Page 57 of Song of the Heart Scale

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“This one here,” she said, pointing at the banana impalement, “means there’s blockage in your chakra... or possibly your plumbing.”

I scowled. “My plumbing is irrelevant. Can you open a portal or not?”

She squinted at me. “Depends. You got cash?”

I reached into the small handbag Angie insisted I carry and retrieved a crumpled twenty-dollar bill. I still hated this paper currency, but it was better than those loud square boxes called Venmo. “Here.”

“Alright, then.” She pocketed it with suspicious speed. “Now, hold my hands.”

I hesitated.

“Trust is key, sugar.”

With great reluctance, I grasped her hands. They were sticky.

She closed her eyes. “Oh, mighty spirits of the veil, open the door between dimensions and show us the path home!”

The table wobbled. She started humming. A pigeon landed nearby and cooed ominously.

“Do you feel that?” she whispered.

“A breeze. And indigestion.”

She gasped. “The portal isnear.”

I sat up straighter. “Where?”

She pointed. “There. In the alley behind the Yogurtland.”

I squinted. “Are you certain?”

“Crystal.”

I stood and started marching toward the alley.

“Wait!” she called. “You need the sacred incense!”

She shoved a burning stick at me. It smelled like scorched marshmallows and regret.

“Wave it in the air and chant 'Whirligig Bananapants' three times.”

I fixed the witch with a steely glare. “You cannot be serious.”

She met my eyes with wild sincerity. “That’s how the veil knows you're ready.”

For a moment, I considered simply walking away. Then I remembered the day I first fell into this world—the storm, the water, the face I now knew belonged to Cat. I remembered the ache of not belonging.

And so, I lit the incense. I waved it like a deranged priestess. And I chanted:

“Whirligig Bananapants.”

People stared. A child giggled.

“Whirligig Bananapants.”

A passing man muttered something about Hollywood being weird.

“Whirligig Bananapants.”

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