Page 8 of Barbells, Broomsticks & A Baby

“I’ve been trying to convince Zelda to merge our businesses,” he says. “Her magical remedies complement our physical training programs perfectly. Plus, she has the better head for business.”

This is news to me. We’ve discussed collaboration, but not an actual merger. I stare at him, wondering what game he’s playing, but his expression reveals nothing beyond sincere admiration.

“Is that so?” My mother’s tone turns calculating. “And what percentage of ownership would my daughter hold in this...merger?”

“Mother!” I’m horrified by her directness.

“Equal partnership,” he says without hesitation. “Fifty-fifty.”

“Hmm.” My mother studies him with renewed interest. “Perhaps you’re not as primitive as you appear.”

Atlas smiles. “Few things in life are as simple as they appear. As Plato observed, ‘Reality is created by the mind, and we can change our reality by changing our mind.’”

For the first time since her arrival, my mother looks genuinely taken aback. She turns to me with a raised eyebrow. “You didn’t tell me he was so philosophical.”

“There’s a lot about Atlas I haven’t told you,” I say, unable to keep a hint of smugness from my voice. My smug moment is short-lived, however, as another wave of magic surges through me, this time causing all the lights in the corridor to flare brilliantly before exploding in a shower of sparks.

The gym is plunged into momentary darkness until Atlas quickly activates the emergency illumination crystals embedded in the ceiling. “Perhaps we should continue this tour another time,” he says tactfully as gym members look around in confusion.

My mother gives me a look that somehow manages to be both concerned and judgmental. “Yes, I think Grizelda needs to rest and regain her magical control. This display is most unseemly.”

“It’s not a display,” I snap, embarrassment making my tone sharper than intended. “It’s involuntary.”

“That’s even worse.” She shakes her head. “A witch without control of her magic is hardly a witch at all.”

“Mother...” I almost growl in frustration.

Atlas steps between us, his large form creating a physical barrier. “With all due respect, magical fluctuations during pregnancy are well-documented, especially in the final days before birth. I’ve seen it in many magical species—elves, fae, and even dragon-shifters. It’s a sign of the baby’s growing magical strength, not a failure of Zelda’s abilities.”

My mother looks like she wants to argue but eventually presses her lips together in a tight line. “That was...uncommon in my day. Nevertheless, she should be at home where these...incidents can be contained privately.”

For once, I actually agree with her, if only to escape the mortification of destroying more of Atlas’s gym. “Let’s go home.”

As we leave Fae Fitness, my mother watches Atlas thoughtfully while he pauses to help an elderly dwarf navigate around the broken glass from the exploded lights. His gentleness with the much smaller being seems to register with her.

“He is unusual for a troll,” she says quietly as we walk home. “Quite articulate.”

“Atlas has three advanced degrees,” I say with no small amount of pride. “Philosophy, Magical Kinesiology, and Business Management.”

She arches an eyebrow. “Indeed? Where did he study?”

“The Mountainpeak Academy for the first two, and he did his business degree at the Evershift University extension program.”

For once, my mother seems genuinely impressed. The Mountainpeak Academy is one of the oldest and most respected educational institutions in the magical realm. “Yet he chose to open a gymnasium.” She clicks her tongue.

“A wellness center,” I correct. “It’s his passion to help magical beings maintain both physical and magical health through balanced practices.”

“Hmm.” She falls silent, and it seems she’s recalibrating her assessment of Atlas. It’s not acceptance, but it’s a start.

As we approach our cottage, another magical surge tingles through my fingertips, causing the flowers along our garden path to suddenly triple in size, expanding their blooms to dinner-plate proportions. “Oh, dear,” I mutter.

“Your magical control is truly abysmal.” She sighs loudly. “Is it getting worse?”

“It comes and goes.” I carefully step around a sunflower now large enough to use as an umbrella. “The closer I get to labor, the more unpredictable it becomes.”

“Then for everyone’s safety, let’s hope the baby arrives soon.” My mother strides ahead, the overlarge flowers seeming to bend away from her as if intimidated.

I sigh and follow, praying to every magical deity I can think of that labor begins sooner rather than later. I’m not sure how much more of my mother’s “help” I can endure.

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