Accidentally...Evil? (Accidentally Yours) (8 page)

The toucan fluttered off its branch and flew to the next tree and to the next. Chaam’s angry march continued along with his mental rant.

Perhaps the Creator didn’t exist and there was no such divine intelligence in the universe. Perhaps he and all gods were simply creatures of evolution, instinctually wired to rescue humans. Perhaps there was a way to break this compulsion. Dammit. He deserved to live freely, without the toxic albatross of humanity driving his every move. He was tired of this torment. And now the one brilliant light at the end of his tunnel had been shut off.

Images of Maggie infiltrated his mind, exacerbating his rage. How could she turn out to be Maaskab, of all things?

Chaam’s rational mind clicked and began tamping down the barrage of irrational emotions.
Idiot. There are no female Maaskab—only female slaves and sacrificial victims waiting to happen.

Maggie could never be anything but innocent and loyal.

Fucking hell. How could you accuse her of being a Maaskab?
He’d seen her soul. It was pure light.

He stopped in his tracks. “Where the fuck are we?”

The toucan fluttered to a small dirt hill, flapped its colorful wings, and flew off.

To the untrained eye, it appeared as a giant mound, overgrown with vines and small trees. But to one side a dark doorway, about four feet high and three feet wide, stood.

Chaam stared at the entrance for several moments while the gravity of his behavior positioned itself into a stranglehold.

It had been his fear talking earlier. He’d succumbed to it. He’d let it pollute his mind.

Gods dammit. He’d fucked up, plain and simple. Maggie was his destiny. She had been brought into his life to help him find comfort in his eternal role as a deity. And who gave a shit if his ability to touch her and hold her came from a dark Maaskab relic? Dammit. It didn’t matter.

Maggie said her father had given her the necklace as a gift. It probably came from this very spot, which might very well be an ancient Maaskab temple. Her father likely thought it was a meaningless rock.

Point was, he could figure all that out later. Fate had brought the necklace to Maggie and Maggie to him.

So why the fuck was he standing there staring at an old decaying ruin? He needed to find her and beg forgiveness. Then he would take her through the cenote and fill her with the light of the gods, making her immortal. The rest could—

A gut-wrenching female scream exploded from the temple.

What the hell?
Adrenaline charged through his humanlike body. He bolted inside only to find an empty, dark, wet chamber, corroded with tree roots, spider webs, and the dank smell of…

Holy hell. Death.
It permeated every wall. And the narrow stairway to the right of the tiny chamber reeked with it. This was the unmistakable scent of Maaskab.

Another scream echoed through the air.

He quietly neared the narrow opening that led to a set of slippery, mold-covered stone steps. With his wide shoulders, he would barely fit into the passage.

The violent scream turned into a muffled moan.

Shit.
Chaam squeezed his way down and saw what he’d hoped he would not.

The scrappy-looking man had the tip of a knife buried into the young woman’s chest just above her heart. He had tied her to a slab of stone, with a rag jammed in her mouth.

“Let her go,” Chaam commanded.

Startled, the man jumped and turned the blade toward Chaam.

Chaam held out his palms. “Dr. O’Hare?”

“Who the hell are you?”

“I know your daughter Maggie. She sent me to look for you.”
Sort of…

The man tilted his head. “You know my Maggie?”

“Yes. And she’s very worried about you. Drop the knife, and we can go find her.” Sweat trickled down Chaam’s back. He’d never been so nervous in his entire existence. Not when he’d faced an entire army of evil vampires. Not when ten legions of Roman soldiers, hell bent on slaughtering him and his brother Votan, barreled down on them. No. Not even then. But now, in this cold, dark chamber, he felt like a sizzling pig on a hot campfire spindle. Maggie’s father had gone mad from sorrow; he stank of it. But could Chaam save him? Curing erectile dysfunction was not the same as mending a broken heart; although both were powerful organs that responded well to sex.

“I said, drop the fucking knife, you idiot. I’m a god. You can’t kill me. At best you’ll stick me with the blade, piss me off, and end up dead. Neither of us wants that.”

The man stood silent, his wild eyes accessing Chaam. From the smell of it, he hadn’t been washed in weeks and neither had his grimy khaki trousers and matching shirt.

“How the hell do you know what I want?” the man finally said.

Funny, he hadn’t commented on the god thing. That usually provoked one of two responses in others: They either believed him and became as scared as shit, or they thought he was crazy, which also scared the crap out of them. Neither was the case today.

“Of course, I know what you want. Your wife,” Chaam replied. “You want her back. But whatever you’re doing won’t work. By the way, what the hell
are
you doing?”

The man’s veins bulged on his wrist and the dagger trembled. “You’re wrong. The tablet can bring her back.”

Tablet?

Chaam noticed a black tablet the size of a tombstone lying under the woman’s head. Likely it was a remnant of some twisted Maaskab decoration.

Chaam nodded. “If what you say is correct, then we will find a way to bring back your wife
without
taking the young woman’s life.”

The man ran his free hand through his short greasy hair. The torches mounted to the wall flickered, illuminating his dark, empty eyes.

Fuck.

In that brief moment, Chaam peered into the man’s soul.
Black. Fucking black.
Not brown. Not grey. Black. No redemption. Kill on the spot. This was law.

Dammit.
The man must have been fucking around down there for weeks. Who knew what sort of dark Maaskab bullshit he’d found?

Chaam sucked in a deep breath, hoping that in time his sweet Maggie would heal. And with more time, grow to forgive him.

“Chaam? What’s going on?” Maggie’s panicked voice echoed through the chamber.

Christ no.
“Leave, Maggie!” He did not want to have to execute her father right in front of her.

Confusion swept across her face the moment she registered the sight of her father gripping a large dagger. “Daddy? What are you doing? Why is Itzel tied to that altar?”

Chaam swallowed. She’d obviously just figured out her father was not right. “Maggie, honey, just leave—”

“Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare call me ‘honey’! Not after what you did!”

“What did you do to her?” Her father took one step forward with his trembling knife. “Did you touch my daughter?”

Oh hell. The man was going to attack, and Chaam’s mind was ten steps ahead. Step ten, destruction. Him. Maggie. Their hope for a future. It was one thing to kill her father, but it was another to make her watch.

Perhaps he could convince the man to come quietly.

Maggie’s father turned away toward the altar, raised the knife, and jerked it toward the young woman’s heart. Chaam lunged and caught the knife just in time with one hand. With his other free hand, Chaam wrenched the man’s neck. Blood poured from a tear at the base of the man’s skull as he fell over the woman on the altar. His red syrupy liquid flowed onto her face and she gurgled in horror, then passed out.

Suddenly, a violent wind kicked up inside the chamber behind him. Chaam watched in terror as a black empty vortex sucked Maggie inside.

“No!” He leapt forward, reaching for Maggie.

Horror filled her face as she reached for him, too, and for a brief moment, their eyes met. So many unspoken words passed between them. She knew Chaam was sorry for what he’d done, and she forgave him. “I love you,” her eyes said.

She loves me?

She slid away, disappearing into the darkness.

Wherever she was going, he would join her. He would not pass one second of his existence without her, without being able to tell her he loved her back.

He lunged forward and slammed into a cold, dark wall.

The portal closed.

Chaam’s heart turned a million shades of darkness.

Sprawled out on the floor, Chaam’s head lolled from side to side. Maggie was gone. Maggie was gone. Maggie. Was. Gone. And mind-crippling rage was first on the scene. Self-loathing, the second to arrive. And third…

“Found him!” Cimil stood at the bottom of the steps, happy as an evil clam, pointing at Maggie’s father’s lifeless body.

“Fucking hell, Cimil,” he groaned.

“Wow.” She rolled her head and surveyed the room. “Looks like you had quite the shin-diggedy-dig party. Didn’t know bloodbaths were back in fashion. Personally, I’m tired of mud, so yippy! It’s my lucky day!”

She was always so damned evil. And late. “Where the hell have you been?”

“I stopped to have this frock-o-licious ensemble made. And by
made
, I mean I stole it.” She now wore an elaborately beaded white dress. “My mariachi suit was a loaner, and el Señor Trumpet had a wedding gig. But lucky me, I found this. Boy, did that bride look pissed. Maybe Señor Trumpet will loan her his outfit.” She grinned. “So, you need some help, yes?”

He scraped himself up off the grimy, blood-soaked floor and charged. She moved to the side, away from his open claw, but wasn’t fast enough. He slammed her against the wall. “Fuck you. This is your fault. You were supposed to find Maggie’s father.”

“Yeah. Funny you should mention that,” she grunted. “I actually took a peekee-poo into the future and saw all paths led to this one. No escape.”

He released her. “What are you saying?”

Cimil rubbed her neck. “This was Fate’s plan all along. You were meant to lose Maggie.”

Her words crushed his very soul. “No. This can’t be right. Fate wants me to suffer?”

“Yep! But there are many paths forward potentially ending in your happiness.”

He braced his two arms against the wall next. The air no longer wanted to enter his lungs, but the darkness did. This entire place was saturated with it, and his agony only seemed to amplify the potency. No wonder Maggie’s father had turned evil. But there might still be hope for himself. Maybe. He wanted to fight. “What do you mean?”

“What I mean is I can reunite you with your precious mortal.”

Could she? Cimil was known for her deception. That said, she
was
the Goddess of the Underworld. Her powers were an enigma, even to the gods.

“How?” he asked.

“Simple.” Cimil gyrated her hips.

Un-fucking-believable.
“Are you dancing?”

Still circling her hips and staring off into space, she replied, “Uh-uh. I’ve got a Hula Hoop contest tonight. I’m gonna win this time. I can feeeel it!”

Chaam raised his open hand. “I don’t know what a Hula Hoop is, but you’re not winning shit without your head.”

She stopped her strange little dance and then rolled her eyes. “Fine! I will prevent Margaret from crossing over into the eternal light of the universe where she would be recycled—perhaps into a tree or a bullfrog or a chicken potpie. Or a very naughty clown. One never knows. Then we will find a way to reunite the two of you.”

“Are you telling me she’s… she’s…” A black cloud besieged him, and in that moment, the invisible shackles which had compelled him to protect the mortal world for thousands of years, snapped. Every. Single. Fucking. One of them.

“Maggie is dead?” Chaam sank down. He’d never imagined such emptiness and despair could exist inside him. It was like a cancer fed by his rage. A rage that would never cease until he had her back.

He now understood the true meaning of torment. He now understood Maggie’s father.

“Tell me what to do,” he mumbled.

“How far are you willing to go?” Cimil crouched in front of him. A sinister twinkle gleamed in her eyes.

“I would do anything.”

“Peachy! There are two options. One, you reopen the portal with the tablet—good luck with that, by the way—it’s nearly impossible.”

“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?”