Chapter 1

? “Hey, man! Nice tail!”

Mateo smiled, not simply because he appreciated the compliment, but because the person who made it, who was dressed as a purple wolf, didn’t know it was real. The tip of his tail twitched in delight, and Mateo hoped no one else saw it, or if they did they simply chalked it up to a trick of the light. The Alabaster Springs Convention Center was well lit, but the wandering crowds cast plenty of shadows. This was the fourth Northern Nevada Con-fur-ence Mateo had attended, and it grew every year.

There were many felines and panthers there today; some were dressed as small domestic cats or lynxes, and others were lions and tigers and leopards. Mateo noticed a few people who might also be black jaguars, but unlike them, Mateo was the real thing. Descended from an ancient line of Maya shamans, known by most as the nagual, Mateo could do what nearly every furson in that convention center wished they could: turn into an animal. His tail was a remnant of his lineage, but his grandfather had been the last to have fuzzy jaguar ears instead of human ones. Mateo counted himself lucky, since hiding the tail was a pain in and of itself.

The Con-fur-ence was where Mateo could be himself, for the most part. Prowling the panels as an actual jaguar would have caused more trouble than he liked, but his headband ears, paw slippers, and fingerless gloves with paw pads on the palms were enough. He had even altered his pants so it looked as though his tail were a mere fake sewn onto a more realistic location than his belt loop.

This was also where Mateo had found his passion: comic artistry. At his first Con-fur-ence, he had attended a few art panels and found that he wasn’t bad. The anime style demonstrated at his first panel didn’t quite suit him, but he was able to adapt more contemporary styles he learned from later panels with the blocky traditional style of his ancestors to create his own web comic based on old tales and myths from his culture.

Mateo checked his watch. Eleven-forty-five, fifteen minutes before the next art panel was scheduled to begin. His stomach clenched. That wasn’t enough time to make it to the front of the line, or even the middle. He rushed towards the display room, praying he could squeeze into one of the last few seats.

* * * *

Dazi dodged out of the way as someone dressed all in black with fuzzy slippers ran past him. Nearly every fake-skin he had encountered so far was bizarre. They made odd noises at each other, hugged like characters one might see on a show for toddlers, and some of the costumes were downright baffling. This one hadn’t been in a full costume, as Dazi had assumed everyone would be, but it wasn’t his appearance that made Dazi do a double take, it was his scent.

“Do you guys smell that?” He sniffed, turning his head to follow the scent. “It smells…odd…”

“They all smell odd,” Kesi said, rolling her eyes. “It reeks of sweat and faux fur in here.”

That wasn’t what Dazi meant. Everyone else smelled positively dull compared to this. Dazi knew the scent of every member of their tribe, and this was closer to their scent than anything else, but it was different in a way Dazi couldn’t explain. There couldn’t be other skin-walkers here. As far as he knew, their tribe was the only one of its kind.

The Mukua’poan had kept their secret for generations. All its members were bound by centuries-old laws. Even so, Outsiders could be particularly nosy, and there had been several occasions when the tribe’s shamans had to step in and deal with people who learned too much. However, this convention had had the Mukua’poan on edge since it began. Nothing had happened so far, but Dazi and his friends didn’t want to wait and find out the fake-skins’ intentions when it was too late.

Kesi had the sharpest nose, though Dazi’s sense of smell was nearly as sharp as his eyes. Only Kesi’s younger brother, Tommo, had better eyesight, which he used to scour the hall. “None of them appear armed,” he said. “That is, unless you count a few fake swords and wizard staffs.”

Kuhma snorted. “All for show. These fake-skins couldn’t cast a spell if you crammed Nattusu’s entire storage of herbs down their throat and set them on fire.” He rubbed at his ears. “I wish I knew which ones are making the squeaky noises. It’s getting on my nerves.”

The same could be said for the itchy hat Dazi had on. He was wearing the same fake wolf ears as Kesi, since they couldn’t find anything that accurately resembled his mountain lion ears and they were the closest thing they had to coyote accessories. Kuhma had been lucky that the vendor had a headband with full antlers and buck ears, but Tommo had only his lucky feather talisman, since they couldn’t find anything related to eagles at that booth, and they weren’t comfortable venturing farther in to the hall. All four of them were also hesitant to purchase things they would only wear once, but they thought such apparel would be necessary to blend in with the fake-skins. However, if there wereother true skin-walkers amidst these pretenders, Dazi wanted to meet them.