Ingraato

Jovenel stood outside a small house in Little Havana. He was of Haitian descent with dark brown skin and had an average height and build. His bald head shined in the afternoon sun. He wore a grey shirt and carried a revolver in his pocket, provided to him by the Federal Bureau. There had been reports of an old woman gaining notoriety in this area for accurately guessing people's futures and making other vague predictions.

If she was just a charlatan, then there would be no issue; however, if she was a genuine oracle, then she would have to be dealt with according to protocol. Standing a few feet away from Jovenel were two federal agents and three members of the city garrison. The former donned dark blue buttoned jackets, and black trousers, pillbox hats and leather boots. Their revolvers currently rested in brown holsters strapped at their waists. The latter three clad themselves in greyish tan shirts and trousers, with added protection given by grey breastplate pieces worn over their chests. Unlike the firearm carrying federal agents, the city garrison members carried spears. Jovenel's task was to get his fortune told. If she was a genuine oracle, this group would handle the rest.

Jovenel knocked on the door and said in Cubano, "Hello! Is this the Oracle?"

After a few seconds, an elderly woman's voice responded, "No."

Jovenel entered. The local rumors specified that hearing a "No" at this building was a test of sorts. If the person entered regardless, it meant that they were genuine seekers of knowledge and were worth the oracle's time. Jovenel discovered a simple, but comfy living space. It had a large reed sofa, a table, a kitchen and another room in the back, which the owner presumably slept in. The windows were shut, dimming the sunlight's effect on the lighting inside.

He saw the suspected oracle sitting on the reed sofa. She wore a brown shawl and an old looking brown dress. She looked frail, but otherwise healthy. As he took a seat next to her, she asked, "Are you unhealthy? Why have you come today?"

A respectful Myamian Impossible!

Jovenel was surprised that the Oracle asked a polite question. Most Myamian's upon recognizing that he was Ayisyen would have started the conversation by calling him an "Ingraato haitiano" which roughly translated to Haitian Ingrate, but this woman didn't even have a condescending tone.

"No, no, I'm fine. I just wanted to inquire about the health of my child."

"Tell me more."

"Me and my wife have recently had two children. I would like to know if both will make it to their first birthday."

The question was a trap to verify her authenticity. Jovenel's wife Luzia actually gave birth to triplets born prematurely by 2 weeks. If the Oracle answered as if he had twins, then it meant she was a liar and swindler.

The Oracle replied, "Do you have an offering?"

Jovenel nodded and pulled out a silver dollar from his pocket, placing it on her extended hand. Once she grabbed the silver coin, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"This is not a question I can answer. You have no children, your wife has three... would you like to inquire about them?"

Jovenel was taken aback. He said, "What do you mean, I have no children?"

The Oracle answered bluntly, "You are not the father." Jovenel clenched his fist. He had half a mind to slap this woman for insulting his wife's honor. As he prepared to express his displeasure, the Oracle next words shook Jovenel to his core.

"Milk Baptiste."

Milk Baptiste was a nickname for an old milk merchant in his neighborhood named Jean Baptiste. He was a man in his 50s and would come to Jovenel and Luzia's house every morning to deliver milk to them. He'd noticed that Luzia liked to talk with him, but he thought nothing of it since he was an old man.

This is simply ridiculous! Luzia couldn't possibly, but the oracle got the number of kids right so she passed the test, and if she's a real oracle...

The Oracle briefly watched Jovenel go through the beginning of an internal crisis before saying, "Do you have any more questions?"

Jovenel snapped out of it. He still had a job to do, and he prepared a line to serve as a signal to the men outside once he confirmed her authenticity as an oracle.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we got him."

Within seconds, five men bust down the door to the residence and stormed in, weapons drawn. The Oracle looked unfazed

"So this is what fate has bestowed upon me."

Two of the garrison members grabbed her arms and dragged her out of the shack. The commotion of the whole affair attracted onlookers

As Jovenel exited the building, a federal agent said, "What did you ask her?"

A scowl from Jovenel promptly shut him up.

***

Kevin ran. He ran and ran until he collapsed onto the ground, panting and exhausted. He was in another part of Little Havana, far away from the Madaline's accursed shack. What he had just witnessed now verified beyond a shadow of doubt that the supernatural existed. Not only had he unwittingly aided in animal sacrifice, but the entity it was directed towards responded.

The veil of ignorance Dyson tried to build around Kevin was now shattered for all time.

Kevin lay on the ground, reflecting on what happened. He felt a mixture of terror and fascination.

Who knew it'd be this easy to find evidence of the supernatural? Why'd Dyson even bother trying to hide it?

It had only been his third trip out of the university, and he'd already witnessed a supernatural event, even when confined to the university, he hadn't been completely isolated from the supernatural, now he could dispel the accusations of mental instability or delusion that Dyson had raised.

Kevin pondered the implications, which raised more questions than answers. What he had seen was a sacrifice. This almost certainly meant that there were entities, such as spirits, gods, or other beings beyond human comprehension. How did these entities interact with humans? Were they benevolent or malevolent? Was there a way to harness their power? His experience in the cave also proved that human beings such as Dyson could possess supernatural powers. Kevin wondered how many people had supernatural abilities and whether it was possible to acquire them for himself.

"Are you ok?"

Kevin was interrupted from his thoughts by a voice speaking Yankish with a Myamian accent. He stood up and said "Yes" as he dusted himself off. Turning around, he saw the food stand vendor he met when he and Clay ordered food during his first trip outside the university.

Why'd I run back here, of all places? Kevin berated himself mentally as he realized the absurdity of the situation"

"Yes, sorry I'm fine"

The vendor squinted as he looked at Kevin's face

"You look like you've seen a ghost."

Kevin chuckled nervously. He didn't completely understand the question. "Maybe."

The vendor walked into the building behind him and came back out after a minute, glass bottle in hand.

"Here, have water."

He handed Kevin the bottle, allowing Kevin to gulp it all up greedily. The heat of the sun and built up exhaustion from walking around the city had been taking a toll on Kevin's physical fortitude.

After finishing the bottle, Kevin refreshed and energized, wanted to thank the vendor, but realizing he hadn't properly introduced himself, he said, "My name Kevin."

The man nodded and said, "Nice to meet you." An awkward silence followed. A carriage passed by as the pair stood still.

You gonna introduce yourself? Don't embarrass me like this.

Kevin broke the silence, asking, "What is your name?"

The vendor pointed at a group of churros he was cooking in his stove, causing Kevin's stomach to rumble loudly.

"Nice to meet you Churros."

The vendor shouted, "If you want my name, buy a Churro, Yankee idiot!"

Kevin flushed slightly. "How much?"

The vendor smirked grinned "For you, my friend, five copper pennies"

Kevin grumbled and paid for a churro. Last time it had been cheaper. Once again, the cinnamon and caramel flavors of the churro delighted his taste buds and helped alleviate his hunger.

The vendor, seeing Kevin eat, said, "My name is Carlos"

"Nice meet you Carlos"

"Now that we know each other's names, tell me, where are you from? Your Yankish is terrible. Are you Californian?"

Kevin, hesitant to reveal that he was from the Silicon Age and technically over 900 years old, answered dishonestly, "Yes..... how you know?"

Carlos replied by putting his pointer fingers next to his eyes and pulling them apart to make them squint.

You F***** bastard

Carlos was attempting to refer to his eyes, which had epicanthal folds due to his East Asian heritage. Kevin wouldn't have been shocked if Carlos started yelling ching chongs.

Carlos stopped seeing Kevin's scowl explained, "I don't mean to offend, it's just that people who look like you come from California most of the time."

If this had occurred in his time, Kevin might've started an argument, but realizing the enormous changes and cultural differences between the present and the Silicon age of his origin let it go and asked a question which had been burning in his mind.

"Why did you call me Yankee?"

Carlos chuckled "We call everyone who speaks Yankish Yankees. It doesn't matter where you from."

As the two conversed, a crowd began to assemble far down the street near downtown. Kevin and Carlos, seeing the commotion, headed over to see what was going on.

When they made it to the area, they saw the crowd was gathered around a cart carrying an elderly woman wearing a brown shawl and dress. Next to it was a large pole, surrounded by armed men. Kevin asked Carlos, "What is going on?"

Carlos shrugged and spoke to someone next to him in Cubano. Kevin couldn't understand what he said, but inferred that the subject of conversation was related to the woman up front. Carlos turned to Kevin with a solemn expression on his face.

"They're killing the lady."