”