The Fire Keeper

by J. C. Cervantes

  Hondo leaned over and whispered in my ear. “Dude, it’s her—the one who jammed a lightning bolt into Ixtab’s back.”

  “Quinn?” Brooks raced over. “I thought you were in hiding, undercover….”

  She gave Brooks a quick hug. “Things have changed. And you guys aren’t supposed to be here,” she said to everyone but me and Rosie. “This entrance is for Obispo and the hellhound only. In case of an emergency.”

  “It’s a total emergency,” I said. “And her name’s Rosie.”

  Quinn shrugged. “Right. Zane, you’re an idiot, and you, Brooks, you should know better than to think you can come to Xib’alb’a. If the lower-level demons get one whiff of you guys, zombie madness will break out! You want to get your faces eaten off?”

  Brooks stuck her chin in the air. “You’re here.”

  “I’m full—” Quinn stopped herself. I knew she was about to say she wasn’t a half-breed nawal like Brooks. “Come on, we need to get out of here before the next storm hits. They come every five minutes, and they get more violent each time.”

  “If it’s so dangerous, why use this place as an entrance?” I asked.

  “The six deadly houses are part of the oldest areas of the underworld,” Quinn said. “Ixtab couldn’t have you waltzing down Main Street, could she?” She smirked. “But you were supposed to use the elevator, genius.” She gave a hard stare at Ren like she was noticing her for the first time. “Who’s the girl?”

  Ren shuffled her feet. “Er…I’m—”

  “Her name’s Ren,” Brooks said.

  “I can smell she’s not entirely human,” Quinn said.

  Ren nodded like she was about to spill her guts, but before she could, Quinn added, “Okay, so three half-breeds, a hellhound, and a full…human.” Her gaze shifted to Hondo, who was smiling. Smiling!

  He pushed his hair back and folded his arms casually, but I could tell he was just trying to act cool to impress Quinn. I was pretty sure it would take a lot more than flexing biceps to impress her. “So how about we check out of Rattle Hell Hotel,” Hondo said.

  “Ixtab’s not going to like that you brought them with you, Zane,” Quinn said. “Do you know how dangerous this place can be?”

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Uh…she can’t know we’re here.”

  Quinn looked like she might grip my throat with her bare hands. “There’s no way to avoid the queen.”

  “Please, Quinn,” Brooks said softly. “We need help….”

  “No one comes to the underworld for help,” Quinn spat.

  “We do,” I said. “Please. Just get us through a gateway…without Ixtab knowing.”

  Quinn’s eyes found the map still clutched in Brooks’s hand. “That’s a pretty rare and valuable thing, little sister.”

  Brooks pushed her hair behind her ears and stood taller. “And it’s yours if you help us.”

  I wanted to shout NO! We needed that map to get home once we rescued my dad. The longer I was off the island, the higher the chances of the gods finding me. But when I saw Quinn consider the trade, I held back. It was more important to get to South Dakota. We’d figure out how to get home after. Plus, I was pretty sure Brooks had a backup plan. She was probably born with one!

  “You’d give me this map,” Quinn said flatly.

  “And then we’ll be gone,” I added.

  “Loooong gone.” Hondo mimicked throwing a football to make his point.

  Rosie practically nodded.

  Quinn eyed Hondo up and down. Then she flashed a quick glance at Brooks. “Fine, it’s your death. Follow me,” she said. “You all need some dry, warm, non-human-smelling clothes.”

  We followed Quinn to the door she’d just come from. Beyond it, an escalator ascended into the darkness.

  “Hell has elevators and escalators?” Ren said, looking up to what had to be a thousand floors.

  Hondo tapped me on the shoulder. “How do we know this doesn’t lead to Bloodsucking House or Rip Out Your Guts House?”

  “We don’t.” And with that, I stepped onto the escalator.

  We ended up in a long hallway that reminded me of some run-down hotel. It reeked like rotting beans. “What’s that smell?” Ren asked, covering her nose with her sleeve.

  “Pus River is just beyond these walls,” Quinn said. “Hang out here long enough and you get used to it.”

  “Kind of like the dairy farms back home,” Hondo muttered to me.

  Right. Except there was a big difference between cow manure and a river filled with oozing, contaminated yellow pus!

  “We don’t have to cross that river, right?” I asked.

  Hondo cleared his throat and spoke loudly. Too loudly. “A little pus never hurt anybody.” Then he turned to me and made a gagging face.

  Rosie groaned. But Quinn seemed oblivious to Hondo’s attempts to get her attention. She walked ahead at a clipped pace, her head bent close to Brooks, whispering. I’m sure they had a lot of catching up to do. They hadn’t been in contact since we were in the Old World seven months ago.

  “NO!” Quinn said to Brooks, quieting her voice a second later.

  The worn velvety carpet was purple with big dark stains, which I was way hoping wasn’t blood. The walls were made of rough stone and covered in graffiti: a massive snake biting off someone’s head (bad memories), a crazed skeleton spearing a hellhound, an enormous hairy bat baring fangs dripping with blood. At the center was Ixtab, surrounded by hellhounds, holding a decapitated head toward the stormy sky. Yeah, you could call this place Nightmare Hall.

  Quinn must have seen us staring, because she said over her shoulder, “That’s a battle scene from the old war days when Ixtab took over.”

  Ren tugged on my arm. “What do you think the chances of Ixtab being my mom are?”

  I was about to tell her she could do worse, when Quinn, still huddled with Brooks, hollered, “You can’t be serious!” She whirled to face us. “A mud person? That’s not possible!”

  “Yeah, well, that’s what people say about aliens, too,” Ren said. “And guess what? Where do you think the Maya gods came from?”

  Quinn swung her ponytail back and forth as she sauntered ahead. “Please tell me you’re not one of those people,” she said to Ren. “Let me guess. An ancient astronaut? Humans are so gullible. They’ll believe anything.”

  Ren opened her mouth to argue, when I shot her a chill-out look. She scowled, and I could tell she was battling with herself. I knew the feeling. My mouth was always a few steps ahead of my brain, too. Ren’s cheeks reddened, and just when I thought she’d gotten herself under control, she blurted, “I’ve seen pictures of the carvings on King Pakal’s sarcophagus. He’s totally driving a spaceship. His hands are on levers and his feet are on pedals. And…” she went on excitedly, “his mouth is connected to what looks like a breathing tube!”

  “Seriously?” Hondo said. “The Maya gods are aliens? That explains why the demons look so bug-eyed and they have those weird-shaped heads.”

  Quinn snorted, then mumbled to herself as she picked up her pace.

  I said to Ren, “Maybe cool it on the conspiracy stuff while we’re down here?”

  She rolled her eyes and muttered, “It’s totally true.”

  A minute later, we stood in a dim, cavernous warehouse with dark corners and rows and rows of dusty shelves. It kinda looked like Home Depot, but instead of tools and toilets, this place was filled with spears, clubs, axes, strange feathered masks and headdresses, and tiny clay statues. There was even a whole row of little golden frog figurines.

  “What is this place?” Brooks asked.

  “Junkyard Row,” Quinn said. “All the stuff no one in Xib’alb’a needs or uses gets sent here, and Clementino, the junk warden, gets orders on what to burn and when. The problem is, he’s way too nostalgic and, as you can see, he keeps more than he destroys.” She picked up an old flip-style cell phone. “It’s also stuff left over from the deceased. You wouldn’t believe what they show up w
ith in their pockets.”

  That was sort of depressing to think about.

  “We’re supposed to get our new clothes here, in a junkyard?” I muttered to Hondo.

  He just shrugged, looking around in awe. “These weapons are seriously sick! You think I could take a few?” he asked Quinn. “And maybe a feathered mask?”

  “They’re broken, useless,” Quinn told him. “Plus, touch anything in here and you’ll have a curse on your head, which I wouldn’t recommend. Maya curses are the worst—they really stick. Clementino!” she called as she stalked down one of the shadowy aisles. “Oh, where is that foolish man? Don’t just stand there,” she barked at us, “follow me!”

  We did as we were told. Even hellhound Rosie, but she totally snorted a few trails of smoke in defiance.

  “I saw that,” I whispered.

  When we reached the back of the warehouse, a small old man (and by small, I mean, like, five feet tall, hunched rounded shoulders, and skinny toothpick legs) came out of double wooden doors with painted panels showing a bloodletting ceremony. I’d read about those in my book about the Maya. In an effort to communicate with their ancestors and the gods, people had stabbed their skin to release blood.

  My guts tightened.

  Quinn took the man aside for a whispering convo. Then they came back and Clementino gave us a wide toothy smile. His teeth were humongous, like he wore a set of fake chompers size extra large. They didn’t fit in his scrawny face. Had he stolen them from some dead person’s mouth? “Time to get ready,” he announced.

  “No one’s draining my blood!” Brooks declared with a frown.

  Clementino grabbed for her backpack. “Hey!” she cried. “That’s mine.”

  “Can’t take anything into Xib’alb’a until it’s been sanitized,” he said. “It’s a serious health hazard.”

  “Uh, everyone here is already dead,” Hondo said. Luckily, Rosie was too busy sniffing around to hear the word as a command. “And I really like the shirt I’m wearing.”

  “There are worse things than being dead,” Clementino said, smacking his lips together. “Take me for example. Perfectly happy pawnshop owner until the day a dirty rotten demon decides he doesn’t like me. Next thing I know, I’m being hauled here.” With a dramatic sigh, he added, “I think he was jealous of my teeth.”

  “Sounds like a raw deal,” I said, remembering how Rosie had been whisked to the underworld, too.

  “How was I supposed to know you should never win in a poker game against a demon?” Clementino went on. “I had a straight flush and—”

  “Enough story time,” Quinn butted in. “Give him the pack, Brooks.”

  Clementino grabbed my arm and whispered, “Demons are notorious cheats—and sore losers. But you didn’t hear that from me.”

  Quinn turned to Hondo. “No one’s going anywhere in the underworld until you scrub down and get rid of that human stench.”

  “But these are my lucky boots!” Ren cried. “Can I get them back later?”

  “If there is a later,” Clementino said way too gleefully. “Who’s first?”

  Hondo’s hand shot up. Then he leaned closer to Clementino. “What exactly is a scrub-down?”

  “Agua caliente, magic foam, and a pinch of ancient bone dust,” the old man said. “I’ll have you smelling like the dead in two minutes flat.”

  Hondo groaned. “Can we not do the bone dust?”

  “Look,” I said to Clementino, “we don’t really have time for foam and dust or whatever.”

  Ren nodded emphatically. “I’m allergic to dust. Makes me have sneezing fits.”

  Quinn cursed under her breath and said, “Why do I always get the impossible tasks?” She pushed us toward some stalls with hanging curtains in the front. “¡Ándele! Get undressed in there. I’ll pick out some dry clothes for you while you bathe.”

  “Not many clothes here,” Clementino mumbled to Quinn. “I just burned all the snakeskins. And those demon hides? All gone. But I might have something….”

  * * *

  “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.

  Rosie lifted her head from the corner where she’d been snoozing (I kn
ow, who could snooze at a time like this?) and smirked.

  “What? You entered on a higher floor when you died? Well, we can’t all be hellhounds!” I argued as I planted the stupid cap on my head.

  Brooks and Ren were waiting for us back at the bloodletting doors. I could feel my cheeks getting hotter as I went over. This was so humiliating! The only thing that didn’t make me melt into the ground was the fact that Brooks was wearing the girl version of the uniform: a sleeveless striped shirt, and a hat that looked like an upside-down popcorn bucket. She and Ren were twinning, except somehow Ren’s red boots hadn’t been destroyed in Clem’s dumb fumigation process (she said it was because they were made Texas-strong). I was glad to see that Brooks’s backpack hung off her right shoulder.

  I opened my mouth to speak, but Brooks said, “Say one word, Obispo, and I’ll drop you a hundred feet.”

  Brooks was totally strong enough to make good on her promise, so I kept my mouth shut.

  Quinn called Rosie over and whispered something in her ear, and the hellhound took off running. “Hey!” I called after her. “Rosie!”

  “Stop wigging, Obispo,” Quinn said. “You’ll see her again.”

  “How long do I have to stay in this stupid uniform?” Hondo licked his finger and rubbed at a ketchup stain.

  “For as long as you’re here,” Quinn snorted. “And to be honest, even the fried-hot-dog smell and bone dust can’t cover your human scent,” she said to Hondo. “You sure you want to risk bringing him along, Zane?”

  “Hondo comes with us.”

  “It’s your funeral.”

  Quinn turned to Clementino. “Thanks, Clem. I owe you one.”

  Clementino rubbed his bone-dust-covered hands together. “A deal’s a deal. You’ll put in a good word for me? Get me into that high stakes poker game up on level six?” He flashed another toothy grin.