It's sweat. I wasn't sure at first. I haven't been vampire that long, but I sure as hell don't 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. It's sweat, no doubt about it. I can't take my jacket off. I've got a .38 clipped to my belt. Might make the natives restless. Or excited. Shit. I glance over at my partner. He hasn't broken a sweat, so it's not the room. Even if I didn't 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 that's 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 he's noticed. He hasn't. He's busy watching for the skip, Curly Tom,