my black pencil skirt, white pin-tucked blouse and butterscotch-colored cardigan. I look like I’m going to a job interview for a new software developer job. Not what I would have thought of as witch attire. “Thanks.” I shoot a nervous look around the lobby. “I can’t believe how many people are here.”
She grins. “I know! Isn’t it great?”
I thought there might be ten, or twenty, stretching it. There have to be more than fifty here. It’s great but also nerve-racking. It’s hard enough speaking to the board, but with this big crowd as well, my anxiety ratchets up.
Felise herds us all into a corner and gives us a little pep talk, although we all know the plan. We start crowding into elevator cars to ride to the seventy-seventh floor. Last time I was here, I didn’t realize that the number seven is related to lunar energy and connected to the moon, femininity, intuition and wisdom. This has to be a positive sign.
The elevators let us off directly into the reception area of Cox & Ball Attorneys. I head to the desk to speak to the receptionist, who is eyeing all of us openmouthed.
“Good afternoon.” I smile. “I’m Romy Larson, here to see Ziggy Cox.” I glance over my shoulder. “I have some people with me for the meeting.”
She blinks rapidly. “Yes, I see that. You can… Well, there aren’t seats for all of you.”
“No problem.” I beam at her.
“I’ll let Mr. Cox know you’re here.”
“Thank you.”
I wander back to the group. Others in the waiting area are giving us curious looks.
My insides are twisted into knots, and I keep biting my lips as I pace a few steps back and forth.
Moments later, Ziggy Cox appears through a door. He walks straight toward me. “Ms. Larson. What is this?” He gestures at the crowd behind me. Another elevator car of late arrivals has just unloaded, filling the waiting room.
“Some friends.” I smile, hoping for confident businesswoman rather than nervous squirrel. “They want to join us today.”
He draws in a breath, looks around, then says, “Fine. Come this way.”
He leads me to the door, and the women all fall in behind us. We walk down a hall flanked with offices. At the end is an unmarked mahogany door, which he opens, and we step into the enormous boardroom.
This room is cloaked. Anyone who is not a witch can’t see or enter. It’s entirely white with a long wall of windows overlooking the city and Lake Michigan. From here, all I see is blue—blue water, blue sky—and white.
A long table stretches in front of the windows, and the Board of Elders sit at it with their backs to the window. The last time I was here, the room was smaller, but now somehow there are bleachers where my supporters all mill about taking seats. I walk to my chair at the front where I sat last time.
I set my purse on the white carpet next to my chair, cross my ankles, and fold my hands in my lap as I wait. I’m shaking inside but working hard on appearing composed. I study the members of the board… all older men. And my annoyance is triggered all over again. This isn’t right.
My anger fuels me as I stand to make my presentation to the board.
“Thank you for allowing me to come back and speak to you,” I begin. “I very much appreciate it. I know that last time some of the things I shared with you caused some consternation among you and others in the coven, and I’m grateful for the opportunity to clear things up.”
They all watch me unsmilingly.
I clear my throat. “It was never my intention to cause trouble for anyone or to insult anyone. I’m sorry that my words offended. I’d like to explain where I’m coming from in some of my ideas and actions.”
I tell them more details this time about how my mom raised me and how I suspect she kept my witch blood from me, how she steered me away from using intuition or instinct and to rely on logic and facts. Last time, I told them about my job, but this time I elaborate on the kinds of projects I work on, and although it feels like bragging, I share some of the high praise I’ve received from my bosses over the years. I talk about acting innovatively, being adaptable, and the problem analysis that I use in project work.