Page 10 of Barbells, Broomsticks & A Baby

My mother considers this, then gives a curt nod. “A sensible precaution. I’ll prepare the necessary components.”

As she bustles out of the nursery, I sink into the rocking chair, feeling utterly drained. The baby kicks forcefully, as if sensing my distress. “I know, little one,” I whisper, rubbing my belly. “Grandma means well. She’s just...intense. Like me, I suppose. You’ll probably be just as stubborn.”

The plush dragon finally drifts down from the ceiling, landing in my lap with a soft thump. I stroke its fuzzy head absently, wondering if Atlas is having a better morning than I am.

***

BY MID-AFTERNOON, MYmother has transformed our living room into something resembling an arcane laboratory. Herbs and crystals are arranged in precise patterns across our coffee table and carefully labeled vials of magical essences gleam in the sunlight from the bay window.

“Are you sure we need all this?” I ask, eyeing a particularly noxious-looking potion bubbling in a small cauldron. “A nesting spell is supposed to be simple.”

“This is simple,” she says with a wave of her hand. “A basic seven-circle enchantment with elemental augmentation and lunar harmonization.”

Nothing about that sounds simple to me. The nesting spell I had planned involved a gentle enchantment to attract nurturing energies and encourage household objects to arrange themselves optimally for baby care, like wipes warming themselves and blankets folding themselves neatly. “What exactly does your version do?” I ask suspiciously.

“It creates a comprehensive magical environment conducive to infant development and parental efficiency,” she says, grinding something that looks suspiciously like dragon scales in a mortar. “The house itself becomes attuned to the baby’s needs, anticipating them before they arise.”

“That sounds...invasive,” I say, picturing our furniture rearranging itself without warning every time the baby hiccups.

“It’s comprehensive. Are you ready to begin? The juniper essence needs to be added precisely as the potion reaches a rolling boil.”

I sigh and take my position across from her. Despite my reservations, a small part of me is curious to see my mother’s advanced spellwork up close. For all her faults, Brunelda Greenwarth is unquestionably a powerful witch.

“We start with the invocation,” she says, closing her eyes and raising her hands. “Repeat after me...”

I dutifully repeat the Latin phrase, feeling the familiar tingle of magic building in my fingertips. So far, so good.

“Channel your energy toward the central crystal while I add the juniper essence.” She uncorks a small blue vial.

I focus on the clear quartz crystal in the center of the table, directing my magic toward it as instructed. The crystal begins to glow with a soft purple light, which is the color of my magical signature.

My mother adds three precise drops of juniper essence to the bubbling cauldron. The potion hisses and changes color from murky green to a clear, shimmering blue. So far, the spell seems to be proceeding exactly as she planned.

That’s when I feel a strong kick from the baby, followed by a sharp contraction that makes me gasp. My concentration wavers, and my magic surges unexpectedly, flowing into the crystal with far more force than intended.

“Grizelda,” my mother warns, but it’s too late.

The crystal pulses with blinding light, and the potion in the cauldron bubbles over violently, spilling across the table and onto my mother’s open grimoire.

“No.” She lunges to save the ancient book, but the damage is done. The potion seeps into the pages, causing the magical ink to run, and the protective enchantments to fizz and spark.

Worse, the crystal continues to pulse, sending waves of uncontrolled magic throughout the house. Around us, objects begin to respond chaotically to the interrupted nesting spell. Baby supplies from the nursery burst through the door, with burp cloths and diapers flying through the air like confused birds. The changing table scrapes across the floor before levitating and floating toward the front door.

“What have you done?” Mom clutches her soaked grimoire.

“I didn’t mean to.” I’m busy attempting to regain control of my magic. “It was the contraction that broke my concentration.”

Outside the window, I see more baby items floating across the front yard—onesies flapping like tiny ghosts, pacifiers orbiting around the garden gnomes, and strangest of all, the crib we were arguing about earlier soaring majestically over the fence and down the street.

“Oh, no.” I groan, rushing to the window. “The spell is sending everything away instead of nesting it.”

“Because you inverted the energy flow,” says my mother while frantically trying to dry her grimoire with a heat spell that only makes the pages curl at the edges. “Your surge reversed the intent from ‘gather and arrange’ to ‘disperse and distribute.’”

“We need to stop it,” I grab my cloak from the hook by the door, “Before half of the nursery ends up scattered across Evershift Haven!”

My mother follows me outside, still clutching her damaged grimoire. “The spell can only be reversed with the proper countermeasure, which was in my book—now illegible thanks to your lack of control.”

“Not helping, Mother.” I watch in horror as a parade of baby clothes marches down the street, led by a particularly determined mobile that chimes merrily as it floats along. I attempt a simple reversal spell, pointing my wand at a nearby floating blanket, but another contraction hits at exactly the wrong moment, and instead of returning to the house, the blanket multiplies into six identical copies, all floating in different directions.

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