Will took a deep breath, concentrating on the exec’s retreating back. He pictured Cortez racked across the spirit-wheel, arms splayed out with a stepped lock-and-key pattern in black and white surrounding his head. Will’s left hand spread out in front of his chest, then he clutched it into a tight fist. A small spell, just a little one, to muddle Cortez and keep him pondering over the paintchips far longer than necessary. With sweat beading his forehead, Will fumbled with the latch and stepped backward into the office.