No clear winners last night, but each side declaring victory, even those who weren't even running. Seriously, what is the appeal of a guy who literally makes everything about him? Well, he isn't exactly wrong. The man with the flip top hair may very well have won more than a few seats ... for the other side. Trump, regardless of his cult-like following with some, overall is a liability to the GOP. Desantis has the respect of many, including some left leaning folks like me, for protecting the bodily sovereignty of his electorate and protecting the young from you know what.

Trump obviously sees Desantis as more of a threat than Biden. Between bouts of self-congratulations, Trump has been campaigning for the other side, doing his mean girl best to undermine his frenemy to maintain popularity of the party. The Republicans certainly would have claimed more Senate and House seats if Trump hadn't wiped his personality all over the ballots, and the Dems weren't able to threaten his return to the White House like both the Omen and Chucky all in one cheese burger loving billionaire.

Oh well ... at least it looks like Pelosi will lose her place as third in line to the presidency. There's that, and with the House in the hands of the opposition ... maybe, just maybe, Fauci will receive his reckoning.

I find myself wishing for a DeSantis/Gabbard independent bid come 2024, and as always an end to party politics, its corrupt-corporate captured ways ... one side screaming communist and the other fascist, and both sides ... really the same side, the elites, playing divide and conquer with the shrieking yodellers and guffawing trumpeters.

The Wisp

Her eyes fluttered open like a butterfly taking flight. She stretched and yawned. She’d slept well and for a moment forgot everything—the dreams, the Wisp, even her stepmother. The bliss was short-lived. Somewhere a phone rang. The curtains were pulled, the room dark. She’d thought she was in her dorm room, but there was no landline on her floor. No, she was in the Pink Puketorium, in the Lavender House. Like a tsunami, everything flooded back. That calm and peaceful butterfly washed away. Fear and confusion were left behind.
She fumbled in the darkness and clicked on the bedside lamp. There wasn’t much new about the room. It was as pink as ever. The only addition was the tea set and half-eaten muffin on the bedside table. Gloria had it brought up, on Courtney’s orders. The remains looked so harmless lying there, so homey. Bara picked up the muffin and sniffed. Nothing. She lifted the rim of the tea-cup to her nose. It smelled of chamomile and something else, something bitter and unfamiliar, something it shouldn’t smell of. Had she been drugged? Had Courtney drugged her?
There was a melodic rap on the door. Bara thought about pretending she was still sleeping. It might buy some time. There was a second knock, this time more insistent. A soft voice spoke through the door. “Can I come in?” Courtney called.
Escape. There was the window. The Pink Puketorium was only on the second floor, but the double ceilings of the first made it more like the third. Colin wouldn’t have had a problem scaling down. Bara didn’t like her chances. A fall would mean a hard landing on a stone patio, a broken leg if she were lucky, a broken neck if she weren’t. Courtney came again. “Bara!”
There was no escape. Her stepmother wasn’t going away. Bara faced the inevitable.
“Come in,” her strained voice called out.

The door swung open. Courtney entered, carrying another tray of food. She placed it on the bed and removed the teacup to the bedside table. She took a seat next to the bed and set about readying the tea. Her voice chimed with the clinging spoon against the cup. “Good morning or rather good evening. You slept the whole day away. You must be starving.”
Bara spoke before thinking. “More tea?” she noted. “So kind and thoughtful. I wonder how long will I sleep for this time? Or maybe, I won’t wake up at all? Is that your plan?”
There was no doubt now. Courtney had drugged her. Her expression confirmed it, but she recovered quickly. Her face changed into something else, something harder to read. She took the spoon from the tea, placed it on the saucer, and with great ceremony took a sip. Her hand was steady when she replaced the cup next to the spoon. She looked squarely at Bara.
“You know,” she said in a flat tone.
“About you drugging me? Yeah.”
“Your father told me everything, and …”
Dad told her everything! Bara was shocked at his betrayal. How could he? Then the shock left. Of course, he hadn’t believed her. None of this had happened to him. If she hadn’t been so deliriously tired and traumatized, she wouldn’t have told him anything, but she had and there was no going back, not now.
Courtney was still talking. “I just thought with all the goings-on you needed an undisturbed sleep. You did sleep? You weren’t bothered with any more nightmares?”
“Nightmares,” Bara echoed. “I may be a teenager, but I’m not stupid, Courtney. I know they’re not just nightmares.”
“I don’t think you’re stupid.”
“The dreams were showing me something! And now, I know. I know all about you.”
Courtney raised an eyebrow.
“You’re just a girl. Stay out of this. You’re dealing with strong and dark forces. Much stronger than you.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? If I just forgot about all of this. Kept your secret.”
“Yes,” Courtney returned. “Very much.”

Courtney was calm, her voice so soft it all but caressed the listener. She shouldn’t sound like that! Bara silently screamed. She should sound like an old woman, hoarse and rough. Her eyes were round and looked as gentle as her voice sounded. Her skin was flawless, her mouth youthful and full. No, she shouldn’t look like that either. She should be old and ugly. Courtney was neither, and Bara’s anger grew because of it. “I don’t care that my Dad doesn’t believe me. I know you’re a witch. I know the truth.”
Courtney took another sip of tea. She put the cup down on the saucer, this time with a clink. She took a deep breath.
“There no point in denying anything, is there? Yes, my dear, I am a witch … of sorts.”
Bara backed up against the headboard.
“Now, I want you to stay calm,” Courtney reasoned. “We’re all alone. We need to talk.”
“What do you mean we’re all alone?” Bara jumped up from the bed. She ran to the door and yelled for her father.
“No one else is here,” Courtney told her. “Your father’s working late.”
Dad’s gone. They couldn’t be alone. Maybe the maid?
“Gloria!” Bara called. “Can you come up here?”
The house was silent.
“She’s gone too,” Courtney confirmed. She rose, crossed the room, and touched Bara’s shoulder. The touch was no heavier than a falling snowflake, but Bara felt she’d been doused with wet cement and was stuck to the spot. “It’s just the two of us,” Courtney continued. “No risk of being overheard.”
Run, run down the hall and stairs and out the door.
Could she get away? The wet cement feeling was still with her. No. Running away would mean she’d never know what Courtney had to say. She needed to know more.
“Okay,” Bara relented. “I’m listening.”
“You have the diary. How much have you read? Let’s be honest with each other.”
A tongue unraveled itself. “I know you’re a witch and that you’re immortal or something. You lived in a maze with someone named Martha. She was a witch too.”
Why am I telling her this?
“Yes.” Courtney prodded.
She has me under a spell, Bara thought. Keep quiet now. But she kept right on talking. “I know you kept Nelson Sedgewick prisoner and I know you’re evil!”
“Evil?” Courtney repeated in her sing-song voice. “Where did you get the idea. I’m not evil.”
“Yes, you are. You drugged me, for crying out loud. Stop trying to confuse me.”
“You’re already confused. Give me the diary. It’s not for you. You should never have found it.”
Not the diary! Bara snapped out of the trance.
“No! You can’t have it!”
Courtney’s voice was sharp
“We need the diary. Where is it?”
Bara stood firm but her eyes betrayed. Her glance fell on her bag hanging from the chair. It was only for a second but Courtney saw it. Suddenly free of the psychic cement, Bara sprang. Courtney did the same. Courtney was closer to the chair, closer to the bag. She had the strap in her grip. Desperation took over. Bara grabbed for the bag and pushed Courtney away at the same time. Like a deathly battle over a turkey wishbone, the strap broke in two. Bara held the favored piece, but the force of her push and the give-way of the cotton bag had disastrous results.
There was the sound of breaking glass. Courtney fell backward. First her arms and torso, followed by her waist and legs, disappeared through the jagged mouth of the broken window. Last were the red soles of her size-eight pink pumps. Bara reached out but it was too late. Courtney was gone. Like they were applauding, the pink curtains flapped in the breeze.

Bara had been so intent on keeping the diary. This she’d done but at what cost? What to do now? Help your stepmother! She stepped closer to the window and pushed through the clapping curtains and broken glass. There was blood on the jagged ends. Courtney had been cut on the way through. Expecting to see a body broken and bent, Bara looked down. There were the lawn statues, mute and motionless witnesses to her crime. There were the pink pumps, now empty of her stepmother’s lovely legs, but that was it. Shards of broken glass littered the path, but Courtney definitely wasn’t there.
Her view of the ground was blocked then. Something large, something far too immense to be a bird, had dropped and hung suspended. Bloodied with her hair blowing in the wind was Courtney. She floated in the midair. Attached to no rope, she’d flown. Any concern for her stepmother dissolved into fright. Bara backed away. Courtney still hovered, looking back at her. Adrenalin coursed through her veins, and Bara easily pushed the chair in front of the window before bolting. Her hand a claw around the torn strap of the bag, she fled the room and to the stairs. A loud crash came from the Pink Puketorium.
Courtney had re-entered the house.
Down the stairs, Bara ran but running was pointless. Courtney could fly. Bara stopped in the foyer. She had to out-think her stepmother. She opened the front door but didn’t go through. She darted into the study, hid behind a large chaise lounger, held her breath, and waited. She didn’t hear any footsteps but rather sensed her stepmother’s descent. The reason for the lack of footfalls was obvious. Courtney hadn’t run down the stairs but flown. She soared out the door. All that was missing was a broom. Bara saw her chance and ran for her coat. She fled to the back of the house and left through the rear door.
The Grande Oaks went by in a blur. There was the parkland up ahead with its thick canopy of leaves. Ten more steps and she’d be hidden in the shadows. She slipped into those trees like one rushing through a closing subway door, collapsed under the cover of a large maple, and lay still. Only her lungs moved as they fought to take in owed air. Something poked into her side. Thank you, God. She pulled out her phone and made a call.
Colin picked up on the first ring and didn’t give her chance to speak. “Your Dad called. Are you okay?”
“I’m as well as can be expected.”
“What happened?”
“I’ll tell you later. What did you tell him?”
“Nothing. What did I have to tell?”
“Can you meet me?” she asked.
“Give me thirty minutes. Where?”
“Behind St. Cat.”
“They’ll be looking for you there.”
“I’ll be careful and you too, Colin. She’s a lot more powerful than we thought.”
There was no need to explain who she was.
“Right back at you, Barbie.”
They both hung up. She tied the ends of her bag together, slung it over her shoulder, and set out for St. Cat.