Accidentally…Over? (Accidentally Yours #5)(5)
Author: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

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 f**ked 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.

Had 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.