Page 12 of Barbells, Broomsticks & A Baby

Chapter 4—Grizelda

“JUST A ROUTINE TRIPto the bakery,” Atlas had said after we finally tracked down our items and restored order to the nursery. “It’ll be fine,” he had assured me. “A perfect opportunity to show your mother more of the town.”

I should have known better.

Now, I’m standing in Bernadette’s Bewitched Bakery, watching in horror as the antique oak table—a family heirloom passed down through six generations of baker witches—slowly splits down the middle beneath Atlas’s carefully placed hand.

“I barely touched it,” he whispers, his expression mortified as the crack continues to spread with an ominous creaking sound.

My mother, who until now had been examining the enchanted pastry display with critical interest, turns at the noise. Her eyebrows rise as she takes in the scene of Atlas frozen in place, his massive hand still resting on the now-broken table.

“Strengthening charm,” she murmurs, flicking her wand discreetly. The crack stops spreading but doesn’t repair itself. “Temporary fix only.”

Bernadette emerges from the kitchen, a tray of freshly baked charm buns floating behind her. Her cheerful expression falters when she spots the damaged table. “Oh, dear,” she says.

“Bernadette, I’m so sorry,” Atlas begins, his normally confident voice tight with embarrassment. “I’ll replace it immediately.”

“Nonsense,” says Bernadette with forced brightness. “It’s just a table. These things happen.” Still, I can see the disappointment in her eyes. That table has been a fixture in the bakery for longer than I’ve been alive. Magical families have gathered around it for centuries, sharing enchanted treats and making memories.

“I can repair it,” I say, stepping forward before considering the wisdom of using my unpredictable magic on a priceless antique.

My mother shoots me a warning look. “Grizelda, in your condition—”

“It’s fine,” I insist, drawing my wand. “A simple restoration spell.”

Before anyone can stop me, I wave my wand in the familiar pattern for mending broken objects. I speak the incantation while focusing my will on the cracked wood.

For a moment, it seems to be working. The crack begins to close, and the wood fibers reach for each other across the divide. Then I feel the baby shift, and with it comes the now-familiar surge of uncontrolled magic.

The table doesn’t just mend. It transforms. The oak darkens and swirls, reshaping itself into an elaborate design that looks suspiciously like a baby’s cradle with four table legs. The surface curves inward, and decorative carvings of stars and moons appear along the edges.

“That’s...different,” says Bernadette diplomatically.

My mother sighs deeply.

“I can fix this,” I insist, raising my wand again, but Atlas gently places his hand over mine.

“Perhaps we should quit while we’re ahead. Or at least, before we turn it into a rocking horse.”

The logical part of me knows he’s right, but embarrassment and pregnancy hormones make a potent combination. “I’m not completely incompetent. I can cast a simple reversal spell.”

“Of course you can, dear,” says Mom in that insufferable tone that suggests exactly the opposite. “But should you?”

My magic is bubbling dangerously close to the surface, responding to my emotions. The star patterns on the table-cradle begin to glow ominously. I force myself to take a deep breath, then another. “Fine. Atlas, would you please plan to replace the table?”

“I’ll ask have Bram Stonehorn take a look. If he can’t fix it, he can build a new one.”

“In the meantime,” says Bernadette with a shaky smile, “Why don’t we focus on what you came for? Charm buns for the expecting mother, wasn’t it?”

The tension in the room eases slightly as she leads us to another table, this one mercifully still in its original form, and presents an array of pastries infused with beneficial magical properties. “The blueberry ones encourage restful sleep. The cinnamon promote healthy magical development, and the chocolate are just because chocolate makes everything better.” She grins.

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