Mixali reined in his mare, slowing her to a walk as the thick forest to either side of the narrow, muddy road began to thin, old, gray stumps scattered amongst the leafy maples and slender aspens. The young braeddis fey sat up tall in the saddle, his large, pointed ears swiveling as men's voices drifted through the thinning woods, accompanied by the sounds of horses and manual labor--the scrape of a pitchfork, the crackle of straw, the gurgle of running water. He reached back and tucked his long, striped tail up under his sweatshirt before raising the hood. It wouldn't matter--a single glance and anyone could tell he wasn't human--but maybe it would keep the staring to a minimum. Clicking his tongue behind his sharp canines, he urged the mare forward, out into the late afternoon sun.

      Set back from the road, surrounded by dark, manicured lawns and meticulously sculpted trees, stood the Shady Glade Hotel--nine stories of blue-gray stone and glittering glass--an oasis of modern architecture in a seeming wilderness. Turning down the long, paved drive, he listened to the staccato beat of the horse's hooves ringing from the flagstones. It sounded like she might have a loose shoe.

      As he neared the entrance to the hotel, a young human in a neat, dark blue uniform emerged through the brass and glass double doors. Squinting into the sun, he smiled up at Mixali as the fey pulled the mare to a stop.

      "Welcome to the Shady Glade Hotel," the young man said. "May I take your horse? Do you need assistance with your luggage?" Mixali swung down from the saddle and handed him the reins.

      "Thanks," he said, ignoring the way the human stiffened at the sight of his fur covered hands. Mixali lifted his battered leather satchel down from the back of the saddle. "I can get this," he said, shouldering the bag and digging into his jeans pocket. He pulled out a bent gold coin and handed it to the young man. "Could you get somebody to look at her shoes? I think one of them might be loose."

      "I'll have our farrier take a look right away," the human said, pocketing the coin before leading the mare around the side of the building. Mixali hated to spend what little money he had, but he'd learned that people treated him better when they thought he had money to throw around. He nodded politely to the doorman, pretending not to see the curious looks he got as he strode across the lobby and into the hotel restaurant.

      Only a handful of the tables were occupied, but only by couples or groups. Except for one tired-looking whore at the far end, the bar was deserted. Mixali checked his watch--he was nearly twenty minutes early--and then his phone--no messages--before taking a seat at the bar, the tips of his claws ticking as he tapped his fingers against the polished wood, even though they were mostly retracted. He hoped he hadn't missed his contact.

      "What can I get you?" the bartender asked, wandering over. He was a tall, silver-skinned demon with pale, curling ram's horns and curly blonde hair.

      "Beer, please," Mixali said, glancing over his shoulder toward the door. "Whatever's on tap." He watched the demon retrieve a glass from the shelf behind the bar and wipe it out with a towel. "You didn't notice a mage in here earlier, did you? He might have been looking for somebody."

      "Not today," the demon said, setting the glass of dark, foamy beer on the bar. "That'll be three laenes." Mixali dug into his pocket again, laying the tiny silver coins on the counter. That took him down to less than a third of what he needed. What the hell was he going to do?

      He reached out for the glass, a tremor running down his arm and making his hand shake. Not again. He pulled his satchel around into his lap and dug into the bag, a breathless gasp escaping him as his entire body jerked. Sharp, stabbing pain raced down his spine and he yanked out handfuls of stuff--socks, soap, matches, string, a bag of oats, a shriveled apple--before finding a small, glass jar with a burned piece of cork blocking the mouth. Pulling the cork out with his teeth, he dumped the contents out into his hand. Three little green pills lay against his dark, hairless palm. Three little green pills were all that stood between him and a slow, painful death.

      Tossing one of the pills to the back of his throat, he washed it down with a long swig of bitter beer, carefully dropping the two remaining pills back into the bottle. The pain began to ease almost instantly and he began to gather his things back into his satchel, well aware of the way the bartender and whore were now staring at him.

      "You dropped something."

      Mixali glanced over his shoulder at the sound of the man's voice, surprised to see a tall, handsome human bending over to pick up an escaped pair of Mixali's socks.

      "Thanks," Mixali said, taking them back from him and shoving them into the bag. The man smiled at him and took a seat beside him. He was very handsome, his skin bronzed by the sun, his hair shoulder-length and jet black, except for a couple wide streaks of bright white, and his eyes completely mismatched; the left one blue-green and the right dark, rich brown. He wasn't quite what Mixali had been expecting, but he supposed this guy could be the mage.

      "Are you looking for me?" Mixali asked.

      "Depends," the human said, signaling to the bartender. "Are you looking to buy a horse?"

      Mixali sighed and turned back to his beer. "No; I have a horse." He sipped his drink while the human ordered a glass of whiskey. He glanced at his watch again, and then at the door.

      "Don't you just hate waiting for people?" the human asked and Mixali nodded, turning back to face the bar. He supposed he shouldn't be so anxious; it wasn't like he could pay the mage when he got there--Mixali glanced at the human, weighing his dislike of that naked, furless skin against his desperate need for money.

      "Say, I don't suppose you're in the mood for a whore," he said, hiding his discomfort with a long drink.

      "You?" the human asked. Mixali nodded. "Depends." Mixali waited as the man sipped his whiskey. "Will you take a horse as payment?"

      "Can't," Mixali said. "I need cash."

      "You and me both," the guy said. "Sorry, but I'll have to pass."

      "That's okay," Mixali said, staring down into his half-empty glass. After a moment, he asked, "So, where'd you get the horse?"

      "I got two of them," the human replied. "A pair of geldings. Took them from a couple of highwaymen. They tried to rob me, so I killed them and took their possessions. I don't suppose you're in the market for a slightly used cutlass or rifle?" Mixali just stared at him. he looked dead serious, but he couldn't be. After a moment, the guy glanced at him and chuckled. "Just teasing," he said, picking up his drink and rising from his seat. "It was nice talking with you." Mixali watched him walk across the restaurant and take a seat at a small table in the back corner. With a sigh, he shook his head. Humans were so strange sometimes.

      Mixali glanced over at the door again, his long tail no longer content to remain hidden beneath his sweatshirt. It slipped free, swinging back and forth, the long, silky hair trailing from the tufted tip sweeping along the floor before he was able to catch it and pull it around into his lap. He could hear the murmurs behind him, the words too muffled to make out, and he quickly tucked the end of his tail into his pocket, his ears flicking beneath the hood, trying to catch what was being said. He tugged the hood farther forward and hunched his shoulders over his beer, his claws tapping against the side of the glass as he waited.