"Oh, God, no. . ." Zatanna mutters, looking down at the bloody body. Lindsay. She grabs your hand, as if it's an instinct. You could barely see her through the crowd.

Ever since the two of you went to 1888, no practical magic has worked. For you or her.

"Shit. . ." she curses under her breath. She was still dressed like a magician. So were you. This was bad. Very bad.

"Best birthday ever." Zatanna says.

You two had to find who was doing this, and soon. Or you might be next. . .