Sun God Seeks…Surrogate? (Accidentally Yours #3)(8)
Author: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

She’d been serious about the handbook? “You’re not telling me there’s really going to be a pop quiz, too?”

Cimil’s eyes glowed with wicked joy. “You’re off the hook. Rochell, who handles that little tidbit of fun, is resting after an unfortunate Twister mishap at last night’s party.” She shrugged. “Strippers. Policemen. They all look the same to me. Especially after you steal their clothes and grease them up. Yunno what I mean?”

I blinked as my mind tried to form a cohesive connection between those thoughts. I was coming up blank. “No. No, I do not.” Moving on…“What sort of handbook is this?”

“The kind that will give you answers, silly. For things.” Long awkward pause. “What else?”

Well, that was vague. And weird. Just like this entire depraved situation. “Okeydokey. Anything else?” I asked.

She laughed hysterically for several moments and then shook her finger. “You! You’re a firecracker. Kaablam! Pow! Fire! Cracker!” She paused and stared at the ceiling, completely checked out.

Damn, she freaked me out. “Are we…done?”

She burst back to life. “Yep. Here’s the address and time.” She handed me a slip of paper from the pocket of her pink satin jumpsuit.

I snatched it from her hand, swiped the handbook, and prepared to flee. I wanted to skedaddle before this got any weirder or she tied any more strings to this little bunny.

“Penelope,” she bellowed as I was almost home free and out the front door.

I cringed and turned to find her scampering after me.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” she asked.

Oh jeez.

“The check.” She shoved it at me. “And buy yourself something nice for tonight. It’s your birthday.”

Thanks for the reminder. I put the check in my purse and gave her a polite smile as I reached for the door. Then I paused, fighting the urge to kick my own tuchus.

Dammit. I couldn’t leave without saying something. As awkward and ludicrous as the situation might be, she was about to help my mother.

I took a deep breath and faced her. “Cimil, I know you’re not doing this to help my mom, but I wanted to thank you, anyway.”

She flashed another wicked smile. “Don’t mention it. Helpful is my middle name—except on Saturdays. Then it’s Jaaaasmine…” She waved her hand in a semicircle through the air.

It was actually Saturday, but I thought it best not to say anything.

“Any hooo”—she shrugged—“you’ll pay me back someday. They always do.”

I didn’t like that answer one little bit. In fact, my body lit up with tiny adrenaline-fueled tingles. Why did this woman evoke the fight or flight—mostly flight—response?

I scrambled out the door.

“And, Penelope…” she called out when I reached the bottom of her front steps.

No, no, no. More strings. I reached for the wrought iron railing at my side to steady me.

“There are three rules…”

“I ask you to leave here tonight, you knew it was planned

When the world takes your heart from the fight

You do what you can,

You’re living here lost in this land

So brother, don’t force my hand

Please let’s see the forest for the trees

’Cause it’s time to rise up, it’s time to rise up from your knees”

— Pilot Speed

CHAPTER 6

Kinich. December 1, 9:30 p.m.

Grinding his teeth, Kinich watched his brother, the infamous God of Death and War, stroll into the trendy Manhattan hotel bar with an expression on his face that could, well, kill. The maître d’ took one look at the towering mass of muscles donning an Armani suit, and thick black hair wild and loose, and practically dove out of the way. The crowd parted like the Red Sea, leaving a trail of gaping-mouthed females in this muscled man’s wake. Like all gods, if he did not leash his energy, humans of the opposite sex—sometimes of the same sex, too—turned into rioting, sexually flustered mobs.

“Good evening, Kinich.” Votan took the barstool to his side.

“Nice of you to come, brother, but must you always flaunt your powers in public?” Kinich scolded to hide his uneasiness. Votan was the one brother whom he admired and respected above all others. But this was not a conversation either would enjoy. Kinich could only hope that Votan’s sense of duty would prevail over his anger.

“Can’t help it. It is impossible to contain such strength inside this humanlike body.” Votan stretched his neck from side to side.

“Perhaps you need to return to our realm for a vacation,” Kinich suggested.

“I cannot. Emma has forbidden it until things are”—Votan cleared his throat—“settled. So what’s your excuse? Why haven’t you returned?”

“I have been spending time with an old friend—a very old friend. One who may help us with the Obscuro problem.”

“Who is he?”

“I am unable to discuss the details, Votan—”

“I no longer go by that name,” Votan snarled.

“Ah yes.” Kinich stifled a laugh. “You’ve chosen a new name. What is it that Emma calls you?”

Kinich knew, but enjoyed egging his brother on.

“Guy. She calls me Guy.”

“Very modern,” Kinich said teasingly.

The bartender tiptoed over like a gazelle about to serve two hungry lions. Kinich ordered a bottle of Chateau Petrus 2008.

Guy raised his two dark brows. “Yes. I bloody well like my new name. Nick, is it?”

“Touché.” Only his brothers and sisters called him Kinich. Everyone else called him Nick. But the gods had many, many names, depending on the culture. Votan, on the other hand, now had just one: Guy. Guy Santiago. Not very deity-like, but whatever. Didn’t change his gifts: killing and fighting.

“And why are you trying to butter me up with a three thousand dollar bottle of wine this evening?” Guy asked.

No use in beating around the bush. “This.” Kinich held out the black jade amulet Cimil had given him and each of the gods at her party.

Guy sneered. “Thanks, I’m flattered, but I have several already…and a mate.”

Kinich growled deep in his chest. “This isn’t a f**king joke, Guy.”

The bartender quietly crept up and served them each a glass a wine.

Guy thanked the man and then swilled the ruby red liquid in his mouth before responding. “I’m well aware of your feelings, Kinich; Cimil warned me, but you are mistaken in your point of view. Chaam did not turn evil because of the black jade. He was already f**ked in the head when he discovered it.”