Mercedes Lackey - The Chrome Borne (SERRAted Edge, #1 & 4)

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

Born to Run copyright (c) 1993, Chrome Circle copyright (c) 1994 by Mercedes Lackey and Larry Dixon

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.

A Baen Book

Baen Publishing Enterprises

P.O. Box 1403

Riverdale, NY 10471

ISBN: 0-671-57834-0

Cover art by Clyde Caldwell

First printing, October 1999

Distributed by Simon & Schuster

1230 Avenue of the Americas

New York, NY 10020

Typeset by Brilliant Press

Printed in the United States of America

Dedicated to J.R. and Shirley Dixon, Ed and Joyce Ritche, and to all parents with the vision to listen to what kids really wish forand help them find it.

Thanks to the music of Icehouse (and to Iva Davies for being the visual inspiration for Tannim), a-ha, Midnight Oil, Rush, Kate Bush, Alan Parsons, Thomas Dolby (hope you get the keys to her Ferrari), Edvard Grieg, Shriekback, David Bowie (past and present!), Billy Idol (for visceral fight-scene music), Mannheim Steamroller, the Floyd, Michael Hedges, and the entire Narada Artists catalogue, especially David Arkenstone and David Lanzwe could never have done this one without you!

Special thanks also to Kevin Barry's Pub and Acadia Restaurant (run by none other than the sparkling Trish Rodgers!), Trish Rodgers herself, the Buccaneer Region SCCA, Roebling Road raceway, Professor Russ Barclay (for drilling grammar into Larry's thick artsy skull lo these many years ago), and the faculty, staff, and students of Savannah College of Art and Design (for backing a long-haired hippy-freak dark horse).

"Excuse me?" said a low, sexy, female voice.

Tannim jumped in startlement, and turned to face the barn doorand froze as he saw who was standing there. His mind lodged on a single thought, unable to get past it: It's herit's herit's her

And it was: the woman who had haunted and hunted him through his dreams for years. The woman he'd dreamed of this morning. Her. And she stood there, calmly taking in his look of utter shock.

There was absolutely no doubt of it; she matched his dreams in every detail. Gently curved raven-wing hair framed a face that he knew as well as he knew his own. Amused emerald-green eyes gazed at him from beneath strong brows that arched as delicately as a bit of Japanese brushwork.

"Excuse me," she said again in that throaty contralto. "... but I understood that I could find someone here who works on Mustangs."

He looked past her and spotted her black Mustang standing in the midst of the tall grass outside the barn door. "Notfor a long time," he said dazedly.

"Ah," she replied. Then her eyes widened as she looked past his shoulder, and she stepped back in alarm.

Fear lanced him. He whirled to look. There was nothing there.

He turned back, and she was already gone. And so was her car.

Only then did his mind click back into gear, as he sprinted to stood where the car had been. There was the imprint of four tires in the grassbut no track-marks leading up to them. There was no sign that the car had actually been driven through the grass to reach that spot, and there had been no sound of a motor.

She was haunting him still, it would seem....

OTHER BOOKS IN THIS SERIES

The SERRAted Edge

Born to Run
Mercedes Lackey & Larry Dixon

Wheels of Fire
Mercedes Lackey & Mark Shepherd

When the Bough Breaks
Mercedes Lackey & Holly Lisle

Chrome Circle
Mercedes Lackey & Larry Dixon

Urban Fantasies

Knight of Ghosts and Shadows
Mercedes Lackey & Ellen Guon

Summoned to Tourney
Mercedes Lackey & Ellen Guon

Bedlam Boyz
Ellen Guon

ALSO BY MERCEDES LACKEY
FROM BAEN BOOKS

Bardic Voices: The Lark & the Wren
Bardic Voices: The Robin & the Kestrel
Bardic Choices: A Cast of Corbies
(with Josepha Sherman)

Fortress of Frost & Fire: A Bard's Tale Novel
(with Ru Emerson)

Prison of Souls: A Bard's Tale Novel
(with Mark Shepherd)

The Ship Who Searched
(with Anne McCaffrey)

Wing Commander: Freedom Flight
(with Ellen Guon)

If I Pay Thee Not in Gold
(with Piers Anthony)

A dark red Mustang perched beside the ribbon of highway, alone but for the young man resting against its door. It was an unusual sight for such a place, here where the shallow water of the wetlands reflected moonlight, and endless silvered marsh grasses whispered in the breeze. The cicadas didn't care if the man was there, nor did the night-birds, nor the foxes and raccoonsthey were used to the comings-and-goings of men in their loud machines, and would avoid him. There would seem to be no reason for him to be stopped hereno smoke or steam poured from beneath the nostrilled hood, no line of shredded rubber marked a newly departed tire. A highway patrol officer would have been very interestedif there had been one anywhere within twenty miles. And that, too, was unusual; this close to Savannah, there should be police cruising this stretch of road.

"One of these nights," griped Tannim to no one in particular, "I'll have a normal drive, with nothing chasing me, pestering me, shooting at me... no breakdowns, no detours, no country-western music, no problems. Peace, quiet, and the road. No place to go, no one to save, no butts to cover except my own."

Tannim pulled himself up onto his old Mach 1, faded black jeans shushing over the hood. Its cooling engine tick-tick-ticked, radiator gurgling softly as it relaxed from its work, the warm old American sheet metal satin-smooth and familiar. He ran a hand through his long brown hair, catching fingers in his uncountable ratty knots of curls, and snorted in cynical amusement. Casting his eyes skyward, scratching at his scalp, he said wistfully, "Man. They keep telling me, `Y'knew the job was dangerous when ya took it.' Thanks for giving me the job description after I've signed the contract, guys."

The cicadas answered him by droning on, unimpressed.

The road was deserted, the air clear, the bright country sky shining off of the curved fenders. Tiny pinpoints of light twisted into sweeping contours only to be swallowed up in the flat black intakes of the hood.

The beauty and peace of the evening softened his mood. No finer job in this world, though. When it works outwish Kestrel were here to help. He's better at this than me. Tannim thought about his old friend from high school back in Jenks, Oklahoma, with more than a twinge of regretregret for Derek's curious blend of talents, compassion, and guts. Derek Ray Kestrel was gifted not only with a sexy name but with a knack for magic that just wouldn't quit. Deke spent his time with his cars and guitars, now, and didn't do road work anymore. Guess he didn't have the stomach for it. It can get gross enough to freak a coroner. Damned if he didn't have more than just talent, though.

He gave up on his hair and adjusted his jacket, a third-hand Battlestar Galactica fatigue he traded a Plymouth carburetor kit for. Both he and the other kid thought they'd gotten the better deal. They were both right. Tannim didn't know from carbs then, and had let go of a rare five-hundred-dollar sixpack. Deke had sure given him a hard time about that! The other kid had no idea how hard the battle-jackets were to get.