“I shouldn’t.”

“Marika,” I said, and she was surprised I knew her name. “He’s driving me crazy, and I think I know why you did what you did.” When she raised her brows in question, I said, “I know your heritage. I know Swopes’s, too.”

She nodded, acquiescing, and started the car. I followed behind her, wishing I’d hitched a ride. Half a block was half a block, and I’d had a tiring week thus far.

After she grabbed the baby and his diaper bag, I took the bag from her and we walked up to the door. Garrett, thankfully, had buttoned and tucked in his shirt.

“Marika,” he said, offering a congenial nod.

“This is Reyes,” I said, introducing them. “And I’m Charley.”

“This is Zaire.”

I smiled, knowing exactly where she’d gotten the name from; Cookie was that good. And Marika had a blog, so that helped. Zaire was waking up in his carrier, so I knelt beside him when she placed him on the floor next to the chair Garrett led her to. I could hardly wait to have one of my own. There was something about babies few women could resist, but I had never in a million years seen myself as a mother. Until I had no choice. Odd, that.

Garrett took a seat across from her, and with all the hubbub about not being able to talk to her, he went for the jugular the minute he settled in. “Is he mine?” he asked.

She lowered her head. It took her a moment to answer, and when she did, she did so quietly. “He is. But not for the reason you may think.”

Garrett took another swig, then said, “Because you lied to me when you said you were on the pill?”

“Holy crap, Swopes,” I said. “You fell for that? When will men learn?” I turned back to Zaire and was busy cooing about the gullibility of men since the dawn of man when Marika answered him.

“I did lie to you. Yes.”

Garrett began a rant that could have scalded the ears of a nun, but he didn’t get very far.

“He’ll be powerful,” she said, interrupting him. “Our son. He will be very powerful.”

“What do you mean?”

I nodded encouragingly, knowing where she was going.

“You are the descendant of a very powerful voodoo queen. Probably the most famous in history: Marie Laveau.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said before gulping the last of his beer.

“I am the descendant of Sefu Zaire, a very powerful Haitian houngan, a vodou priest. Voodoo and vodou are not the same thing, but they’re related. They were both born out of slavery and poor conditions. They both originated from the traditional ways of African diaspora. And they both weave Christian elements and symbolism into their beliefs and ceremonies. There are many differences as well, but I believe they are much more alike than vice versa.”

“Okay,” Garrett said, opening his arms in question. “What does that have to do with me?”

“Both of our ancestors were very powerful. And I believe that by combining our bloodlines, our son will be just as powerful as they, if not more so.”

“That’s it?” he asked. “That’s what all of this is about?”

“It is.”

“You do realize that’s all a crock of shit.”

I jumped to cover Zaire’s ears. “Language, Swopes. I can reach your shins from here.”

He was hurt. He’d been played like a violin at a symphony, and I understood his bitterness, but he was the one having unprotected sex. I decided to have the talk with Zaire while I had the chance. “Can you say STD?”

“I come from a long line of con artists,” Garrett said, “most of whom spent half their lives in prison.”

“Garrett,” I said in my best scolding tone, “we are talking about religions here, not con artists.”

“Right.” He stood to get another beer. “How brash of me. So, bottom line, what’s this going to cost me?” he asked.

“I’m not here for money. I just – I felt I could not be right with Bondye until I told you the truth.”

“Bondye?” he asked, strolling back in with a fresh brew.

“God,” Reyes said, listening in while he perused an old manuscript.

“Of course.”

“And I don’t think this says what you think it says.”

We all turned toward Reyes as he studied a copy of an ancient document, probably part of the prophecies that were supposedly about yours truly.

“What do you mean?” I asked. “You can read that?”

“Not really, but I do recognize a few words, and according to this, it’s not the Twelve that is going to be the undoing of the Daughter of Light, but the Thirteenth Warrior.”

“Antonio Banderas is going to be my undoing? I’m rife with anticipation.”

Since Reyes didn’t really know what he was reading and was picking up only bits and pieces, I took that as a sign Antonio Banderas was probably not going to be my undoing, though he was certainly welcome to try.

We got the answers Garrett had been wanting, and still the guy brooded. It was never enough. I left Zaire’s parents to their discussions, and they had a lot to discuss. But Garrett was all bark and no bite. I felt the pride in him when his gaze wandered toward Zaire. And who wouldn’t be proud of the little butterball?

Reyes and I headed back to the apartment building and I promised him I’d stay in while he went to check on things at the grill. I went home and had planned on doing research on the suicide-note victims, but Cookie was on top of that. If she had yet to find a connection between them, I sure wouldn’t. So, I did a different type of research. After meeting Zaire, I was so caught up in the whole baby thing, I decided to see how it all worked.