Toby might have despaired of figuring out how to find Jareth if he hadn't gotten distracted by a little girl blowing bubbles. She kept making them, small and round, fragile little spheres that caught the light for their brief moment of existence. He watched as one emerged, a bit larger than the rest, reminding him sharply of Jareth's dream-spheres. As a toddler, he had been fascinated by the shiny things, he could now recall. He recalled a lot that he didn't think he ought to.
Right now, though, his yearning for one of those crystals, able to show the image of the heart's desire, came through sharp and strong. The bubble was not popping as the others had. It came, closer, and closer to him, until he caught a glint of a feather inside it. That wasn't possible, but he put his hand up anyhow.
The sphere, delicate and thinly made glass, rested in the palm of his hand, a white feather against darkness in its center.
"I do not work magic," he reminded himself, even as he stared at the ball. He turned, and the feather did as well, fixated on a certain point. "Magical compass, imagine," he snorted.