Accidentally...Over? Read online

  Fate? Pfff… Tempt her all you like. Ain’t gonna make a sea turtle’s ass of a difference.

  “Fine,” Cimil grumbled. “I swear on my own life that this time I’m telling the tru—”

  The ground rumbled beneath their feet and the angry sound of grinding bedrock filled the cavernous room. Everyone in the prison stilled for three long seconds.

  “What the fuck was that?” Máax asked as the emergency lights flickered on along with an ear-piercing siren.

  “Oh, boy. That came a lot sooner than I thought,” Cimil yelled, cupping her hands over her ears.

  “What came sooner?” Máax screamed.

  “That’s the planet! She’s very attuned to the Universe and senses the end is near. She’s not happy!” Cimil pointed toward the ground. “According to my sources, there will be ten global earthquakes, none of them catastrophic until the final one right before the big un–Super Bowl event. After that, the shit hits the fan. Cities topple. We go to war. Our allies and humans take sides. Everything is destroyed.”

  “That’s impossible,” Máax yelled over the noise.

  “Oh no. Not impossible! Worst of all, pigs are finally gonna fly! It won’t be pretty. Have you ever seen one crap?” The screeching siren stopped. “Ah! That’s better. So what was I saying? Oh yeah. We’re screwed.”

  “Cimil, please tell me this is a joke.”

  “Okay. I made up the part about the pigs, but not the rest. So now do you see why I had to lock everyone up?”

  Máax grumbled several unhappy thoughts in the key of F—effing, eff, eff, eff, and effing hell. “If the gods should be locked up to prevent this war, then why are you allowing me to remain free?” Máax asked.

  Here came the hard part. She needed to convince Máax to once again break the sacred law banning time travel. It was expressly prohibited, not to mention difficult and extremely risky. However, Máax had already broken the rule a thousand times, landing him in hot water. Not that he cared. Bad boy alert! Sure, he’d had a perfectly good reason for each offense, but that didn’t mean there weren’t consequences. The last time he’d been caught, he’d been banished, stripped of his powers, and left without a human shell. Yep… powerless and invisible for ten thousand years. Again, not that he cared.

  ’Cause bad boys rule!

  That said, he’d broken the law once again (so, so bad!) to save his sister, Ixtab (so, so thoughtful!), and if they managed to stop the apocalypse, he’d be tried again. This time, he’d be entombed for eternity. So, so sad. On the other hand, he was going down anyway, so…

  Cimil cleared her throat. “I had another vision. I believe it’s the precise moment in time where everything could be put back on course.”

  “Do you truly expect me to believe that?” Máax scoffed.

  Yes! No. Maybe? “Okay. Technically, you’d be a baboon’s ass. A stinky one at that.”

  Máax’s laugh was laced with sinister arrogance and just a smidgen of “you fucking amuse me.”

  “Let us pretend for a moment that I believed you,” he said. “Then why do I have the feeling you’re going to ask me to do something unlawful?”

  Cimil clapped. “Ding, ding, ding! I need you to go back a few teeny tiny decades, to 1993, find a certain chicky-boo, and make sure she doesn’t croak prematurely.”

  “Why?”

  Oh. There was no good way to explain it so she’d have to make something up. Hmmm… what story would make him believe? She tapped the side of her mouth.

  “You are getting ready to lie. Aren’t you?” Máax asked.

  Dammit! She sucked at lying. “Yes. But only so you’ll do what I want.”

  “Try telling the truth, Cimil,” Máax growled.

  But I suck at that, too.

  Okay. Deep breath. Sell the story. Be the story.

  Right.

  “At some point in the future, the woman will act as a neutral party and defuse the tension between us. If she dies, no neutral party. And what’s a party without Switzerland? They make awesome cheese. Minky loves eating the holes.”

  “I’m not going to risk my ass to save some woman simply because we had a little earthquake.”

  “I’m telling you, Máax, it’s the apocalypse. And… make that two earthquakes,” Cimil said cheerfully just as the ground rumbled like a ravenous, subterranean beast. Once again, sirens blasted through the prison.

  “I don’t give a shit!” Máax bellowed over the noise. “I refuse to do any more of your bidding. It always leads to trouble.”

  True. Máax had, in fact, been doing a lot of bidding for her lately, but he had to attempt this one final task. Not only did her latest vision reveal that saving the woman was their last chance to put things back on course and avoid the apocalypse, but it was also Máax’s one shot at happiness. Why? Well, that was something he’d soon find out.

  Okay, time for a new tactic. Speak to his extreme horniness. Poor guy is 70K and has never been kissed. Kind of like Drew Barrymore, but seven feet tall. And invisible. And naked. And a dude. Okay. Nothing like Drew Barrymore. Dammit, I can’t hear myself think!

  “Roberto!” Cimil yelled. “Have someone turn that crap off, or I’ll start turning vampires into insects! And they won’t be cool ones, either! I’m talking pill bugs!”

  Roberto signaled one of his men to the caged guard booth to address the noise, which he did by punching the communication console.

  “Thank you, baby.” She blew a kiss to Roberto. “Máax, I’m telling the truth. You must go back and save this beautiful, smokin’ hot, young woman so she can fulfill her destiny. She needs you. You. You are the only one who can pull this off. So I’m asking, please save her? And hurry up with the answer because Roberto is about to bust a triple-stitch zipper if I don’t give him his Cimi-treat.”

  Roberto crossed his arms and nodded with a pissed-off expression. “She hasn’t put out in months. I am so aroused that even you look enticing, Máax.”

  Cimil burst with laughter. Roberto had made a joke. Not so easy for a five-thousand-year-old ex-pharaoh vampire. “Good one, honey. I’d high-five you, but that would be hard to do through the glass.”

  “Perhaps we can have sex instead,” Roberto stated dryly.

  “Through the glass?” she asked. That would be even more difficult, but if he was game to try, then so was she.

  “I am able to open your cell, Cimil,” Roberto clarified.

  “Not so kinky, but okay.” She winked. “Just as soon as Máax makes up that empty head of his.” Cimil held out both palms, mimicking a scale. “Save hot chick and humanity? Or be a sucky coward, and let us all die. Hmmm… decisions, decisions.”

  “Precisely how does the pathetic mortal woman die, and how do I save her?” he asked.

  Pathetic? Emotionally, he was a pre-Cretaceous amoeba compared to the woman. “Have no clue and ummm… no clue.”

  “Why not? And why the fuck not?”

  “They’re called visions,” she whispered, “not detailed instruction manuals to thwarting apocalyptic events.” Of course, even if she did know, she would never tell. Kinda ruins the challenge. But not like Máax could resist helping his brethren, or anyone for that matter. Helping others was his Achilles’ heel. Throw a little danger, risk, and rule breaking in there, and he was happier than an evil vampire with an ice-cream truck.

  Máax chuckled like a chump. “Fuck it. I don’t have anything better to do.”

  Ha! Knew it! Sucka!

  “I assume you have another tablet?” he asked. “I will need two in order to travel there and back.” She knew Máax already possessed one tablet, which he’d snagged from that Spanish vampire slash incubus, Antonio, whom their sister Ixtab had hooked up with. As for the other he required, Cimil had a couple stashed away for this very occasion. The tablets were the size of small headstones, a few inches thick, and made of black jade—a rare material mined from caverns beneath the River of Tlaloc, a powerful river of energy that flowed between the human world and the deity realm. In s
hort, a group of evil Mayan priests, known as the Maaskab, had discovered the supernatural material ages ago and learned to manipulate energy with it, mostly dark energy. It did all sorts of wonderful things such as blunt or neutralize a deity’s power or open portals to just about anywhere on Earth at any point in time.

  Oh! I should go visit the dinosaurs again!

  Really? Did you not learn your lesson last time? Poor, poor dinosaurs. All your fault…

  Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

  And clearing throat… “Of course I have a tablet! Roberto’s men will give it to you. Oh! And Máax?”

  Get ready for one hell of a ride, my dear brother. The SS Ashli is about to disembark, and this voyage is going to make your bad boy, overbloated deity ego whimper like a sissy.

  “Yes, Cimil?” Máax rumbled.

  “Whatever you do, do not, and I repeat, do not, take the woman from her time. Do you understand? The woman must remain where she is and be allowed to age the old-fashioned way. No exceptions.”

  “Do I want to ask why?” he asked.

  “No, you do not, but I will tell you anyway. I’m in a gracious mood.” She took a deep, happy breath. “In order for events to play out precisely and stop us from going to war, the woman must remain where she is in 1993. Alive. Any shortcuts or additional changes to the past would create a different outcome.”

  “Not following.”

  “In other words, the only variable we can impact is her living. Everything else must remain constant or you will create an entirely new future—a new version of our messed-up one. And I do not believe the Universe will throw us another vision bone in time to course correct. Consider this our last tango at the Oh No Corral. Comprende?”

  “Sure. Whatever. Not like I give a crap where the woman ends up,” Máax grumbled on his way out the door.

  Oh. But soon, he would care. Very, very much. In the meantime…

  “Roberto, baby, open this cell and get your ass inside. We only have a few moments before my brethren wake up.”

  Estate of Kinich Ahau, the ex–God of the Sun. (A few miles from the prison.)

  Máax repeated the year in his head as he stood in a large bedroom of the sprawling southwestern-style home, preparing himself for the journey back in time: 1993, 1993… His brain itched with suspicion. Was this really the end? And was saving some mortal female, who died decades ago, really their last hope? Or was this simply another one of Cimil’s mind games well-timed to a few tremors? He didn’t know.

  On the other hand… What else do you have on your plate, asshole?

  Nothing. Besides, either way he was fucked, his days numbered. He’d broken the gods’ sacred laws so many times that if he went on trial again, which he certainly would if he managed to stop doomsday, then he’d spend eternity in some godsdamned tomb. If he didn’t succeed, well… that would be that.

  Wait. What the hell am I godsdamned doing? Sanctis infernus! He was screwed either way, so why wasn’t he off enjoying his final days as a free—albeit, invisible—deity? He could be surfing in Australia or diving off the coast of Belize. He could be wrestling great white sharks in South Africa or playing tic-tac-toe with Minky—one of his favorite pastimes.

  But nooo. He was a god, bonded to the Universe herself. A slave to his godsdamned honor and his godsdamned need to do right. That was the very reason he was in this fucked up mess; he never turned down a plea for help. Not even from his godsdamned, ungrateful, childish brethren. “Just ask Máax. He’ll do it. He’s the loyal one, the honorable one,” they’d say, knowing that he was the God of Truth. Those responsibilities also included justice and protection. He simply couldn’t say no even when it required him to stick out his neck and break a few sacred laws. A few thousand times.

  All right. It was true; a tiny part of him reveled in taking risks. He enjoyed it immensely. But that didn’t mean he wanted to be on call every godsdamned time they needed help. What was he? Fucking Superman?

  No, he was no superhero. More like an idiot. In fact, his need to protect everyone else—and keep their dark secrets—was the one reason he’d never pushed back when punishments were handed out. He would never betray one of his own simply to save his skin.

  You’re a lost cause, so let’s get this over with. He glanced at the two black tablets laid out on the bed and gave his neck a little crack. Go save the human, Máax, he bitterly mocked Cimil. Stop the apocalypse, Máax. Máax, help us…

  He picked up one tablet and stared at the hieroglyphs on the surface, rubbing his callused fingertips over the indentations. He knew what the symbols meant, and he knew the key to opening the portal on demand. His little secret.

  He grumbled a few more profanities and shoved one tablet under his arm—his return ticket. He then focused his thoughts on the tablet still lying on the floor: 1993, 1993…

  The tablet on the floor began to vibrate and hiss. The sound was deafening. Stay focused, stay focused.

  Máax’s gaze shifted to the slip of paper in his hand. Roberto had handed it to him before Máax left the prison. On it, Máax knew there was a location and a name.

  He opened it. “Ashli Rosewood. Tulum, Mexico.”

  “Ashli.” Máax stepped through.

  Two

  February 1, 1993. Tulum, Mexico

  At 7:00 a.m. sharp, Ashli Rosewood dug the keys from her bag and unlocked the front door to her quaint little café. It was still pitch-black out—normal for this time of year—but as soon as sunrise hit, the caffeine fiends from the eco-resort next door would start trickling in for their fix. Tourists from all over the world came to enjoy the morning view at her rustic beachside establishment. Thatched roof over the patio out back, a trinket section in the front, reggae or salsa music generally playing in the background (though at cleanup time, Nirvana or Smashing Pumpkins fit the bill), and all the sand you could ever dream of sweeping (the tourists usually carried it in on their feet), it was her little slice of paradise, too.

  She flipped on the lights, set down her keys, and quickly inspected the six tables and chairs and the polished cement counter that ran the length of the room to the side. Fernando, who she’d hired three months ago, had done a nice job cleaning up last night. He was a local guy, nineteen, studying to be an English teacher. Ashli knew he also had a little crush on her, but she was twenty-five now—a little too old to be dating nineteen-year-olds. In any case, the last thing she needed was a boyfriend. She lived alone. She took care of herself and her café, the only thing she had left of her parents, and she liked it that way. Alone meant safe. Alone meant not having to lose anyone. Alone was… good.

  Ashli slipped an apron over her white tank and shorts, unlocked the back patio door that led straight to the beach, and dragged a few sets of tables and chairs outside.

  Ashli took a deep breath and gazed out across the ocean, toward the horizon and its first rays of light. The sound of crashing waves and the stillness in the air, right before the sun broke ground, was always her favorite time of day. It reminded her of getting up with her mother to do yoga before opening time.

  But instead of that awe-inspiring peace she normally experienced, there was a nagging feeling, the one that had been her constant companion since the day she lost her parents. Death isn’t done with you yet. The dark thought had grown more persistent lately.

  No, Ashli. Don’t think about it.

  She sighed and returned inside to set up the register and get the drip coffee going. She crouched behind the counter and opened the small refrigerator. “Dang it.” She’d forgotten to tell Fernando they needed low-fat milk. She looked at her watch. He’d be there any minute with fresh pastries so he could cover while she ran to the mom-and-pop store a few kilometers away in town.

  She started up the coffee machine, poured in fresh grounds, and prayed the thing didn’t crap out on her again. The bell on the front door chimed. “Hey, Fernando. Guess what I forgot—” She turned her head, but there was no one there.

  She froze.

  H
ad she just imagined that? Her eyes moved to the small swaying bell. Shit. She held her breath. Okay. Maybe someone walked by and pushed the door, but didn’t come in.

  You’re such a scaredy-cat!

  The door flew open and in waltzed Fernando, carrying a box of pastries. His short brown hair was its usual mess, but at least he’d managed to put on a clean T-shirt today. “Buenos días, Ashli,” he said, his voice groggy with sleep.

  Ashli instantly felt calmer. “Buenos días. Hey, I forgot to put milk on the list. Can you set up the Illy while I make a quick run?”

  “Por supuesto, jefa.”

  “English. You need to practice your English.” Fernando was never going to become an English teacher if he didn’t try harder.

  He reached for an apron hanging on a hook behind the register. “Yes, boss.”

  “Good boy.” She winked. He was always such a grump before his first cup of coffee, which was why she needed to hurry. No customer would want to be greeted by that sad face in the morning. “Be right back.”

  She grabbed her purse and headed out the front door to her VW Bug, which was practically new, by the way. It still amazed her how they manufactured them in Mexico just like they had in the seventies. Even their odd, sticky-sweet smell hadn’t changed. But they were cheap, good on gas, and easy to fix.

  She dug for her keys, but remembered she’d left them inside the café on the counter. “Jeez.” I’m forgetting everything today.

  She turned and walked right into a wall. Only there was no wall. It was an empty, dark parking lot. “What the f—”

  “Hello, Ashli,” said the deep male voice.

  She shrieked.

  Máax stared down at the hysterical, screaming woman. He was about to offer a few calming words, such as “Shut the hell up,” but then something peculiar happened.

  What the fuu…? He stumbled to the side but caught himself. He’d never experienced anything so unusual, so potent. But what was it? It didn’t hurt. No, quite the opposite. It felt like a sack of fucking wonderful dropped on his head.