Westcott began speaking the words of his spell in a firm voice, the strange, arcane language spilling from his lips as he gathered power to him. The room seemed to turn and crackle with invisible power, like a charge of static electricity, and Saigo could feel the hackles on his neck rise. Westcott’s eyes were closed and his head tipped forward as he, too, sank into a deep trance. His lips still moved to the words of the spell, his voice now little more than a whisper above the hum of the simsense recorder. Saigo thought he saw a faint shimmering around both men’s heads for a moment as Westcott lifted his head, eyes still closed, and began to speak.