Conference room in a skyscraper, distant city, not her landbase.
About as far away as you can get from Appalachian forests, coastal plains, the red clay of home, Pagan temples.
Tensions flare, egos war, discord threatens to pull it all down.
She grounds, even here, from the 30th floor.
She finds mycelia, and the roots of plum trees, ginkos, monkey puzzle trees. She senses the helpful residue of magic done for decades in a City by the Bay, other Witches, other causes, other times.
She connects with the courthouse, site of tomorrow’s action. Calls Athena, Columbia, Justicia, Lady Liberty.
With a deep breath, she silently pulls disparate arguments together.
“Here’s what we can do to help consumers,” she says aloud.
No one else senses the magic, but they all lean in, ready to work.
In the end, it works.
Picture found here.