The spell didn't just show a location; it tore a hole in the fabric of the library. Through the rift, Billy saw a blur of silver—a streak of motion in a dystopian city he didn't recognize. "Tommy," he breathed.
Billy’s eyes sparked with blue electricity. He didn't flinch. He grabbed his twin-headed staff, the brass glowing white-hot. He began the incantation—the rhythmic, repetitive chanting that was his trademark. "IwanttofindhimIwanttofindhimIwanttofindhim..." WICCAN'S Wicked Spell Book of Shadows!
"I want to find him," Billy whispered. The ink on the page swirled, rearranging itself from a recipe for protection circles into a map of the Multiverse. "I want to find Tommy." The spell didn't just show a location; it
Billy stood up, his cape billowing despite the lack of wind. He tucked the Book of Shadows under his arm. The spell had worked, but as always with magic, it had left him with a warning: The shadow you cast is only as dark as the light you carry. Billy’s eyes sparked with blue electricity