Page 26 of Barbells, Broomsticks & A Baby

“I do.” I realize it as I say it, the truth of it settling comfortably. “You’ve been helpful, and your knowledge of infant magical development is valuable. Plus,” I add with a small smile, “Lyra seems to enjoy your singing.”

This references a moment I’d witnessed the previous night of my mother singing an ancient witch’s lullaby to Lyra, unaware that I was watching from the doorway. It was a song she used to sing to me, though I’d nearly forgotten it until hearing her gentle voice once again.

“I do know quite a few traditional magical lullabies. They help stabilize developing magical cores.”

“Then it’s settled,” I say. “Stay the full month as planned.”

She studies my face, perhaps seeking signs of insincerity, but must be satisfied with what she sees. “Very well, but I’ll need to send for additional supplies. I only packed for a week, thinking you might find my presence...intrusive.”

This rare moment of self-awareness from my mother leaves me momentarily speechless. Before I can respond, there’s a commotion at the front door, and the distinctive sound of Hecate’s greeting, followed by Evony’s apologetic tones.

“More visitors,” says my mother with a slight frown.

Throughout the day, a carefully regulated stream of visitors comes to meet Lyra. Evony brings a fae charm that will chase away nightmares, and Frost gives her a fae blessing. Candice Winters brings a miniature enchanted garden that will grow alongside the baby, with plants that respond to her magical development. Ronan presents her with a wooden pixie he carved himself, and Lyra reaches for it. In seconds, the tiny toy flies to sit beside her on the mattress, level with her eyes as she coos with pleasure.

Hemlock from the apothecary presents a collection of protective charms specifically designed for mixed-heritage magical infants. Throk gifts her a tiny set of magical tools. “They’ll grow with her hands,” he says and shares a significant glance with Suzette. “I ordered a set for our baby too.”

I glance at Suzette’s stomach, which is still flat, but immediately sense the extra spark of life within now that I know it’s there. I would have noticed before his announcement if I wasn’t still recovering from childbirth. “Congratulations, my friends.”

Even Mayor Ambrosius makes an appearance, officially welcoming Lyra as the newest magical citizen of Evershift Haven.

With each visitor, I watch Atlas proudly introduce our daughter, his joy uncontained as he points out her tiny features and early magical manifestations. I also observe my mother, standing sentinel-like nearby, her critical gaze assessing each visitor for potential threats to her granddaughter’s well-being.

By evening, when the last visitor has departed, I’m exhausted but content. Atlas prepares a simple dinner while my mother performs her now-established ritual of checking and reinforcing the protective enchantments around the house.

“Your friends are surprising. Diverse but harmonious. It suits the town...and you,” she says as she returns to the kitchen.

I smile at the praise as my husband approaches with a steaming mug. “Chamomile tea with a drop of that calming elixir Hemlock brought.”

I accept gratefully, switching Lyra to my other shoulder. She’s been increasingly fussy throughout the evening, her magical outbursts escalating with her discomfort. The nursery now contains a miniature rain cloud, three spontaneously animated stuffed animals, and a window that briefly transformed into stained glass before reverting to normal.

“She may be overtired from all the visitors,” says my mother, reaching for her granddaughter. “I’ll apply the tincture I prepared while you enjoy your tea.”

To my surprise, Lyra calms almost immediately in my mother’s arms, her little face relaxing as she gazes up at her grandmother with apparent fascination.

“She recognizes your magical signature,” Atlas says. “Children are particularly sensitive to family magic.”

“Indeed,” my mother agrees, carrying Lyra toward the nursery. “We’ll establish a proper bedtime ritual to help regulate her magical emissions.”

As they disappear down the hall, he settles beside me on the sofa, his arm a comforting weight across my shoulders. “Your mother is quite taken with her.”

“I’ve never seen her like this.” I shake my head. “So...nurturing. It’s a side of her I scarcely knew existed.”

“People often discover new aspects of themselves through grandparenthood,” he says thoughtfully. “As Plato suggested, ‘The beginning is the most important part of the work.’ Perhaps Lyra represents a new beginning for your relationship with your mother.”

“Perhaps,” I say, leaning against his solid warmth, “Though I’m too tired to properly appreciate Platonic insights at the moment.”

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “Rest, then. You’ve created life and magic. Philosophy can wait until you’ve recovered.”

From the nursery comes the soft sound of my mother’s voice, singing the ancient lullaby once again. The melody weaves through our home like a spell, binding past and present, creating a bridge between generations of magical women.

As I drift into a much-needed rest against Atlas’s steady shoulder, I silently thank whatever twist of fate brought us all together in this moment—the critical mother, the philosophical troll, the stubborn witch, and the miraculous new life who has somehow managed to transform us all with her own special magic.

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