Page 6 of Barbells, Broomsticks & A Baby

The baby responds with a forceful kick to my ribs, and I sigh. Clearly, stubbornness runs strong in the family.

Chapter 2—Grizelda

“AND THIS IS OUR TRANSFORMATIONroom, Ms. Greenwarth,” says Atlas, gesturing to a spacious area with enchanted mirrors and specialized equipment. “For werewolves, shapeshifters, and others who need a safe space during physical changes.”

My mother follows with reluctant interest as Atlas continues his tour of Fae Fitness. I waddle behind them, already exhausted despite the early hour. After three days of my mother’s “help”—which has mainly consisted of critical commentary on everything from my magical techniques to the way I fold towels—I suggested she might like to see Atlas’s gym, partly to get her out of the house, and partly in the desperate hope that seeing his successful business might improve her opinion of him.

So far, she remains determinedly unimpressed. “What exactly is that?” She points to a contraption that resembles a cross between a hammock and a spinning wheel.

“That’s for aerial yoga,” he says. “It allows practitioners to achieve deeper stretches and inversions with the support of the silk.”

“Looks dangerous.” My mother sniffs.

“It’s one of our safest offerings,” Atlas says with infinite patience. “The silks are enchanted to support ten times the weight of the user and automatically tighten if a fall is imminent.”

“And this frivolous activity improves one’s magic how, exactly?”

Atlas smiles, clearly unperturbed by her skepticism. “Aerial yoga increases circulation to the brain, which enhances mental clarity for spellcasting. It also strengthens the core, which, as any experienced witch knows, is essential for channeling magical energy.”

I catch the subtle implication that if my mother doesn’t know this, perhaps she’s not as experienced as she claims. By the tightening of her lips, I can tell she caught it too. I bite back a grin, realizing Atlas isn’t quite as unaffected as he seems.

“I’ve been casting complex spells for seventy years without hanging upside down like a bat,” she says sharply.

“And imagine how much more powerful those spells might have been with proper physical conditioning,” he says smoothly. “As Socrates said, ‘No citizen has a right to be an amateur in the matter of physical training.’”

“Socrates never had to push a baby out of his body,” I mutter, earning a snort of laughter from a passing dryad.

A sudden flutter of magic tickles my fingers, and I glance down to see small sparks dancing across my palms. These magical misfires have been happening more frequently as my due date has come and gone. Yesterday, I accidentally turned my nightstand into a tree stump at bedtime. It took nearly an hour to coax it back to its former state.

I discreetly try to shake away the sparks, but they only intensify, leaping between my fingers like tiny fireworks. A nearby rack of enchanted dumbbells begins to rattle ominously. Atlas notices immediately and steps between me and my mother, who has her back turned.

“Perhaps we should move on to the herbal refreshment bar,” he suggests loudly, using his broad body to shield my magical light show from my mother’s view. “They’ve just gotten in a rare tea from the Midnight Mountains I think you might appreciate, Ms. Greenwarth.”

My mother turns, her eyes narrowing suspiciously at Atlas’s sudden enthusiasm for tea, but before she can question it, the dumbbells rise from their rack and begin orbiting around my head.

“What in the world...?” My mother’s eyes widen.

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