“What was wrong with our own clothes?” Hondo shouted from the dressing room next to mine.
There was no way I was going to put on a demon hide. It was bad enough that I’d just been forced to roll around in a bunch of dead skin cells. And after that I’d had to sit in a giant clay pot filled with hot foamy water that had some very suspicious bubbles. Finally, I got peppered with ancient bone dust, and I choked so hard on it I thought I’d cough up a lung.
It was definitely a low moment.
Or at least that’s what I thought until I stood in the dressing room, wearing a gray animal pelt (which looked a lot like rat fur) as underwear, my body coated in bone dust. At least old Clem hadn’t put Fuego and my jade tooth through his “fumigation” once I told him where they’d come from.
Clementino and Quinn whispered outside the tattered drape.
“This is all you have?” she said.
“I burn the clothes left over from the dead,” Clementino said. “These came from the food court on level eight after those shameful souls went vegan.”
“I vote we exit on the vegan level,” Hondo called out. He popped his head in between the curtains separating our changing areas. “That means they won’t eat off our faces, right?”
“Pretty much.”
A second later, Clementino’s wrinkled hand popped through the closed drape. “I accidentally destroyed your clothes during fumigation. Oops. Here. You’re lucky I hadn’t burned these yet.”
I took what he offered. Lucky? “Is this a joke?” I stared down at the multicolored wide-striped polo shirt and electric-blue polyester shorts. Seriously? Quinn expected me to wear a Hot Dog on a Stick uniform?
“No way!” Hondo shouted. “This looks like something that Blue’s Clues dude would wear.”
I frowned. “You watch Blue’s Clues?”
“When I was a kid, okay? The old show!”
Okay, I know throwing on some stupid fast-food uniform with big old fat stripes was the least of my worries, but I hadn’t exactly imagined rescuing my dad in this outfit.
“You could always walk around naked,” Quinn said, not even trying to mute her stupid laugh.
Hondo and I came out of our dressing rooms at the same time in matching uniforms, except my shorts practically hung to my knees. Hondo’s shirt was too tight, and it had a ketchup smear right in the center.
Rosie lay down and buried her head under her paws. “Be glad you’re a hellhound,” I mumbled.
Quinn stood there, holding matching baseball caps.
“I don’t do hats,” Hondo said, trying to look cool.
With a sigh, Quinn said, “Fine by me. But it’s to cover any leftover scent of your hair. Bone dust only lasts so long. We could just shave your head if you prefer.”
Hondo took the hat.
Then Quinn handed each of us a pair of white sneakers. “These are the only sizes Clem had, so hopefully they fit.”
I shoved my feet into the mustard-and-grease-stained sneakers, which were a half size too small, especially on my bigger left foot.
Clementino eyed us up and down, then said to Quinn, “Too bad they can’t go see Ixchel’s apprentice. They could use sprucing up.”
I remembered reading about Ixchel, the goddess of healing, the moon, beauty, and other stuff. She was also called the lady of the rainbow. “The goddess has an apprentice for makeovers?” I asked.
Clementino nodded, stroking his white stubbly chin. “Way up on level nine, for the souls who need a little extra something. Most newly deceased people have the worst self-esteem, so they get a makeover at the spa. You know, to help them adjust.”
“Unless souls enter on the lowest level of Xib’alb’a,” Quinn said. “Then they just get their eyes gouged out.”
“Uh…what level are we on?” Hondo asked casually.
“The lowest,” Quinn said with a smug smile.