Accidentally...Over?: Accidentally Yours 5 (35 page)

Ashli stood in the bathroom, staring at the face of a stranger in the mirror. The light brown skin and turquoise eyes seemed familiar somehow, but she had no memory of them.

“Ashli! Oh my gods!” A young redheaded woman, also with turquoise-green eyes, burst into the room.

“Who are you?” Ashli asked.

“Oh, dammit.” The redhead looked at the strange, tall lady with blonde pigtails who’d brought her to this house. “What happened?”

The blonde shrugged. “I was sitting at Club M-Brace, going through my playlist for tonight when she walked in, demanding I make her forget Máax. Of course, I knew who she was and told her no, but then she forgot and asked again. Then again.” She paused. “And again.”

“So you wiped her memory? Really?” the redhead asked.

“I know better. The newly heartbroken are completely
irrational. But then she lost it and jumped me. Little bursts of something flew from her palms and triggered my powers. It was an involuntary reaction.”

The redhead’s eyes opened wide. “From her hands? Was it painful?”

The blonde shook her head. “It felt good. Really, really good.”

“I don’t have a clue, but we don’t have time for this.” The redhead covered her face and groaned. “Oh, gods, what a mess. Can you undo it?”

“I’m the Goddess of Forgetfulness, not the Goddess of Memory Recovery.”

“Ashli?” The redhead looked straight at her. “What were you thinking?”

“Am I Ashli?” Honestly, she had no idea.

“Yes!” The redhead sighed loudly. “Oh, Ashli. What have you done?”

“I honestly don’t know. So my name is Ashli? Really?”

The previous evening, Emma confirmed Máax’s worst fears. But how had Ashli found his sister—what’s-her-face—in the first place? What a damned mess. And if he ever got his hands on Brutus, he’d rip that blockhead’s arms from his body.

Well, Máax had had enough of this
stercore de bovem
and was ready for his trial this morning. He needed this to be over quickly and to fix things with Ashli, not to mention actually
fix
Ashli. Yes, his freedom was paramount, and come hell or high water, he would get those damned votes to change the laws. He was not going down without a fight, even if it meant betraying one if his own.

Timothy knocked on the glass of Máax’s cell. “Ready, sir?”

Máax nodded.

“Sir?”

Right. Timothy couldn’t see him. “Yes, Timothy. Ready.”

A short walk and elevator ride from the underground prison brought Máax to the Court of the Gods. It looked very much like one might imagine: At the head of the room, fourteen empty marble thrones sat behind a long stone slab table on an elevated platform with neoclassical Roman pillars to either side. An aisle ran the center of the room, between ten rows of stone-carved bench seats, and a solitary wooden chair (for the person on trial) sat toward the front.

Máax took his seat as did Cimil and Zac. They would both go on trial today, too, and they sat behind him in the first row. When Ashli entered, looking her usual ravishing self in a simple black dress, he felt his entire being illuminate. It was such a relief to see her face, to know she was near, even if she did not remember him. He took a deep breath and tried to remain focused; everything rode on his words today.

One of the Uchben guards announced the gods, and the packed room rose to their feet while the deities settled in.

Penelope, who looked like she’d just swallowed Bees’ hat, took her seat toward the middle of the long table next to her husband Kinich. She wore plain jeans and a T-shirt, and her dark hair was pulled back into a neat braid. Kinich, who was standard deity size, also wore a no-frills outfit—jeans and a tee. Both looked like they were displeased to be there. Who could blame them? The two had
gone through their own turbulence recently. They probably wanted to be at home in bed, enjoying the fact that the end of the world was not coming after all and their baby would be born into a life filled with an eternity of love.

The remaining gods took their places, and Penelope turned on her iPad with a heavy sigh. “I hereby open the proceedings against the deity known as Máax, who has been accused of violating the sacred laws of—dammit!” She threw down her stylus and scowled at Kinich to her side. “This is total bullshit! Why are we doing this? We all know Máax doesn’t belong on trial.”

Kinich reached for her hand. “Honey, we talked about this already.”

“No! I talked this morning. You ignored me.”

Kinich scratched his golden scruff. “I merely tried to explain that these are our laws. I created them to protect humans from our abuse of powers.”

“Oh, I get it. Your giant bloated man ego doesn’t want to admit that you made a mistake, is that it?” she fumed.

Kinich’s turquoise eyes shifted to black. “N-n-no, honey. I just…”

“You just what? Want to see Máax disappear forever? All because he saved a few thousand Payal women, tried to stop the apocalypse by rescuing Ashli, and did a bunch of other nice stuff like killing an incubus, saving your sister Ixtab from being stuck inside a portal, and gods know what other selfless crap? Really?”

Kinich gnashed his teeth. “Our laws are—”

“Laws shmaws!” Penelope barked. “We’re changing them. This is bull crap!”

“But—”

“But nothing,” she interrupted. “You and I lead the
House of Gods; you and I are husband and wife.” She cupped his cheek and lovingly gazed into his eyes. “Haven’t you learned, baby, that there’s nothing we can’t do together? We’re meant to change the world. And it’s time for the gods to evolve.”

Máax smiled. Penelope was a gods’ send. Such a smart, smart woman. And a perfect match for his brother.

Fate rose from her seat at the end of the table in her belted little dress and white boots, looking like her usual snotty, uptight self. “Well, you need a unanimous vote to change a divine law, and you’re not getting mine. Our laws have worked just fine for tens of thousands of years, and I see no need to change them simply because it’s convenient.”

She is so predictable. Well, here goes.

“Are you sure about that, Fate?” said Máax.

Fate glanced at him or the chair, he wasn’t sure. “Of course I am.”

“Because,” he said, “our laws state that they can only be changed by a unanimous vote of all fourteen deities. You are not a real deity, are you?”

The room collectively gasped, and Fate’s face paled. “I-I have no i-i-idea what you mean,” she stuttered. Her eyes shifted from side to side.

“Fate?” Penelope said. “What’s Máax talking about?”

Sitting behind Máax, Cimil raised her hand. “Ooh. Ooh. I know! Call me. Call me!”

Penelope looked at Cimil, then at Fate. “Fate?” But Fate looked at the floor. “Okay, Cimil… I call on you.”

“Did I say something?” Cimil’s eyes widened innocently. “I think it was Máax’s turn to speak.”

Penelope grumbled, “Máax? What’s going on?”

“Don’t you dare, Máax!” Fate barked.

“Fate is not a deity,” he said. “She’s a fake.”

Ashli watched with fascination as the strange drama unfolded. The redheaded lady, Emma, had insisted she come to this trial this morning. Why? She didn’t know. She didn’t know a lot of things, actually. But she did know she’d gone off the deep end because this could not be real. The people who sat at the front of the room were a combination of surreal and beautiful, bizarre and scary. The men, all the height of basketball players, were the most gorgeous male specimens she’d ever seen and built like armored tanks. The women were ten times prettier than any Victoria’s Secret model, but dressed in everything from summer frocks to beehive hats. The courtroom was also filled with a strange brew of individuals—more large, beautiful men (many in leather pants), soldiers in black who looked like mercenaries, and a few hundred women of all shapes and sizes standing in the back. But what boggled her mind most was how all eyes were glued to an empty chair… a chair that spoke.

I must be seeing things.
And one might assume that would be enough to win the prize—an extended vacay in a pretty padded room, but oh no. This was like that Magic Bullet infomercial she’d just seen on television this morning.
But wait! That’s not all. There’s more!

So what was “more”?

Ashli wanted that chair.

Yes. Wanted. And
not
as in, she wanted it for her dining room or kitchen. Oh no. She wanted it like a woman wanted a man. From the moment it spoke, she ignited and
a strange frenzy of lust flooded every inch of her needy, crazy body.

If it’s the last thing I do, I will sit on that chair and show it my naked body.
Yes, something about the chair’s voice engulfed her in a spell of seduction and temptation.

Yep. I’ve ingested shrooms. If only I could remember why. Drugs are so uncool. Dirty martinis on the other hand… I think I like those.

But regardless, she wanted that damned stinking chair.

The chair spoke again, and she held her breath as did everyone else inside the room, though she suspected it wasn’t for the same reason.

“Fate,” said the chair, “was born of divine origins, as were we all, but she is not divine, only immortal.”

Fate, with her short white skirt, and bows and arrows, pointed at Máax. “Liar!”

Máax laughed with a deep, hearty chuckle. “Fate, this is your chance to come clean. I suggest you do so—perhaps the court will take mercy on you.”

Fate’s blue-green eyes narrowed. “I have no idea what you mean,” she said innocently.

“So be it,” he said. “Everyone, Fate cannot see one’s fate, guide one toward their fate, or create fate. She has absolutely no powers and never will. She has been faking it all along, lying to everyone.” That, in itself, was a punishable crime given that Fate had consulted on thousands of matters during summit meetings over the millennia. They had based many important decisions on her words.

“That’s a lie!” Fate stood from her chair.

“Nope! No it’s not. Fate is a lying, evil cow.” Cimil clapped. “Why do you think I like her so much?”

“Shut up, Cimil!” Fate barked. “You crazy bitch.”

Penelope held out her hands. “Whoa. Fate, is this true? You have no powers?”

Fate became very silent, but Cimil chomped at the bit to spill the tattletale beans. So she did. “According to my sources, Fate is a dud. A bad egg. The Universe has rejected her. In fact, she’s no more powerful or divine than a regular old human, except that Fate will live forever.”

“How do you know this?” Penelope asked.

“Well, that my friends, is the furry little dingleberry all its own, the rotten stench to be revealed shortly as I’m the next batter up. But if you want proof, simply ask Fate to show us her gift.”

“That proves nothing!” Fate screamed. “K’ak still awaits his flagship gift. Zac just found his. Not having a gift does not mean I’m not a deity.”

“So you admit you’ve been lying? You have no powers?” Penelope asked.

“I admit nothing. And may I remind you that I’m not the one on trial here. Máax is!” Fate huffed.

“Yes,” Penelope agreed, “but for a law that’s outdated, unjust, and should be changed.”

“Well, you still need fourteen votes to change a sacred law,” Fate pointed out, “and the way I see it, you’re not getting it. With or without me.”