Accidentally...Cimil?: An Accidentally Yours Novella (The Accidentally Yours Series) Read online

  Accidentally… Cimil?

  An Accidentally Yours Novella

  Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

  New York Boston

  Begin Reading

  Table of Contents

  Spot the Phony Cimil Line

  A Preview of Accidentally… Over?

  Glossary

  Character Definitions

  Newsletters

  Copyright Page

  In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitutes unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  To my unicorn (I don’t actually have one, but if I did, this book would be dedicated to her).

  Muchas Thank Yous

  My Forever Romance CREW! Latoya Smith, Marissa Sangiacomo, Jessica Bromberg, Jamie Snider, Kathleen Scheiner, and… Diane Luger and Mike Racz for the awesome cover! You SO nailed it!

  Kathlyn Smith, Ally Kraai, Michaela Trott for playing the Create Your Own Cimil Line Contest! (Manliner, pyramid in your skirt, inappropriate unicorn reference… LOL! Good job, ladies.)

  To my other awesome fans: for the hysterical, and I mean hysterical, conversations about very strange deities and also for your contributions to our fake Cimil lines.

  Spot the Phony Cimil Line

  Which one of these lines was not said by Cimil?

  1. “Welcome to my insane world. Please keep your hands inside the unicorn at all times.”

  2. “Berty, you think you’re badass with that outfit? Your tiny manly parts will be on display when I dump you on the floor.”

  3. “Shit is my middle name. Except on Wednesdays when I speak Klingon, then it’s baktag.”

  4. “F***ing Cub Scouts. Give them some mistletoe and a few Christmas carols and they think they own the whole f***ing holiday!”

  5. “Roberrrrrto, that man-skirt is not bringing sexy back.”

  6. “Okay, I am a good goddess. I am a kind goddess, oh, hell. No, I’m not.”

  7. “Oh! Pluck, Pluck, Eyeball is my favorite game! It’s like Duck, Duck, Goose… but with eyeballs!”

  8. “Helpful is my middle name—except on Saturdays. Then it’s Jaaaasmine…”

  9. “Roberto, baby, how many times do I have to tell you? You’re MUCH bigger than my unicorn!”

  10. “You may be the big shot Pharaoh Narmer now, but you’re still not wearing my pretty pink skirt to the pyramid celebration no matter how well it swirls when you shift.”

  11. “Hey, Roberto, baby, starting the goth craze early with all that eyeliner.”

  SEE ANSWERS IN BACK

  Ebook piracy is NOT a victimless crime. Just ask us working moms! Please buy our books; don’t steal them or share illegally. This author does not authorize ANY “free downloads” or share sites to distribute her books.

  Warning: SHORT STORY ahead! This novella will leave you hanging in suspense and may trigger frothing at the mouth and an urge to send the writer hate mail until the release of the series finale, Book #5, Accidentally… Over?

  Enjoy, everyone!

  Prologue

  After all he has done to me, I still find myself unable to fully blame him. Because truthfully, some women aren’t meant to be loved. And by some women, I mean me.

  I. Am. Evil.

  The worst kind of evil.

  There are no limits to the death, destruction, and mayhem I will bring to your doorstep if it suits my needs. I will pretend to be your ally. I will pretend to give a rat’s ass about your happiness when in reality only one thing matters. Survival. Okay, survival and avoiding naked clowns.

  Judge me if you will, but this is the cold, hard truth about being the Goddess of the Underworld. Because I’ve seen the future. It holds no joy or hope. There is no sunlight. No love. No glorious garage sales where once useful items are given a second chance at a new life. There is only death. So much death.

  And it’s up to me to stop it. Me alone.

  Okay, Minky and me, but mostly me. Potatoes, patatoes.

  And what’s my plan? Try to forget him. And avoid watching Love Boat marathons. And definitely avoid bugs. Can’t afford any distractions. Not now. Not when this giant mess is all my fault.

  Why did I ever dare to dream that I could find love and happiness?

  I. Am. Evil.

  Or maybe I’m just crazy…

  PART ONE—CIMIL AND NARMER

  THE EARLY YEARS

  Chapter One

  3000 BC (Give or take a few centuries. Who the hell’s counting?)

  The day started like any other. A typical day in the life of a goddess. An ancient, lonely, bored-out-of-her-immortal-skull goddess.

  I opened my mind to my brethren, listened to their thoughts (yawn), felt their worries (trivial), and contemplated my otherworldly navel until I decided where my talents were most needed in the world. On this day, that meant checking in on my brother Kinich, God of the Sun, whose self-imposed exile was seriously getting on everyone’s last nerve.

  Especially mine.

  Don’t get me wrong; I was also worried. What affected him affected all of us. We were connected. Brethren of the same light. And we all tasted his pain, which is why I can say… What a big baby!

  Yes, yes, it sucked to be a deity, a slave to mankind’s well-being with no end in sight, no hope of finding true love, owning a pet sea turtle (don’t ask), or of having a life, but that was the gig. How many millennia did it take to sink in? Apparently, for Kinich, more than two. Or three. Or four. It was time to bring him back to our realm, time to take his place among us.

  So I hopped into the portal, which spat me out in the usual place—a cenote in Mexico (See definition in back. Okay? Did you do it? Did you? Good. And moving on…)—summoned Minky my trusty unicorn; longingly stroked a sea turtle; and dashed off to Giza, Egypt, where Kinich was hiding out. Like I said, a typical day.

  Jealous? Well, don’t be. I haven’t gotten to the real story yet.

  Cue jazz hands and waffly waves of air for extended flashback…

  It all started when I arrived at the small dusty market. Normally, this section of Giza bustled with camels, caged birds, and those other stinky animals—humans—but on this particular day, the place was a ghost town. When I asked Minky to do a quick sweep of the city, she immediately reported back. The masses were gathered outside the pharaoh’s palace for a big speech. Naturally, we went to check it out, and that’s when I saw him.

  Hello, man candy!

  As I stood at the foot of his great temple, the desert sun glistened off his rippling abs and deeply tanned bare chest, his golden staff gripped in his large, powerful hand (Yes, yes. I mean a real staff! Not his man-trinket. Jeez…). In typical pharaoh fashion, he had a razor-thin beard, more like a sculpted five o’clock shadow, along the very edge of his jaw and an elaborately braided goatee, which we shall call a pharaoh-tee. ’Cause this hottie was no goat. He was more of a huge frigging viper in a man’s skin—deadly, powerful, with a barbaric gleam in his eyes. He wore a tall black-and-gold headdress that on any other man would scream “please kick my ass,” but on him, it looked pharaoh-licious.

  I licked my lips and watched with sheer fascination as his dark eyes drilled into the crowd, daring anyone to step forward and def y him. I shivered from the raw potency of his male strength. And when our eyes met for the briefest of moments, it felt like being hit with a bolt of lightning. Naughty, dirty lightning.

  Who. Is. That? I thought. Yes, yes. I knew he was the king. But who was he really? What made him tick? Why did he glow with an intoxicating inner light that drew me in like a multifamily hut sale? (The BC version of a garage sale, but with pelts, used stoneware—yes, yes, made from real stone—and the occasional old donkey.) Point was, something about him was utterly irresistible. Why?

  Inquiring immortal minds want to know…

  Immortal minds also wanted to know what it would take to knock that pretty, pretty man off his pretty, pretty pedestal. I wanted to own him. I wanted to bend him to my will and have him begging me for attention. I wanted to break him.

  Now, before you judge, my precious little people-pets, I’ll refer you back to the earlier part of my story. The part where I tell you I am ancient, lonely, and bored. I can’t help who I am or that when I see a mortal such as him, it feels like receiving a shiny new toy from the Universe herself.

  And Auntie Cimi wants to play.

  I elbowed the bald man to my side, standing with me among an ocean of loyal subjects who’d come to listen to their pharaoh publicly decree that from this day forward, Egypt would be a united people.

  “Tell me,” I said in the man’s native tongue, “where does your king spend his nights?”

  The man’s shendyt—a simple pleated, white linen skirt—and golden armband told me he was a slave. One who belonged to the king, perhaps serving food or providing entertainment.

  The human didn’t answer, but instead stared nervously. I got that reaction a lot. Sometimes I wore my hair bobbed, sometimes long and wild as it was today, but it was always flaming red and equally as uncommon as my pale skin and turquoise eyes.

  Thank the gods that mortals can’t see Minky. I gripped the slave’s shoulder and stared deeply into his eyes. “Tell me your name.”

  The man blinked several times. “Adom.”

  Adom means “receives help from the gods.” It’s his lucky day!

  “Adom,” I said, “you will tell me everything you know about your pharaoh, and in exchange, you will be free. Forever. You will be transported anywhere you like and given a purse of gold coins.”

  The man nodded slowly and pointed north.

  I am a good goddess. I am a gentle goddess. I am a patient goddess. I will not turn him into a dung beetle. “You’ll have to be more specific,” I said.

  “T-t-temple of the Sun. Temple of Ra.”

  Hmmm… How ironic. I’d actually come to Egypt looking for a real live sun god. Of course, Kinich didn’t really hang out in temples, given he pretended to be a commoner. A seven-foot, golden-haired commoner with turquoise eyes. At least his tan fit right in.

  “Is your king married? Got a girlfriend? What kind of music does he like? Ska revival? Dubstep? Oh, wait! I know, eighties love ballads!” I had to imagine a male as beautiful and strong as the pharaoh had hundreds of willing women at his beck and call. And what better music for a stud-gyptian like him than Journey?

  Adom shook his head no. “I do not understand your words.”

  I sighed. That was my problem; no one did. Probably due to the fact that the dead constantly chattered away in the background of my mind—a sound reminiscent of a really, really big cocktail party—sharing every memory they’d ever had. They also existed in a place beyond the confines of time. They were from the future and the past, which made it extremely difficult to keep the present straight inside my head.

  “Skip the music question, spanky. Just tell me about his love situation,” I said.

  “But I am named Adom, my lady.”

  “Oh, spanky, have you learned nothing yet?” I smiled sweetly. “Now speak! Or I’ll rip off your toenails!”

  “My king,” Adom explained nervously, “has taken a vow of chastity until he finds his queen. He believes women rob men of their power and will only share his with her.”

  Oh. Now this just got a whole hell of a lot more interesting. Because if there was one thing I liked more than tasty, powerful mortals (and playing with them like a cat plays with a mouse), it was a challenge.

  “So if he were on the prowl,” I asked, “what flavor would he go for? Chocolate, strawberry, peanut butter banana?”

  Adom stared blankly, a dribble of sweat streaming from his temple, his shiny brown head reflecting the hot desert sun.

  Ugh. “What kind of women does he like?”

  “I do not know. I have never seen him with a woman.”

  Dang it. Curse you, nature! You think you’re sooo funny taking the cutest ones away from us girls!

  I sighed. “Are you sure he would not like me? I come in all flavors of crazy. Most men, even those who prefer a hockey stick to a puck, want a little lick.”

  “I-I-I cannot say. You are very frightening.”

  True. So true. But…

  “That’s not what I meant. Oh, never mind! I will simply have to see for myself. Off with you!” I patted Adom on the head and looked up, up, up at Minky who was about the size of my pet whale. Of course, Minky only had one head and was invisible. The moment my friend Adom touched her, he would be invisible, too.

  “Minky, baby, go with Adom. Once you are out of sight, you know what to do.” She’d take him anywhere he liked and give him as much gold as he could carry. I always kept a few hundred pounds strapped to Minky’s saddle. One never knew when one might find a good sale. Or encounter a bribable sea turtle. (Don’t ask.)

  Minky flailed her head and neighed.

  “Yes,” I replied. “I’ll be in the sun god suite when you return.” I turned to Adom. “All righty! Off you go! See ya, papi.” I gave Adom a pat on the tushy. “Fly! Be free!”

  Adom zombied off through the crowd with Minky on his tail.

  As for me? I had a sun god to hunt down before my date with a power-hungry, pious mortal who’d finally met his match.

  Damn straight, women rob men of their power. Especially when it came to me.

  * * *

  Just after midnight, I approached the massive rectangular doorway of the temple of the sun. I’d spent the day combing dusty markets, smelling the stench of ripe animal dung, and asking around for Kinich. People knew who he was, but not where, which meant he was likely on another extended nude sunbathing excursion in the desert or off praying to the Creator to make him mortal. Who knew? I’d send Minky out to search when she returned. But point was, I really needed a little fun time to wash away my pissy mood. This part of the world was blistering, sandy, and the human males did not grant me a shred of cred when I told them I’d lop off their hands if they groped me.

  For the record, it’s seriously no fun lopping off men’s hands when they don’t see it coming. It’s the screaming leading up to the lopping event that makes the punishment magical!

  In any case, someone needed to teach these horny sycophants some manners—a topic I planned to bring up with Mr. Hunky Skirt after I hobbled his royal ego and wrapped him around my immortal pinkie. After I determined which ice cream he preferred, that was. Nut delight or soft-serve?

  Cloaked in a black shroud, I approached the two bare-chested guards wearing manly microminis and then paused in front of the stone fire pit at the entrance. I gazed appreciatively at the torch-lit, glyph-covered walls. The structure itself was quite impressive. So monumental, in fact, that from a distance, the giant statues of Ra—the Egyptian sun god—to either side of the grand entryway appeared as tiny figurines balancing oranges atop their heads.

  “Evenin’ there, cowboys. What are your names?” I unveiled my head and watched the firelight dance in their pupils as they took me in.

  “Where did she come from?” gasped the man on the left.

  “She must be a creature from the bowels of the underworld,” said the man on the right.

  I shot Righty the stink eye before I stomped his toes with my sandal-c lad foot. “Oh now, that was just rude. Do I look like I came from a bowel?” I opened my cloak and revealed my very skimpy white halter, busty chest, and little white sarong. I’d made both from panels of linen I’d “borrowed” from a merchant in the market. “Where’s the chivalry? Really? I bet you don’t get many dates, do you?”

  The man trembled and blinked.

  “Serenity, big boy. Serenity.” I closed my cloak. “Actually, I am the Goddess of the Underworld. And by the way, I’m pretty tired of being mistaken for a man. Osiris? Oooh, please! Do I look like an Osiris?”

  The two men stared blankly.

  “Fine. Clearly we won’t resolve this now. Take me to your leader,” I said in a deep, ominous voice.

  Suddenly, I spotted a beetle scuttling across the entryway, heading toward my foot. Ewww! I stomped on it, smashing the tiny villain into an unrecognizable pulp.

  The two men gasped. “You killed a sacred scarab,” said Righty.

  I rolled my eyes. “I’m just getting started. Wait till you see what I do to your king. Now move it, princess!”

  The man on the left lowered his spear and pointed it at my chest.

  Grrrr… Time for a little game of Cimi Says. I switched to my compelling voice and repeated my instructions. If that didn’t get him moving fast enough, then I’d simply call upon one of my many other gifts. And let me tell you, I had hundreds of tricks up my proverbial sleeve. Far more than any of my brethren. Pain, compelling, bug makeovers, physical strength, the ability to sniff out a bargain, speaking all languages, speaking to the dead, nabbing souls, calligraphy, the list went on and on.

  What was my secret?

  Those Mexican cenotes (freshwater pools we used as portals, for you people who didn’t listen to me and look up the word as I commanded) were jacked up with the most concentrated, supernatural energy known to god-kind, straight from the River of Tlaloc, which flows between our two dimensions, creating a fabulous superhighway for me and my thirteen brothers and sisters. Now, if you don’t know my brethren, I’ll fill you in later—they’re quite the funky bunch—but the point I’m making is that the river has power. Learn to tap into it, and it’s a deity Flintstone vitamin, and by deity, I mean me. I’m the only one who’s figured it all out. That’s why I am undefeatable.