Jeanne Stein - Chosen

Its sweat.

I wasnt sure at first. I havent been vampire that long, but I sure as hell dont remember sweating since becoming one.

Drops of moisture pool between my shoulder blades, soak my underarms, collect between my breasts, making a soggy mess of the blouse underneath my jacket.

A new blouse.

Its sweat, no doubt about it.

I cant take my jacket off. Ive got a .38 clipped to my belt.

Might make the natives restless. Or excited.

Shit.

I glance over at my partner. He hasnt broken a sweat, so its not the room. Even if I didnt have a constitution that is impervious to ambient temperature, the air conditioner in this dump is cranked up to ice age.

I start to squirm on the barstool, impatient to get out into the air. Impatient to escape.

Escape?

What?

What the hell is happening?

My temple throbs, like my head is in a vise. A vise thats being slowly tightened.

Great.

I swipe a hand across my forehead. It comes away wet. I sneak a look across at David to see if hes noticed.

He hasnt.

Hes busy watching for the skip, Curly Tom, the reason were stuck in this dive.

I look around, too.

But not for the skip. Something is wrong. I dont know what.

David takes a break from skip alert and peers at me over the rim of his beer bottle. I feel his eyes on me like an irritating swarm of gnats buzzing around my head.

I look up at him and bark, What?

Youre squirming like a worm in shit. You not happy to be here?

Like I should be? Im burning up and my insides are quivering like a Jell-O shooter. Then theres Lance, tall, blond and sexy, waiting for me at home. No, I dont want to be here. I frown at David. You said wed be done by ten thirty. And yet, here we areI glance at my watchat eleven, in a place reeking of stale beer and ripe biker. Bumfuckville, David.

He drains the bottle and motions to the barkeep for another. Eyes on the prize, Anna. Twenty thou.

So where is he?

David swivels on the barstool, takes a slow, lazy look around. Dont worry. Hes coming.

Sos Christmas. I want to go home.

Its my turn to read Davids expression. Aggravation mingled with frustration.

Weve only been here an hour. Whats your goddamned rush? He leans back, his elbows on the bar, facing the door. Let me guess. That scrawny model boyfriend of yours is waiting for you at the cottage. Am I right?

Lance is not scrawny.

Whats he weigh? One-seventy soaking wet? I dont know what you see in him. In a fight, hed snap like a matchstick.

Oh, David. Would you be surprised. Lance is a vampire, like me, and if it came to a fight, hed be the one doing the snapping. I force a smile. Hes lean, David, not scrawny. Comes from not consuming a carb in the last fifty years. Not every man is a pituitary case like you.

A flash of irritation tightens the corners of his mouth. I immediately regret my snarky remark. David is big, true, but a former football player whos kept in shape. Hes my partner and friend, and he didnt deserve the crack.

I rub at my eyes with the palms of my hands. Its this damned headache.

I have a headache now?

How can a vampire get a headache?

David swivels his stool away from me and focuses his attention back to the doora deliberate cold shoulder. Not that I blame him. I dont try to mitigate his snit. Instead I focus on whatever the hell is going on in my body. The head ache has turned into an annoying hum and the stomach quiver into a clenched fist. Granted, Ive been a vampire for less than a year, but Im pretty sure we dont get the flu.

Which is what this feels like.

I rub at my eyes again and look around, trying to focus. This is a biker bara real biker baron the outskirts of Lakeside in east San Diego County. Run-down, no flashing neon beer signs in the windows to attract customers. No windows at all. No back door. Probably be in violation of a hundred fire codes if it wasnt classified as a private club. Sawdust crunches underfoot, absorbing spilled beer and the occasional body fluid. Some wise guy has tacked a Health Department rating code of F above the bar.

Members wearing the colors of the local Angels chapter slouch at the bar or shoot pool under the glare of a green-shaded light. The only reason David and I have been left unmolested and unchallenged is because we know the president of the club. We did him a favor a few years back and hes repaying the debt.

He was only too happy to oblige. The guy were after isnt a biker. Hes a pain-in-the-ass wannabe who robbed and shot a dealer in L.A. and skipped bail. Hes been hanging around the bar, bragging about his score, thinking it might gain him access to the club. Trouble is, the prez knows its only a matter of time before the cops trace him here. Hed rather we get him first. Saves the club the trouble of dealing with Curly Tom.

Good for us. Better for Curly Tom.

With us, its a payday and hell end up in jail. With the club, its self-preservation and hell most likely end up in a shallow grave in the Anza-Borrego desert.

I let my gaze sweep the room. No one seems to be paying us the slightest bit of attention. Most know why were here. But I feelsomething. Anxiety. Apprehension. Dread.

Why? Over this jerk, Curly Tom?

Makes no sense.

David and I are bounty hunters. Weve done jobs like this a hundred times. Weve faced tougher guys than this joker. And that was before I became vampire. Having superhuman strength and speed tends to boost ones confidence.

So if Im not experiencing this foreboding over Curly Tom, what is it?

The humming in my head grows stronger.

Thats when it hits me.

The last time I felt anything like this, a witch was behind it.

A witch.

The thought propels me off the barstool. The abrupt movement brings David to his feet, too. He looks around, right hand moving instinctively to touch the gun under his jacket.

Is he here? Do you see him?

I shake my head. No. Hes not here.

I look around.

But something is.

David glances around to see how much attention weve attracted with my vault off the barstool. The noise level remains the same, and except for the biker next to David who got bumped when he leapt up, no one seems to have noticed.

That guy is not happy. Beer drips off the elbow of his leather jacket. Hey, asshole.

David mumbles, Sorry, man, and signals the barkeep for another round.

The guy shoots off his stool, but when hes standing next to David, who is six inches taller and built like a tank, he shrugs and accepts the beer with a grudging nod.

David waits for him to sit down, then turns his frown on me, Whats the matter with you?

I settle my butt back on the stool. If I told him what was the matterthat I think a witch might be trying to put a spell on meI imagine the reaction would be the same if I told him his partner was a vampire. And had been for almost a year.

Not an option.

What is an option is for me to get the hell out of here and find out who, or what, is after me.

Time to go on the offensive. Ten minutes, David. Ill give it ten more minutes. Then Im gone.

He opens his mouth to object but snaps it closed again, his eyes on the guy who just pushed his way through the door. There he is.