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I WAKE TO A SHARP KICK against my ribs and wince. My little one is getting stronger by the day, and more impatient too—like mother, like child, I suppose. Beside me, Atlas snores softly, the moss on his head sprouting tiny white flowers in his sleep.

Nine months of growing this magical being inside me, and I’m more than ready to meet them despite their stubborn insistence on hiding their gender. I place my hand on my enormous belly and smile despite my discomfort. At my age of one hundred and forty, most witches are done having children or never will have them. The pregnancy wasn’t planned, resulting from a backfired fertility potion intended for a client that somehow affected me instead, but it’s become the most wonderful accident of my life.

A sudden cramp seizes my lower back, and I shift uncomfortably. These Braxton Hicks contractions have been teasing me for weeks now. The baby is already a week past the due date, and my patience is wearing thin.

“You okay?” Atlas blinks open his eyes.

“Your child is practicing kickboxing on my internal organs,” I grumble, but there’s no real annoyance in my voice.

He places his large hand on my belly and immediately, the baby calms. It’s almost infuriating how he or she always settles for him. We won’t know the gender until its birth. Not because I haven’t tried to determine it, but because he or she refuses to reveal that information to me.

“Good morning, little mountain,” he whispers to my belly. “Be gentle with your mother. As Kahlil Gibran said, ‘Tenderness and kindness are not signs of weakness and despair but manifestations of strength and resolution.’”

I roll my eyes. “It’s too early for philosophy.”

Atlas chuckles and kisses my forehead. “Never too early to impart wisdom to our child.”

The peaceful moment is shattered by a sharp rapping at our front door.

“Who could that be at this hour?” I frown, checking the enchanted clock beside our bed. It’s barely seven a.m.

Atlas rises. “I’ll check.”

As he leaves, I struggle to haul myself into a sitting position. Everything is more difficult these days, from getting out of bed to casting simple spells. My magic has been unpredictable throughout the pregnancy—sometimes magnified to dangerous levels, and other times, frustratingly unresponsive.

I hear voices downstairs—Atlas’s deep rumble and another voice, feminine and hauntingly familiar. I shudder. “No, it can’t be.” I waddle to the window and peer out, confirming my worst fears. A broomstick is parked neatly beside our front gate, adorned with purple ribbons and a bumper sticker that reads “My Other Ride is a Manticore.”

My mother is here.

Panic propels me into action. I throw on a robe over my nightgown and attempt to tame my wild hair with my fingers. With a desperate wave, I try to cast a quick freshening charm, but my magic misfires, causing a small rain cloud to form above my head.

“Perfect.” I duck away from the localized downpour. This is exactly how I want to greet my mother. Pregnant, disheveled, and partially drenched.

I descend the stairs as quickly as my condition allows, dispelling the rain cloud with an irritated flick of my wrist. Brunelda Greenwarth, in all her intimidating glory, is in our living room. Tall, rail-thin, and with silver-streaked black hair pulled into a severe bun. Her traditional witch’s robe is immaculately pressed, and her posture is as rigid as a broomstick.

“Mother. What an...unexpected visit.”

Her critical gaze sweeps over me, taking in my swollen form, damp hair, and the puddle of rainwater at my feet. “Grizelda, I see your magical control is as lacking as ever.”

I grit my teeth. “Good morning to you too. What brings you here?”

“Can’t a mother visit her daughter before she gives birth? Especially when said daughter failed to inform her mother of the pregnancy until the fifth month?”

Guilt pricks at me, but I stand my ground. “It was a complicated situation.”

“So I gathered from your letters.” Her gaze shifts to Atlas, who is hovering awkwardly near the kitchen doorway. “Atlas. Still wearing those ridiculous flowered moss patches, I see.”

He doesn’t even blink or point out they’re part of him. “Good to see you again, Ms. Greenwarth. It’s been a while since the wedding.”

“Five years.” She frowns at him. “You clearly haven’t convinced my daughter to take proper prenatal potions. She looks positively exhausted.”

“I’ve been taking excellent care of myself,” I say, “And Atlas has been wonderful.”

“Hmm. I’ve brought my special pregnancy support kit. Your aunt Imogene swore by it when she was carrying triplets.”

As she retrieves a large velvet pouch from her carpet bag, Atlas catches my eye and gives me a supportive wink. Despite the tension radiating from my mother, his calm presence helps steady my nerves. “Thank you, Mother. That’s thoughtful.”

“It’s practical. I assume you have the guest room prepared?”

“Prepared?” I echo. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“I sent an astral projection last week informing you of my visit.”

I rack my brain, trying to remember. “Mother, did you perhaps project to my shop instead of my home? I haven’t been working much these last few weeks.”

She purses her lips. “I may have confused the locations. Regardless, I’m here now, and clearly, you need my help. Look at you. Your magical aura is chaotic, your home is...” She glances around with barely concealed disdain, “Charmingly rustic, and you’re past your due date with no signs of labor.”

As if on cue, another false contraction grips me. I wince and place a hand on my lower back.

“Are you having contractions?” she asks.

“Just Braxton Hicks. They’ve been happening for weeks.”

Atlas returns with a tray of tea and biscuits. “The guest room is ready. I keep it prepared for any visiting family.”

I shoot him a surprised look. When did he have time to get the guest room ready? We definitely don’t keep it in a state or readiness.

He winks at me and whispers from the side of his mouth, “Super speed. Useful for more than just lifting heavy things.”

Despite my growing anxiety about my mother’s visit, I smile at him. Always prepared and thoughtful.

“So, Ms. Greenwarth, how long will you be staying with us?”

“Until the baby arrives and Grizelda is settled. No more than a month, I should think.”

I nearly choke on my tea. “A month?”

“Unless you plan to remain pregnant indefinitely. Which, given your stubbornness, wouldn’t surprise me entirely.”

Atlas seems completely unaffected by my mother’s bombshell. “The baby will come when they’re ready. As Lao Tzu said, ‘Nature does not hurry, yet everything is accomplished.’”

My mother stares at him, clearly taken aback by the philosophical reference. “You still quote those dusty philosophers, I see. At your wedding reception, you compared marriage to Plato’s cave allegory. Most inappropriate.”

“I thought it was rather apt. Emerging from darkness into the light of shared truth and beauty.”

“It was a wedding, not a philosophy seminar.” She rises and approaches me, hands outstretched. “Let me see.”

I hesitate but eventually allow her to place her hands on my enormous belly. Her touch is clinical as she closes her eyes, sensing the baby’s energy.

“Hmm. Strong magical signature. A blend of earth magic and traditional witchcraft. Interesting.” She frowns. “Refuses to tell me the gender.” With a harrumph, she opens her eyes. “The child is ready, but something is blocking the process. Have you tried a labor induction spell?”

“Of course, I have,” I snap. “I’ve tried everything. Induction spells, potions, and enchanted teas. Even that ridiculous exercise where you walk up and down stairs sideways. Nothing works.”

“You haven’t tried prenatal yoga recently,” says Atlas.

Both my mother and I turn to stare at Atlas.

“Prenatal what?” she asks.

“Yoga. It’s a practice that combines gentle stretching, breathwork, and meditation. I offer special classes for pregnant magical beings at my gym. It can help prepare the body for labor and create optimal positioning for the baby.”

My mother scowls. “That sounds like new age nonsense.”

I jump to his defense. “Several witches in town have tried Atlas’s prenatal yoga and swear by it. Cala Caldera says it helped her daughter arrive three days early.”

Mom’s nose curls. “I remember her. You two went to finishing academy together. Cala couldn’t brew a proper potion if her life depended on it.”

Atlas, undeterred, continues, “I could offer a private session here at home if you’d prefer, Zelda. No need to go to the gym.”

I’ve done yoga off and on since even before the pregnancy, but the thought of doing awkward stretches under my mother’s critical gaze makes me cringe. “Maybe later.”

“I think what my daughter needs is proper magical intervention. Where is your grimoire, Grizelda? I have several ancient spells that might be effective.”

“My grimoire is at the shop.” In truth, it’s hidden in our bedroom, but the last thing I want is my mother rifling through my personal spell book.

She rolls her eyes as if I’m deliberately inconveniencing her. “Then we should go to your shop. After breakfast, of course. I’m famished after my journey.”

Atlas immediately offers to cook. “I make excellent pumpkin pancakes. With a side of scrambled eggs, if you’d like?”

My mother sniffs but nods. “That would be acceptable.”

As he busies himself in the kitchen, she leans closer to me. “I see he still cooks. At least that talent hasn’t diminished in the five years since I last saw him. I remain unconvinced about his other...qualities.”

“He’s not a specimen, Mother. He’s my husband and the father of my child, and you were pleasant enough at our wedding.” I had suspected it was a facade, of course. Mom had a future planned for me before I came to Evershift Haven. I was supposed to join the Matriarchy Council, marry a powerful patriarchal witch from the Male Council, and give her an assortment of grandchildren, most assuredly not fathered by a mountain troll.

She shakes her head. “I was being polite yet maintain a troll philosopher is an unusual choice for the daughter of one of the most respected witching families.”

Before I can retort, a sharp pain lances through my abdomen, stronger than the previous Braxton Hicks contractions. I gasp and clutch the arm of the sofa.

“Zelda?” Atlas is instantly at my side.

The pain subsides as quickly as it came. “I’m fine. Just another false alarm.”

“Perhaps not so false. Your aura flickered when that contraction hit. Something is changing,” says Mom.

I glare at her. “Don’t get my hopes up. I’ve been disappointed too many times already.”

“I arrived just in time. With my help, that baby will be here before the week is out.”

Atlas shoots me a concerned look, which I return with a slight eye roll. My mother’s “help” has always been a mixed blessing at best.

As he returns to the kitchen, and my mother begins unpacking various magical implements from her carpetbag, I rub my belly and silently communicate with my child. “Little one, there are now two stubborn witches waiting for you to make your appearance. It’s time to cooperate before your grandmother starts trying experimental magic on both of us.”

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