The reservation suprised me.

In place of shoddy housing, a clean little suburb surrounded a wide expanse of land where cattle and horses grazed. My expectations had been projected from generalizations that people pretend to ignore, but secretly believe in spite of common sense. Whatever government money the tribe received was spent well on the community, including the school and small shops.

As we drove past the unique houses, Rafe glanced over at me with a smirk. "Not a bar in sight, huh?"

I bit my cheek to stem the laughs. "It's pretty."

Rafe nodded smugly. "Despite the hype, not all of our money is invested in casinos and booze."

I grinned and lied, "I never suspected otherwise."

Finally, we parked at a wooden cottage that might have been quaint, if one could ignore the lawn cluttered with totems, shrines, and things I couldn't name. Rafe led me to the front door, where we both hesitated before I gazed at him expectantly.

"He probably already knows we're here, but you should still knock," Rafe said.

"Why me?" I liked to question for questioning's sake.

"Because that's the way it's done," is all Rafe offered.

"Okay."

I knocked lightly, or as lightly as I could on the thick surface. In answer, the door swung open with a groan, revealing a partially lit foyer. When no one greeted us, we exchanged puzzled looks and pushed the door open further. The inside of the house was clear, nothing like the front yard, similar in décor to my grandfather's house, sparse and dusty.

Light emanated from a source to the left, presumably from the living room. I poked my head into the room, noticing two empty sofa chairs, complete near a burying fireplace.

Quietly, we stepped into the living room, drawn to the fire. We kept our backs to the sofa chairs, therefore all the more startled when we heard a whisper, "Hello."

Sitting in one of the sofa chairs was an old man with hair like straw and a face wrinkled as brown paper.

"Where did you come from?" I asked.

"You came here for answers," he croaked, "but do not waste my time by asking the wrong questions."

His hands moved in his lap. For a moment, I thought he was performing an untoward act, but when I inched closer, I saw he was knitting. In the flickering firelight, I couldn't tell if it was a sweater or a blanket, but I could see that the color of the thing was pink. That put even more questions in my mind and a smile on my mouth, but I breathed deeply instead of saying whatever stupid thing I could think of. In the next breath, I asked the most important question first.

"What's inside of me?"

Rafe glanced at me sharply. "What?"

Yet, the old man wasn't surprised. He motioned for me, cautioning me against pulling a stitch on the creation in his lap.

When I was positioned nearby, the shaman discarded of his knitting into a basket next to his chair. Then he grabbed my hand.

"What have your dreams been like of late?" he rasped.

"Whoa, you get right to it."

"No jokes, girl. Answer."

I hegded, "Nothing good. Mostly."

A searing pain shot through my arm. He had slit my upturned palm with a wicked sharp knitting needle. I yelped and jumped backwards to get away from the murderous Martha Stewart.

"What the hell was that for?" Rafe yelled.

"You know of our ways, boy. It is never easy. Do you want your answer or not?"

But Rafe had had enough.

"No, we're leaving." He wrapped my bleeding hand, half-pulling and half-dragging me by the arm to the front door.

"Rafe, stop!" I threw him off. "I need to know."

He stood on the porch, panting. "Ya need to know the sex of the baby? We can see it on an ultrasound."

"No, not if it's a boy or a girl." I chose the next sentence carefully. "I need to know if it's human."

Understanding dawned on his face. "Did you have-did you see something?"

"No, I didn't...see...anything concrete. It's just a feeling."

I failed to elaborate on my multiple conspiracy theories tied to the Morcoso and Lamashtu. One crazy-step at a time.

It took Rafe a few moments to come to a decision. Finally, he spoke.

"I'll be in the car."

So, he thought I was insane. My power was believable because it was a proven talent for most of our childhood. However, my 'feelings' about being haunted, and worse, my 'feelings' about a demonic pregnancy had to be wrong. Oh well, he wouldn't be the first person to think I was crazy. He was just the first person who's opinion I didn't know mattered until it turned against me.

When I turned back to the shaman, he was not one foot from me.

"Jesus, quit doing that," I said.

"In my old age, it's the only form of entertainment. That and knitting." What he considered a smile, I considered a grimace filled with missing teeth and bad breath. "Shall we continue?"

"We shall."

We walked back into the living room. Well, I walked and the old man shuffled.

"Now," he began, settling into his chair, "I will need your hand."

"You mean the hand you sliced open without asking?"

Another grimace-smile. "Yes, that's the one."

I placed my hand palm-up into his, and he unwrapped the wound, tilting it so that blood trickled into a bowl below. Drip, drip, drip...I lost count of the drops pooling into the bowl. A complaint about the trauma of heavy blood loss came to mind when he shoved my hand away, but I kept quiet as different items were tossed into the bowl. Herbs, liquor, and Mingan's spit completed the concoction.

To my utter disgust, the mixture was rubbed on both hands, and then placed on my belly. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, effectively scaring the hell out of me.

Scared as I was, I had to ask, "Do you see anything?"

"See anything? Is that a joke?" The whites of his eyes explained my unintended pun.

"You know what I meant."

"No more talking. I must concentrate. Thick magicks protect you."

His statement prompted more questions. Nevertheless, I waited for him to speak again. All at once, he drew back as if my rounded stomach had burned him.

"Hmm," was all he said.

"Hmm as in what?"

"Hmm as in your baby is human," he replied smoothly.

"Then why did you react that way?"

"Because when I first saw you, I was expecting something else, seeing as how you're not human."

I gasped to an embarrassing degree. "What?"

"Well, technically you're human, but we both know better than that," he stared straight into my eyes, "don't we?"

"I have...a gift, of sorts." I backed away from him, slowly.

"You have power," he corrected.

I kept backing away.

"Stop," he commanded. I listened. "What is it you can do?"

Sharing my power wasn't a common pastime. The only reason I felt compelled to tell him anything was because of his penetrating gaze. Even when he wasn't saying a word, it seemed as if he were still whispering.

"I can see the future." Out loud, it sounded ridiculous.

"Then why come to me?"

"I can only see other people's futures, not my own. Except," My tongue wet my dry lips, "I've seen a fragmented version of my future with Rafe, but I didn't see a baby."

"I see." If he wanted to linger on the subject, he didn't show it. "Still, you must be careful because there are a great many creatures interested in such power."

"Creatures?"

"My dear, something out there desires you. You're cursed because of your 'gift.' The only good news I can tell you is that your child will be spared."

I chuckled without any humor. "Are you saying I'm going to die?"

The old man craned even closer to me. "Although I cannot see the future, I'm saying you're chances aren't good."

After hearing news like that, there was really nothing more for us to discuss. Minghan thrust the fruits of his knitting crusade in my hand before left. I said goodbye and walked to the car in a trance-like state. Rafe leaned over to open up the passenger door.

His face oozed expectancy, but I shut him down with, "Let's go."

"What did we even come here for, Imogen?" He glanced at the pink blanket in my hand. "We're going to get married in a few weeks, start a life together. You said you wanted to know if your latest visions were actually a full-blown haunting. Instead, you ask Minghan about the species of our child."

"I know, I know. It was a mistake. He said the baby will be fine. There's nothing wrong with it." I fiddled with the blanket, hoping he wouldn't delve any further.

He didn't. "Well, yeah, okay."

As he drove away, I turned to the window, "There's something wrong with me."