Yield, Book One, Killing the Iron Horse Series

Chapter One

Romy stared at the traffic light. The sun beat on the dark leathers, and she wavered both shoulders, trying to adjust under the incessant heat. The bike vibrated under her ass, and she patted the gas tank. A rare 1942 Harley Davidson XA 750, it had taken her almost a full decade and three jobs to restore it. Army green, with a light orange seat, the bike was her baby.

She'd driven the bike across the US seven times, through Canada once, and currently was heading for Mexico. Staying in one place proved impossible, her need to travel hard to resist.

The light turned and she eased forward. Following the on-ramp to the freeway, she headed south. It was almost time to change into the much lighter suit, with the vents at each joint.

The sun dropped low on the horizon, and she yawned. The sign for a low-end motel flashed in neon colors, and she pulled off. Ten minutes later, she unhooked the custom-made saddle bags, locked the bike down, and trudged into the room. It wasn't much different to the others, tattered bedding, stained sink and tub, threadbare carpeting, and outdated wallpaper. All she needed was a place to shower, and clean sheets to lay her head.

She checked for bed bugs, and satisfied they didn't inhabit the room, Romy settled in. A hot shower, and an oversized t-shirt for pajamas, she turned on the ancient TV, finding a favorite show.

She sat up, having fallen asleep with the TV on. Waiting, she heard it again. A hard bang. At first thinking it was someone having sex in another room, she rolled to her side.

Another bang, and she got out of bed. Pulling on a pair of worn sweatpants, she opened the door a couple of inches, and watched as a man dressed in biker leathers hightail it to the other side of the hotel. Blood covered his upper body, and the sounds of sirens echoed off buildings in the city.

Shutting the door, Romy sighed... Decisions, decisions

*

Life with Lisa had been... unusual. Romy's mother often told of the fated vacation that ended with her pregnant. She wasn't even sure who Romy's father was, only that five shots of tequila, and a fuzzy memory of a one-night stand resulted in her greatest achievement.

They'd moved around the country, every two years a new house, a new town, a new school. Lisa had men come and go, but never permanent. The world had turned topsy-turvy after scientists created a worm hole in the forties, allowing two universes to interact. Creatures once only fodder for books had come through, Lovecraft's worst nightmares, and beloved creatures of different legends, flooded the world in the short moments the wormhole was open.

Lisa often lamented fantasy authors were born with precognition, and thinking it was a fiction tale, told the future.

The only problem with her belief was Grandma Pearl.

*

Romy paced, knowing she could go to the police, and with a bit of concentration, give them information to solve the murder. She'd waited, and as the body was loaded into the coroner's van, she'd seen the young woman watching. Her abilities depended on the situation. As she'd worked her way through puberty, one ability after another developed. The strongest was necromancy. She could speak to the dead, had the ability to raise a dead body and control it, and see when death was imminent.

She'd decided a long time ago not to interfere when she wasn't directly involved. The murder of the young woman had a path to follow, and jumping into it could cause events to go awry.

Lying didn't stop with death. A hard lesson learned.

Arms folded under her breasts, she waited. The chill of the night air managed to keep her still, and the minutes ticked by in slow succession.