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would come after her, after the unicorn, after them both. Meeks wanted the black unicorn; the stranger
had been right about that. That meant that the stranger might have been right about the dreams as well.
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And that, in turn, meant that the stranger might really be Ben.
A twinge of desperate longing raced through her, but she brushed it quickly aside. There was no time to
consider the possibility now. The black unicorn was in immediate danger, and she had to do something to
help it. It was clearly waiting on her, depending on her, and expecting something from her. She had to
find out what.
There was only one way. She knew it instinctively. She would have to touch the unicorn, expose herself
to its magic. She would have to open herself to its vision.
She breathed deeply, slowly, trying to steady herself. The sudden fear she experienced made her
queasy. She was proposing the unthinkable. No one touched a unicorn and was ever herself again. No
one. Oh, yes, she had touched the fairy creature already a brushing against its body as she slipped the
golden bridle in place and a clinging as she rode it to safety from that meadow. But both times she had
been barely aware of what she was doing; it had all been something from a brief, wondrous dream that
might never have been. What she would do now was entirely different, willful and deliberate, and she
would be risking everything she was. The legends were uniform. Unicorns belonged to no one but
themselves. Touch one and you were lost.
Yet she was going to do it anyway. The decision had already been made. The black unicorn was more
than a legend out of tales a thousand years old, more than the dream that had drawn her on, more even
than the reality of its physical being. It was an inescapable want that was an integral and undeniable part
of her, a mystery that she must solve. The emerald eyes of the creature reflected her most secret urgings.
She could keep nothing of herself hidden. Her own body betrayed her, its need for the unicorn an
irresistible force. There was desire in her that surpassed anything she had ever known. The dangers that
the black unicorn might pose, imagined or real, paled beside such desire. She had to solve its puzzle,
whatever the cost. She had to know its truth.
She went hot and cold and she felt feather light as she rose and started forward. She was trembling, the
horror and the anticipation mixing within her in equal measures, driving her reason from her, and leaving
only her need.
Oh, Ben, she thought desperately! Why aren't you here?
The black unicorn waited patiently, an ebony statue in the dappled shadows, eyes locked on Willow's.
There was a curious sense of its both not and always being mirrored in the sylph as if it were her most
carefully guarded wish, projected into being from her mind.
"I have to know," she whispered to the unicorn as she stood at last before it.
Slowly, her hands came up.
* * *
The meadow, once grassy and bright with wild flowers, lay in ruins, a charred, smoking stretch of barren
earth amid the forest trees. Questor Thews stood at its edge and peered futilely through the haze. He was
covered with dust and ash, his tall, stooped figure more ragtag in appearance than ever, gray robes and
colored silks singed and torn, harlequin leather boots scuffed and smudged. That last exchange of magic
between Meeks, the demon, and Edgewood Dirk had sent him flying. The wind had been knocked from
him, and he'd found himself resting rather precariously in the branches of an aged crimson maple, an
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object of great delight for the squirrels and birds nesting there. Abernathy, the kobolds, and the gnomes
were nowhere to be seen. Ben Holiday, Willow, and the black unicorn had disappeared. Questor had
climbed down from that maple and gone searching for them all. He hadn't found a one.
Now his wanderings had brought him back to where he had last seen any of them. And none of them
appeared to be here either.
He sighed deeply, his owlish face lined with worry. He wished he knew more of what was going on. He
accepted now that the stranger who claimed to be Ben Holiday was in fact who he said he was; the man
who appeared to be Ben Holiday was in fact Meeks. The dreams Willow, Ben, and he had experienced
had been, in fact, the creations of his half-brother, all part of some bigger plan to gain control over
Landover and the magic. But acceptance of all this gained him nothing. He still didn't know what the
black unicorn had to do with anything nor did he understand yet what plan Meeks was trying to
implement. Worst of all, he didn't have any idea at all how to find any of this out.
He rubbed his bearded chin and sighed again. There had to be a way, of course. He just had to figure it
out.
"Hmmmmm," he mused thoughtfully. But his thinking produced nothing.
He shrugged. Well, there was nothing more to be accomplished by standing about.
He started to turn away and found himself face to face with Meeks. His half-brother had reverted to his
normal form, a tall, craggy figure with grizzled white hair and hard, dead eyes. Dark blue robes cloaked
his body like a shroud. He stood less than a dozen yards away, just a step or two back in the trees from
the clearing's edge. The black-gloved hand of his one good arm cradled the missing books of magic close
against his chest.
Questor Thews felt his stomach lurch.
"I have waited a long time for this moment," Meeks whispered. "I have been very patient."
Dozens of random thoughts rushed through Questor's mind and were gone, leaving only one. "I am not
frightened of you," he said quietly.
His half-brother's face was unreadable. "You should be, Questor. You think yourself a wizard now, but
you are an apprentice still. You will never be more than that. I have power you never even dreamed
could exist! I have the means to do anything!"
"Except catch the black unicorn, it appears," Questor answered bravely.
The dead eyes flickered briefly with rage. "You understand nothing not you, not Holiday, not anyone.
You play a game you cannot win and you play it poorly. You are a distraction to be removed." The pale,
creased face was a death mask. "I have endured exile and a disruption of my plans all brought about
by you and this play-King and neither of you understands yet what it is that you have done. You are
pathetic!"
The dark robes seemed to twitch where the right sleeve hung empty. "Your time in this world and life is
just about over, half-brother. You stand alone. That prism cat no longer threatens me. Holiday is helpless
and abandoned. The sylph and the black unicorn have nowhere left to run. Your other friends are already
mine all but the dog, and the dog is of no consequence."
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Questor felt his heart sink. The others were prisoners all but Abernathy?
Meeks smiled now, a cold, empty smile. "You were the last possible threat to me, Questor. And now I
have you."
Questor stiffened, anger pushing back his fear. "You do not have me yet! Nor will you ever have me!"
The other's laugh was soundless. "Won't I?"
His head inclined slightly, and dozens of shadows slipped from behind the trees all about him. The
shadows materialized with the light into small, crooked children with pointed ears, wizened faces, and
scaled bodies. Pig snouts sniffed the forest air and serpent tongues slipped between rows of sharpened
teeth.
"Demon imps!" Questor exclaimed softly.
"Rather a few too many for you to do much about, wouldn't you say?" His half-brother's words hissed at
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