Page 56 of Song of the Heart Scale
“It’s a motorcycle, Cat!” Monica snapped on the other end. “And you don’t have to ride it, just stand near it and scream. Easy day, good money.”
“If I wished to scream in terror, I would simply review my current living situation,” I muttered.
She sighed so hard I could hear her eyes roll. “Cat—”
“Arya.”
“Fine.Arya. This is the fourth opportunity you’ve passed on. Youdorealize you're throwing away a reputation you’ve spent years making, right?”
“Oh, howtragicfor her,” I said sweetly. “If she returns from my world bearing even half as much dignity as I brought with me, she will be far better off than expected.”
“What?”
“Good day, Monica.”
I hung up without ceremony, earning a confused look from a man in a Spider-Man suit standing on the corner, posing for photos with tourists. He waved at me with one gloved hand. I stiffly waved back.
Hollywood was, in short, madness. A street lined with stars stamped with names in the ground (none of which I recognized), a bizarre array of people wearing costumes, blaring music that assaulted the ear, and enough flashy signage to summon a seizure. I wasn’t sure why Angie insisted this was a good place to “people-watch” or that it had “good energy,” but I humored her.
I needed distraction.
That was when I saw her.
She sat at a folding table draped in dark velvet, her wild, gray hair adorned with what I assumed were chicken bones, glitter, and a scrunchie. A sign hung above her that read:
“Madame Vexalia: Real Witch. $20 Readings. Past Lives, Love Potions, and Portals.”
My breath caught.
Portals.
I froze. The tourists kept walking. Madame Vexalia picked her teeth with a long pinky nail and glanced up, meeting my gaze.
“You there!” I called, marching across the sidewalk. “You. Witch.”
“That’s Madame Vexalia, honey,” she croaked, her voice raspy like a tavern wench who smoked too many pipe leaves.
“I require your services.”
She blinked, then smiled broadly, revealing several teeth that gleamed suspiciously. “Of course you do, sugar. Sit down, sit down. You looking for love, fame, or vengeance?”
“Passage.”
She blinked again. “Say what, now?”
I leaned across the table. “I am not of this world. I was transported here through magical means—a portal, to be exact. I need to return.”
Madame Vexalia slowly lowered her Diet Coke. “Oh. You’re one of those method actresses. I see.”
“I am not acting!” I hissed. “I am Arya Ryder, daughter of the Minister of Rites of Elaria.”
She quirked a brow. “El-where-a-now?”
I slowly inhaled and fought to contain my rising ire. “A different realm. One with dragons.”
The witch tutted and slowly shook her head. “Oh, baby, you got the premium package of delusion, don’t you? Alright, let’s see what we got.”
She flipped over a few cards from a tattered deck. One depicted a goat wearing a crown while another featured a sword stabbing a banana. I had questions.
