“Impossible?”
“Yes. Impossible. As in almost never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever… ever!”
“I just opened it.”
“Ah! But you see, it only opens once every ten or so cycles on the Day of the Dead, when the sun is just-so in the sky and a tiny frog hops from one lily pad to the next just as he’s gulping down a fly born precisely twenty-six hours earlier when the temperature of the air is exactly seventy-two point three degrees and the wind blows at five miles per hour due east, just—and I mean just!—as a man with a black soul is nearly decapitated by a deity who is in love with his daughter, and the blood pours on a virgin, lying directly over the tablet, on an altar at the mouth of a giant black jade cave.” Cimil sucked in a deep breath and then scratched the corner of her mouth. “Or something like that. But I can’t be sure.”
Did she think this was one of her fucking little games?
Chaam threw Cimil against the slimy stone wall and clamped his hand around her neck. Her legs dangled several feet above the ground. “Stop. Fucking. With me,” he growled.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she croaked.
“Tell me! How do I reopen the portal?” He knocked her against the wall several times.
“I told you! It’s some mystical algorithm—planets aligning, virgins, blood, tiny creatures eating…. You heard me!”
He thumped her against the wall once more.
She pointed at the altar. “I’m telling the truth. Look at the tablet! The instructions are right there in Maaskabese. If you can decipher it, you can go anywhere! Backward, forward, side to side, the other side, the outlet stores. Even The Rack. Fabulous, right?”
He released her, and she slid down the wall like butter on a heap of hot pancakes.
Chaam moved to the altar where the young woman—Maggie had called her Itzel, he thought—lay unconscious, bathed in blood—not hers, thankfully. He slid the tablet out from beneath her head and examined the shimmering black artifact. “Black granite?”
“Jade. From the mine.” Cimil pointed to an opening about four feet in diameter under the stairs. “It’s powerful stuff. I think you’ll find it… useful for what comes next.”
Chaam’s eyes made a quick sweep. “This is an entrance to a mine?”
Cimil nodded. “The Maaskab’s best kept secret.”
His attention moved back to the tablet. The writing appeared to be Mayan, but he did not recognize the symbols. “What does it say?”
“I told you what I know.”
Perhaps she told the truth, perhaps not. But he’d known Cimil for seventy thousand years, and whatever information she might have, she wasn’t going to share. Yet.
“What’s the second option?” he asked.
“Oh boy. After the wall-thumping you just gave me, not sure I want to go there.”
“Tell me!”
“Okaaay, but it’s big. It’s bad. It’s glamorous and icky. Are you suuure you’re willing to do anything to get her back?”
“I’d tear apart the whole fucking world stone by fucking stone.”
“Oh goody!” Cimil jumped up and down, clapping. “This really is my lucky day! Because that is exactly what I had in mind!”
Why would she want that? She hadn’t been singled out by the universe for this cruel, horrible fate, for this unbearable, unjust punishment.
“What’s in this for you, Cimil?”
Her face turned into a tundra of icy starkness. She grabbed him by the arms and sent paralyzing shock waves of searing pain through his system. “See, brother. See into my eyes. See what the dead have shown me.”
Chaam leaned down and met her gaze, but he would find no visions of the dead. Not today, she thought.
“Let the darkness in, brother,” Cimil commanded with hypnotic waves that burrowed into the depths of his soul. “That’s a good boy. Just let it in. Think of your precious Maggie, of how much you love her and how she was so cruelly ripped away. Yes, that’s right. Let all that pain in. Feel the darkness consume you.”
“Yes,” he said with a vacant stare to match his vacant heart. “I will let the darkness in. I understand now.”
Cimil sighed, pushed her head to his chest, and embraced him with teary eyes. “There will be much suffering ahead, brother. And for this, I am sorry,” she whispered. “But I promise, when this is all over, your soul will be washed clean and Maggie will be waiting for you.”
Gods, she hoped. This journey would not be an easy one and could backfire a million different ways. One wrong turn, one mistake, and her plan would go up in a not-so-dramatastic cloud of smoke. Boom. Dead. Everyone. But the dead had shown her what was to come, and there was no choice but to march forward. In the meantime…
She’d always loved doing bad things! Now was her chance to truly enjoy it; vicariously through Chaam, of course! Because unlike her, his deity-do-gooder bond with the universe had broken.
Cimil released him. “Fabulous! You’re going to have so much fun! Evil is the new good! We’ll pretend it’s a game—’kay? Evil Cimi Says.”
“When do we start?” he murmured.
“No time like the present,” she said. “Let’s go find some evil Maaskab and have an evil chat.”
Epilogue
Approximately Eighty Years Later
Blood trickled from Maggie’s pale clenched fists as she stared at Chaam’s shivering body through the dense smoky film separating her from the physical world. Too many years she’d watched helplessly as he suffered. His incarceration was a hell no living being should have to endure. “Hang on, my love. This will all soon be over.”
Maggie knew from the moment she’d entered this realm that she would find a way out. And when she did, there would be hell to pay. Because while Cimil had orchestrated her chaos, forcing Chaam to commit vile, evil acts in the name of her sick-and-twisted amusement, Maggie had been watching, listening, and learning the gods’ tricks and secrets. And with the scalpel-sharp precision of a vengeful, mad surgeon, Maggie tweaked and manipulated and pulled and tugged on every invisible string within her grasp until the tides of fate had eventually shifted.
“Please don’t give up, Chaam. Please. I’m almost free and soon, you will be, too. Don’t give up.” She needed him to hang on to that last piece of his soul just a little longer. Without it, he would be lost forever. If only he could hear her and know she was there. Just this once. Just this once. Please hear me just this once…
She threw back her head to fight the tears and gazed up at the pristine blue sky—it was her favorite mirage. Anything that reminded her of Bacalar and her time with Chaam gave her comfort.
“Please come soon, bobcat. I cannot hold on for much longer.”
Maggie gasped.
TO BE CONTINUED….
About the Author
Before taking up a permanent residence in the San Francisco Bay Area, Mimi spent time living near NYC (became a shopaholic), in Mexico City (developed a taste for very spicy food), and Arizona (now hates jumping chollas but pines for sherbet sunsets). Her love of pre-Hispanic culture, big cities, and romance inspires her to write when she’s not busy with kids, hubby, work, and life… or getting sucked into a juicy novel.
She hopes that someday, leather pants for men will make a big comeback and that her writing might make you laugh when you need it most.
You can learn more at:
http://www.mimijean.net
http://twitter.com/MimiJeanRomance
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Mimi-Jean/218935048190356
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[email protected] Note from Mimi
Hi there! I hope you enjoyed reading this little extra piece of the Accidentally Yours story while I finish Book 4. And for all you cliffhanger-haters out there, I just want to say thank you for hanging in there! Like you, I hate waiting, so here’s a little peek of the first chapter of… drum roll please… VAMPIRES NEED NOT… APPLY? I can’t wait to share the rest because from here, it only gets crazier. Should b
e fun!
Like always, thank you for reading!
Hugs,
Mimi
P.S. If you loved this novella, let me know! Click the happy, happy stars on the e-tailer’s website, send me an email, or poke me on Twitter and Facebook! I love hearing from readers… unless you’re one of those mean, yucky people. Then, not so much. (Yes. Mean people still suck. We all know it.) But all happy thoughts, suggestions, and questions are welcome!
ACCIDENTALLY IN LOVE WITH… A GOD?
ACCIDENTALLY YOURS, BOOK 1
Chapter 1
Present Day
Wasn’t dating supposed to be fun? Because this was anything but. At any moment, a man I’d never met—approximately six foot three, brown hair, and soul-piercing blue eyes, according to his online profile—would walk through the door of the Conga Lounge, give his name to the hostess, and scream hysterically at the sight of me. Okay. He wouldn’t scream. Aloud, anyway. Not that I was heinous, but anyone who looked closely enough might notice I was… different.
I eyeballed the door, contemplating a mad dash before he arrived.
No, you can do this, I thought, while staring at the condensation channeling down my glass of water, my leg bouncing under the table. Why had my date picked a corny theme bar that looked like Gilligan’s Island threw up? What sort of man goes novelty on the first date?
Bad sign. Bad sign.
At least the other patrons—seated around the faux torchlit room, leisurely sipping Bahama Mamas and Mai Tais—were oblivious to my impending meltdown.
I felt the gentle whoosh of summer evening air as the door swung open, and the noise from the traffic-packed New York street poured in. A tall man with sun-kissed skin, broad shoulders, and tousled brown hair floated in—yes, floated—as if he’d ridden in on a cloud straight from Hot-Man Land. He wore a black polished cotton shirt, which hugged his well-constructed chest, and low slung jeans that molded to his lean physique. He wasn’t just good looking—he was Milan runway edible.
“Oh, sweet Virgin of Guadalupe, please be Jake,” I muttered under my breath.
Like a cliché from a movie, our eyes met from across the room, and his face lit up with a dimple-framed smile. My heart nearly stopped. “Thank you, Virgin,” I said, releasing my breath.
He strutted across the restaurant, a magnet for every female in the room.
“Emma?” he said in a deep slow-churned voice, then smiled, and held out his hand. I stood up in a daze, mentally pinching myself.
“You are Emma, right? Curly, shoulder-length, red hair, five three. Several crazed female stalkers for best friends?”
Oh, no. What had my roommates done? Since the whole online-blind-date thing was their idea, they assured me they’d carefully “screened” the guy. But I thought they were just joking about breaking into his apartment and rummaging through his underwear drawer. And dammit, they hadn’t even bothered to dish.
Tighty whities or boxers?
I looked down at his outstretched hand. Oh, shoot. Shake hands. “Sorry, it’s just—I wasn’t expecting someone so…” I swallowed and placed my palm in his. It was warm and inviting, just like his eyes. “Um… so tall.”
“And I wasn’t expecting a woman so”—he paused to look me over like a dog eying a giant juicy steak—“adorable.”
“Adorable?” said the deep male voice inside my head. “What kind of moron compliments a woman with the word ‘adorable’? Does he think you’re a goddamned puppy?”
Couldn’t I have one, just one lousy day without the voice? My blood began to boil instantly, but I resisted the urge to snap back with something lame like, “Well, maybe Jake senses I want to lick him from head to toe. Maybe even have a go at his leg.” But then I thought better of myself. Because tonight, I was on a mission, and nothing would stop me from climbing my own mental Mt. Everest: convince myself that I, Emma Keane, could feel attraction for a real live man with ten fingers, ten toes, arms and legs, and the other necessary dangly bits needed to make a relationship normal. All I needed was the right man.
The catch?
The other person I needed to prove this to wasn’t exactly a person. Okay—truth be told, he was a mysterious voice only I could hear. Yes. A luscious, deep, velvety voice so seductive it could turn me into a quivering mindless puddle of need with one little sigh. Sound crazy? That wasn’t the half of it. But it was why I had to do this. If I wanted a shot at normal, I had to take this first step.
Jake and I held hands for several moments before we sank into our wicker seats. “So you must be Jake.” Stupid statement, I know, but I had just forgotten all of the witty icebreakers I’d painstakingly memorized.
He nodded and continued smiling.
“So.” I paused, trying to think of something clever to say. It didn’t happen. “My friends. They didn’t do anything crazy, did they?” Other than a felony B&E?
Jake shook his head. “Aside from having me followed? No. They just sent an e-mail making it clear they’d remove both my testicles if I did anything wrong.”
I cringed inside, but at least he didn’t know about the home invasion.
“With a dull spoon,” Jake added.
The voice snickered. “I’ve changed my mind. I now officially approve of your friends.”
Jake continued, lowering his voice, “But I’m glad I came. I thought your profile might have been exaggerating your looks. It didn’t.”
“What a cretin. You’re not falling for this crap. Are you, Emma?”
I felt my temper percolating, but I hung on. “Thanks,” I said to Jake and then looked down at my hands.
“So I hope you like this place.” He opened up the piña colada shaped menu. “The food, I hear, is tiki-licious.”
“Right. That’s it. This date… is over!”
Percolate went to boiling over. “Jake, I’ll be right back.”
“Um—okay,” I heard him say as I stomped off to the bathroom. I slammed the door shut and checked the two small stalls.
Empty.
“You giant turd! You promised you wouldn’t talk!” I hissed. “Not a peep.”
“Well, that was before…”
“Before what?”
There was cricket-worthy pause.
“Fine. You listen to me, Guy”—that was my latest name for him since he’d never shared his real one—“we had a deal. You promised you’d behave—”
“And you swore on your soul you’d pull the plug if I said so.”
“Oh, no, no, my friend.” I shook my finger at the air, even though he couldn’t see me. “I said I’d end the date if you sensed anything wrong.”
“Yes, and he’s clearly deranged.”
“Deranged?” I barked. “You’re un-bel-ievable! He’s said two words—”
“Eight-five. Or was it eighty-seven? Hell, it doesn’t matter. I knew on word three there was something… off.”
“Oh my God! You’re completely full of it!” Hiccup! Hiccup! “Great. See what you did? My night is completely ruined.” Hiccup!
“Do you have a paper bag?” he asked.
I continued hiccupping uncontrollably. “No. Doesn’t exactly go with my new dress.” Hiccup. “Besides”—hiccup—“that only works for hyperventilating. I’m working up to that next.”
“New dress?” he asked, his tone a notch above angry. “You didn’t wear the new green dress, did you? The tight one that shows every curve and ‘makes a man instantly hard,’ as your friend, Anne, so eloquently stated?”
The door to the restroom swung open. The woman gave me a nod as she went into one of the stalls.
Christ! I’d forgotten my wireless headset. Again. Without it, I looked like just another New Yorker one step away from a Repent Now! sandwich sign. I scrounged through my matching satin evening bag and popped on my prop.
“Answer me! Did you wear the dress? After I expressly prohibited it?”
Should I tell him I secretly wish he could see me in it? No. No! What am I thinking? He could never kn
ow what went on inside my head; he’d only use my feelings against me. I hiccupped three times in quick succession. “Yes! I wore it, and it looks fabulous. You should see all the men walking around with colossal erections just from looking at me!”
Just then, the woman emerged from the stall and scampered out of the bathroom. She didn’t bother to wash her hands. Ewww, I thought.
“You play with fire, little girl.”
“No! You play with…” I couldn’t think of anything meaty to say. “Uuuh… fire. I’m going out there, and I’m going to finish this date whether you like it or not. And if you make one more peep, just one more, you’re going to… uh… get burned!” I so need to work on my threat technique. “Got it?”
“And if I don’t do as you say?”
Again, I came up empty in the threat department, so I threw out, “I’ll go home with Jake and sleep with him! That’s right. Wild monkey sex, too! Hanging from the chandelier and everything.” Does Jake even have a chandelier? I’ll have to ask.
He growled. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me! Not one more peep!” I smoothed down my curls, hiccupped five more times, then took a deep breath, and headed out into the dining area. The woman from the bathroom caught my eyes for a brief moment before looking toward her date and leaning in to whisper something. Her companion shot me a quick judgmental glance over his shoulder. I resisted blurting out that his date was a gross pig and had cooties on her hands. Instead, I lifted my chin and walked over to the table where Jake was sitting back, completely unaware of the turbulence he’d just invited into his life.
That’s when it hit me. The tsunami of guilt.
I stopped and looked down at Jake, the most beautiful man I’d ever seen in real life.
“Everything okay?” he asked, obviously wondering why I hadn’t taken my seat.
Jake’s online profile said he was looking for someone special—someone to settle down with. That someone wasn’t me. How could it be? I was… complicated. My heart was trapped in some sort of bizarre purgatory, attached to a voice. Or, more accurately stated, attached to the endless images and fantasies my mind had conjured up to go with the stupid voice.