The Wisp

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The light had dimmed to gray in the remnants of dusk. Odd shadows played across marble Greek Gods in various states of undress lining a circular drive. The statues were no doubt Courtney’s idea. Bara couldn’t decide if they were spooky, with their shadow-veiled eyes, or just plain tacky. Across town, her mother’s drive was lined with cherry trees, pink in spring, mauve in fall.

Gravel crunched under her feet as she passed the stone army. It stopped when she stepped onto the entryway and disappeared into the shadow of the portico. She rang the bell and waited. Seconds later, one of the heavy black doors opened. Thank God—no Courtney.

“Oh hello, Miss Bara,” Gloria drawled in her deep-southern tones. It was like having Scarlet O’ Hara for a maid. “Won’t you come in?”

Bara went inside.

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“Give me your things, girl.”

Gloria held out her arms. Bara handed over her coat but kept her bag and the treasured diary inside.

“Where’s my father?” Bara asked.

“He’s still at the office but rang. He’ll be home for dinner.” Then Gloria answered the question Bara hadn’t asked, “Mrs. Cavanagh’s in the study with a friend. She said you should join her for tea if you’d like.”

It took a moment to realize Gloria wasn’t talking about her mother but Courtney. Bara was not going to join her stepmother for tea. She faked a yawn and made an excuse.

“I’m tired. I think I’ll take a nap.”

“I’ll tell Mrs. Cavanagh,” Gloria returned.

Bara headed to the study. Taking two steps at a time just in case Courtney decided to come say hello, she raced up the stairs. She was almost at the top when voices from the now open study door reached her.

There were the musical tones of her stepmother and another speaker with an odd accent. British perhaps? The voice sounded strangely familiar. Bara almost went back downstairs to see who it was, but her white lie was quickly becoming the truth. All of a sudden, she was very tired. She shrugged off any interest and continued on her way.

The room set aside for her was being redecorated the last time she’d been at the house. Her father had suggested she and Courtney decorate it together. Bara had refused, sullenly telling her stepmother to do whatever she wanted with the room. Bad move! Bara opened the door and almost fell backward. Had a flotilla of Barbie dolls thrown up? Yep. Her room was a Pink Puketorium—the palest pink wallpaper with white and silver roses, a dusty rose bedspread, and a carpet displaying every imaginable shade of pink. All the wooden furniture was whitewashed. It was a pink and white palace for a Barbie doll—Yuck. Bara grimaced and went inside.

She kicked off her boots, forgetting her promise to Colin, dropped her bag on a chair, and plopped herself down on the bed. She climbed under the blankets and laid her head on a fluffy and very frilly pink pillow. The ache returned to her feet now that her boots were off, but she didn’t ponder her poor dawgs for long. She quickly fell in to the early stages of sleep.

A tired mind went over the day as it settled to rest. She thought about the diary. She imagined what the golden-haired witch, Guenevere, must have looked like to have inspired so much passion. Her thoughts drifted to the dream of the night before. She re-imagined the hideous Wolf with its glorious silver coat and the mysterious Wisp. Tears came to her eyes when she recalled the Slipkin and her silent mouth opening and closing. And the dark-haired boy. He’d stolen the locket from the Wolf. The locket! Her eyes flew open. Too ridiculous. What are the odds? There’d definitely be no sleeping now.

Bara rose from the bed and left the room. She crept down the hall to the top of the stairs but stopped before going down. Her stepmother and her guest were at the door. Courtney blocked the other woman. Bara caught just a glimpse of dark hair before hiding behind the corner. She strained to hear what the two women were saying.