His wives waited silently, as wives should, seated around him in the rear of the Mercedes limo as he whispered sorcerous words and wove the spell into existence. A handful of sparkling motes appeared in the air before him and gradually swelled into a pulsating, coruscating cloud. Daniella lowered a window. Maurice pointed. The cloud drifted out and across the alley to the door of the runners' apartment. It spread across the door and sifted through the door's substance, passing into the spaces beyond.