Mary Jo Putney.

Guardian.

Stolen Magic.

In memory of Cheryl Anne Porter, with her grace, intelligence, and killer punch lines, and to Carol Morrison, my role model for selflessness and generosity.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS.

My thanks to all the usual suspects, including John, for his understanding when my brain was lost in the eighteenth century, and my sister Estill and my friends Pat Rice and Susan King, who are very patient with my whimpering when the book isn't going well. Thanks also to the triptych of editors who made this possible: Betsy Mitch.e.l.l, Linda Marrow, and Charlotte Herscher.Finally, my thanks to Susan Scott for guidance on matters eighteenth century.

Chapter.

ONE.

MONMOUTHSHIRE.

As the Earl of Falconer, Simon Malmain traveled with an entourage of carriages and coachmen and most certainly his valet. As the chief enforcer of the Guardian Council, he walked alone, a darker shadow in the night.

The sky was dark with clouds, perfect for secret deeds. Simon wore black, even his fair hair covered by his tricorne hat. Not that he feared Lord Drayton, whose powers were less impressive than his ambitions, but a wise hunter left nothing to chance.

His horse had been left in a convenient field so that Simon could approach Castle Drayton unnoticed. He 'd studied the castle from a distance and spoken with a former servant, who had fled Drayton's service in fear of his soul. The master of the house was in residence, recently returned from London, where Drayton held a cabinet post. Simon had considered confronting him in the city before deciding that this remote area was better. If there was a magical battle, the fewer who might be affected, the better.

The castle stood on a rocky rise cradled in the bend of a small river that ran into the Severn. The original building had been updated and expanded over the centuries, but its site remained an imposing hill chosen to repel attacks. Soldiers would have a hard time penetrating the castle. Simon didn't.

He met the first barrier near the top of the hill. It was a warning shield of surprising competence. Drayton must have been practicing. Simon sketched a series of symbols with one hand. A man-sized hole opened in the energy sh.e.l.l. He stepped through and closed the portal behind him, undetected. Though he could have taken the wards down entirely, there was no reason to warn Drayton prematurely.

The next barrier was the closed gates. Luckily a small side door cut through the wall, its position largely concealed by overgrown vegetation. Its bespelled lock was no match for Simon. He hushed the squeal of the door and closed it soundlessly behind him. Best to leave it unlatched. He doubted he would have to leave in a rush, but he never took anything for granted. Enforcers of Guardian law who made a.s.sumptions were unlikely to die in bed.

In the shadow of the wall, he used his inner senses to study the courtyard. A pair of bored guards stood watch in the turret that loomed above the castle gates. In a peaceable England, that marked Drayton as a most suspicious man. The product of a guilty conscience, no doubt.

Before entering, Simon scanned the keep. At this hour most servants were asleep in the attics or the stables, a separate building behind the castle. He wrinkled his nose in distaste as he felt the energy of the establishment. It was crude, corrupted, with most of the residents either fearful or brutish. He felt the quicksilver touch of a lighter female energy, perhaps a very young maidservant. He guessed she would soon have reason to curse her parents for putting her into service under Drayton. Perhaps literally under. Still another reason to confront the man, before he could do more damage.

A corner chamber on the second floor was brightly lit, and he sensed that Drayton was working there. The man's energy was untroubled; he didn't realize his castle had been breached.

Cloaking himself in a don't-see spell, Simon crossed the courtyard and ascended the steps to the keep. There was no reaction from the guards in the turret. If they noticed him, it was only as a shadow.

The lock on the door to the keep was old and primitive, easy to open. He stepped into the absolute darkness of the entry hall. After pausing to check that the s.p.a.ce was devoid of any living presence, Simon conjured a spark of mage light in his palm. He kept it dim, just enough to illuminate his path across the great hall and then up the broad stairs. His blood quickened as he ascended, knowing that the end of the hunt was nigh. Though he acted by will of the council to enforce the laws of the Families, the hunt itself fulfilled an ancient, more primitive need.

Cracks of light outlined the door to the corner chamber. The k.n.o.b turned easily under his hand. As he had guessed, the room was a study, richly furnished and well lit. Lamplight glinted from gold-leaf decorations on the furniture and the frame of the mirror above the fireplace.

Simon wasted little attention on the furnishings. What mattered was Lord Drayton, the man behind the magnificent desk that faced the door. His powdered wig and brocade garments would not have been out of place at the royal palace.

Simon had found his prey.

Drayton raised his head at Simon's entrance. There was no shock in his expression. Only . . . a trace of satisfaction? Surely not.

"If it isn't the esteemed Lord Falconer, dressed as a highwayman," Drayton said dryly. "I've wondered when you would come after me. I expected you sooner."

"I take my time when I collect my evidence." Simon's voice was cool, but a warning bell sounded in his mind. It wasn't natural for a mage to be so relaxed when confronted by the Guardian Council's enforcer. "Not that it was difficult in your case. Lately you've made little attempt to conceal your transgressions of Guardian law."

Drayton leaned back in his chair, playing idly with the quill of his pen. "With what am I charged?"

Simon pulled a folded doc.u.ment from an inside pocket and dropped it on the desk. "Here is a listing of what I know and can prove, though I have no doubt there is much more. You have used your power with greed and selfishness, and injured many innocents in the process." He shook his head, still amazed at the other man's callousness. "How could you encourage the Jacobite rising, knowing how many would die? Didn't those sundered souls cause you pain?"

"Not particularly. Few of the dead were any great loss to mankind."

Simon clamped down on the anger triggered by the other man's words. Loss of control would put him at a disadvantage. "I suggest you consult the charging doc.u.ments. If there is anything you would like to dispute, now is the time."

Drayton skimmed the pages. "Admirably thorough." His brows arched when he read the last page. "I didn't think you'd discover that. Well done. You're a credit to your lineage." He dropped the papers back on his desk. "As you suspected, this is not a complete list of my wicked deeds, but it's quite enough for your purposes."

This interview was going all wrong. Drayton acted as if he was invulnerable, yet his magical power had never been more than average. Silently Simon began to scan the room, seeking dangerous anomalies. Aloud, he said, "As you know, there are two stages of censure. You freely admit that you have violated Guardian laws. Are you prepared to swear on your blood that you will never do so again?"

Drayton smiled lazily. "You can't imagine that I will do that."

"And if you did, I can't imagine you keeping your word," Simon said dryly. "You leave me no choice but to forcibly strip your powers from you."

"Strip away, Falconer." Drayton's eyes narrowed. "If you can."

Simon hesitated a moment. The process of destroying another person's magical powers was not pleasant for either party, and was very seldom invoked. His intuition was also on high alert-Drayton's reaction to this confrontation made no sense. Simon detected a very small thread of energy running from Drayton to an unknown destination, but nothing else was out of order. Why was the other man so confident?

Drayton stretched a magic-hazed hand toward a desk drawer. Seeing through the spell, Simon stared incredulously as the other man pulled out a pistol. Did Drayton really think such a crude defense would be enough to protect him from justice?

With a swift gesture to channel the energy, Simon destroyed the pistol's internal mechanism-and in the same instant, he was blasted by a magic power unlike anything he had ever experienced. Every fiber of his being was under attack, ripping asunder.

As he gasped for breath, he realized that he was falling, unable to save himself, much less fight back. Drayton had pulled the pistol to distract Simon from the real attack. But where the b.l.o.o.d.y blue h.e.l.l was the b.a.s.t.a.r.d getting such power? This was immense, far greater than anything the rogue had ever shown. Such power didn't come from nowhere.

He managed to evoke his inner senses and was startled to see that the fine thread of energy he'd seen attached to Drayton had become a river of fire. Raw power poured into Drayton, who channeled it into searing waves that enveloped Simon. Agonized, he thrashed about on the floor, feeling as if he were burning alive. His limbs were being torn and reforged as in a blacksmith's fire. His pulse hammered in his ears, almost drowning the sound of Drayton's laughter and a strange, ripping noise.

He tried to muster his own power but he was overwhelmed, voiceless magically and physically. His mind was fracturing, clarity melting in Drayton's magical flames.

"I have waited a long time to do this, Falconer," the other man hissed. "In your arrogance, you thought you could take me. Instead, I am taking you."

More energy scorched through Simon, shocking as a lightning bolt. Was this death? But he had always thought death would be a quiet welcome, not this h.e.l.l of agony and flames.

The last jolt of transforming power knocked him into blackness. Then, mercifully, the pain began to ebb away. Guessing that he had been unconscious only a moment, he struggled to regain his feet. But his body was unfamiliar, awkward. He was pushing himself up not with arms, but-with forelegs?

Wondering if he was dreaming, he forced himself upright, and saw that his view of the room was curiously distorted. But no dream could feel so real. The scents of books and ink and dust were sharply intense, and he ached in every muscle.

He turned, and almost tripped over his own feet. His body was no longer his own. He looked down, having to turn his head to see. Impossibly, he saw four cloven-hoofed legs tangled in black fabric-the torn remnants of his clothing. Fighting panic, he looked around and saw that Drayton was visibly gloating.

Fear washed through Simon as he recognized vicious malice in the other man's expression. He backed away from Drayton, his tail lashing.

His tail?

Frantically he swung his head, somehow managing to bang his forehead on the bookcase behind him.Ignoring the pain, he stared into the mirror above the mantel.Looking back at him was a shimmering white unicorn.

Chapter.

TWO.

Simon gazed at his reflected image with horror. He saw no trace of himself, only a mythological creature with a pale coat, a silvery horn, and frantic eyes. The tail that lashed reflexively was long with a tuft of hair at the end-a lion's tail, not that of a horse, though he had a horselike body and flowing mane. It wasn't his head that had banged against the bookcase, but the spiral horn that rose bizarrely from his equine brow.

Despite the evidence of his eyes-eyes on the sides of his head, not in front-he had trouble accepting what he saw. Could Drayton have created an illusion so vivid it seemed real?

"You don't believe it, do you?" Drayton laughed. "You've become a legendary beast-one that will give me more power than any Guardian who has ever lived."

Simon felt the menace thicken suffocatingly. There was something important that he had studied about unicorns, but his mind was not working properly. The knowledge he needed lay just beyond comprehension.

"If you have enough wit left to understand your situation, you might want to say your prayers, Falconer." With a whispered word and a hand gesture, Drayton lay a binding spell over his victim.

Bands of pure energy spun around Simon, immobilizing him. Drayton gave a nod of satisfaction before turning his attention to other spellwork. It took only one long, murmured incantation to cause a braided circle of light to shimmer into view, enclosing Drayton and Simon within its circ.u.mference.

Simon's hazy mind recognized that Drayton had prepared in advance for a complex act of ritual magic, so he needed only a handful of commands to bring the spell to full, dangerous life. That knowledge triggered Simon's memory of unicorn lore: if a unicorn was slain by ritual magic, its horn would become a matchless instrument of power. Drayton intended to kill Simon and harvest the horn, removing an enemy and enhancing his own power at one stroke.

Rage suffused Simon. He began to fight the energy bonds that immobilized him, but they pulled tighter as he struggled.

His horn. A unicorn horn had magical properties. He swung his head around and stabbed the spiral into one of the energy lines that bound his hind legs. The tip of the horn sc.r.a.ped his leg painfully, but the line snapped. With short, sharp stabs, he severed the other bindings until his legs were free. Furiously, he charged at Drayton, horn lowered for battle.

He almost managed to impale the renegade mage, but Drayton dived behind the ma.s.sive desk, throwing up a defensive shield at the same time. Simon stabbed at the shield without effect several times before he realized that Drayton was muttering another spell. It was time to leave.

He leaped across the study with a single bound, feeling a vicious shock as he broke through the ritual circle. But without hands, he couldn't open the door. After an instant of confusion, he spun around and bucked, using the full, coiled power of his body to slam his rear hooves into the door. The latch shattered. As he bolted from the room, he saw that he'd left deep cloven hoof marks in the elegant panels.

He reached the top of the staircase in seconds, then skittered to a halt, almost falling headlong. How could he go down the steps without breaking his legs or his neck? Backward? He tried to a.n.a.lyze the choices, but his mind was still fractured, unable to work properly.

"d.a.m.n you, Falconer!" Drayton's furious shout came from the study.

As magic thickened around him again, Simon unleashed instinct and sailed recklessly down the stairs in three bounds, relying on luck and four-legged balance to stay upright. As he thundered across the wide hall toward the entrance, a cl.u.s.ter of half-dressed male servants ran into the hall from a side door, blocking Simon's exit.

From above, Drayton shouted, "Stop the beast, but don't kill him!"

Simon lowered his head and charged. All of the servants but one scattered in fear. The exception grabbed a chair and brandished the legs in Simon's face. A horse would have backed off. Simon swerved just enough to hit chair and servant with one powerful, muscled shoulder. The chair shattered and the servant was knocked howling into a wall.

This time when Simon reached the door, he knew to spin and buck. The solid wood was much heavier than the study door and it didn't give at once, but he could feel it shudder under the impact of his furious hooves.

A dozen booming kicks broke the latch. Simon pivoted and shouldered his way out. The courtyard was a dozen steps below. He soared to the ground in a single leap. His rear hooves and legs stung from kicking the wood, but not enough to slow him down.

The gates in the outer wall were ma.s.sive and towered far above his head. He swerved to the right, glad he'd left the postern door unlatched. Since it opened outward, he could leave easily-except that he banged his head into the frame, not used to the dimensions of his new body. He ducked, then bounded through the door, feeling the momentary bite of the wards on his hide.

Free of Castle Drayton, he galloped headlong down the hill, reveling in the power and amazing speed of his unicorn form. He was free. . . .

He was in a prison of dark magic. The small part of him that was still Simon fought the mindless exaltation of speed. He must plan, plan, what to do-yet the beast within yearned only to feel the wind in his mane and the turf beneath his swift hooves.

Knowing how visible his shimmering white coat was, he raced at top speed into the nearby forest that ran west into Wales. When he was a safe distance from the castle, he halted and took shelter under a tree, panting less from exertion than from shock.

With black humor, he allowed that he had a right to be shocked at his present state. At least he had escaped certain death for the time being. He found that despite his mental disorientation, he could still reason, albeit slowly and with difficulty. He was unsuccessful at recalling the mathematics that he studied for amus.e.m.e.nt, but memory of the events of his life existed. He was still more or less himself.

Could he break the transformation spell? He tried to summon his magic, but without success. Worried, he experimented to see if he could perform a small spell. Mage light came naturally to him-he'd created it in the cradle. Now, nothing. He tried other small spells with an equal lack of success.

How could he live a life without magic? He refused to consider the possibility. Somewhere was a solution that would return him to himself. He just needed to find it.

He rubbed his head against the tree that sheltered him. Thinking gave him a headache-a unicorn brain wasn't designed for rational thought. Which meant that he must think as much as possible in order to keep his humanity alive. The powerful, disciplined mind of Simon Malmain was in danger of being overwhelmed by the animal body he inhabited.

The annihilating rage he'd felt during his escape from the castle was completely unlike anything he'd experienced in human form. He had always been known for calm and the ability to keep his head under all circ.u.mstances. Now that calm had vanished as thoroughly as his human form. He flicked his tail with uneasiness, and then despised himself for the animal gesture.

What did he know about unicorns? They were considered legend, but legends often had a basis in reality. Tradition said that unicorns were fierce fighters and so wild it was impossible to capture one alive. They could outrun all other creatures, which was fortunate since the precious horn was so valued that hunters would trap and slaughter unicorns whenever possible. So perhaps unicorns had existed and been hunted to extinction. Whatever the truth, he was a unicorn now.

Were there female unicorns? Not that he'd ever heard of. Perhaps the horn was too powerful a sign of masculine potency for the myths to consider unicorns as anything but male. Or maybe the females of the species were hornless and hence of no value to the hunters, so they had disappeared from legend.

Slowly he began walking again, evaluating his new body. He felt swift and powerful. Even if Drayton sent riders in pursuit, Simon doubted any horse could catch him. He raised his head and sniffed the cool night air. His senses had become more acute. The scents of the forest had a layered density he'd never experienced before, and his hearing and vision were sharpened.

His stomach rumbled. What did unicorns eat? He imagined a beef roast, then shuddered. No meat. Gra.s.s? He twitched his nostrils, and realized that the patches of greenery under his feet smelled rather good. He lowered his head and began to graze. Not bad, though he would prefer a bucket of oats if he had the chance. He found that grazing soothed him, which also cleared his thinking a little.

What should he do now? Even if he could make his way unseen to the home of a fellow Guardian, he doubted that he would be recognized. Simon imagined himself scratching a message in the dirt with a hoof, and was sickened to realize that he couldn't remember how to shape words. Reading and writing were now beyond him, a loss as profound as that of his ability to perform magic.

Might a highly empathic Guardian sense his human essence? Perhaps a close friend like Duncan Macrae or his clever wife might recognize Simon, but they were far away, in Scotland.

His aching head could come up with no better plan than to stay in the area until he better understood his choices. Could he confront Drayton and force the man to release him from the spell? How the devil could he do that-stab Drayton with his horn? As if the renegade mage would stand still to be impaled!

Wanting to outrun despair, Simon abandoned his grazing and moved deeper into the forest. He increased his pace to a swift canter when he found a narrow, seldom-used track. He needed time . . . time to understand this change, to a.s.sess what power he still wielded.

Would he have time enough before the beast nature overwhelmed what was human? Heart pounding, he broke into a gallop and blazed into the forest.

Dark clouded nights were the best for poaching. The two roughly dressed men had done well and now they were heading home, game bags full. Hearing the sound of hooves, they wordlessly drew into the shadowed trees that lined the forest track.

Voice almost inaudible, the shorter man whispered, "What kind of fool is out ridin' at this hour, Ned? And at such a speed?"

Ned shrugged, wondering if the rider might get thrown and break his neck. He and Tom weren't no thieves, but if a man died right in front of 'em, they wouldn't refuse fortune's gift.