Free Darkest Heart by Nancy A. Collins Page A

rendezvous spot for vampire hunters, but think about it for a minute: they're open twenty-four hours and most are conveniently located near major traffic arteries, just in case you have to make that ever-popular quick getaway. Besides, given the clientele that usually occupies the orange and brown booths after midnight, customers like Mr. Estes and me barely merit a second glance

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    The parley, as arranged through Jen, is to occur at midnight, but I chose to show up a half-hour early, just in case I'm walking into a trap. I'm not surprised to find Estes already awaiting me, but I am slightly impressed.
    He's sitting alone in the farthest corner booth, his back to the wall, dressed much as I first saw him, a solitary cup of black coffee in front of him. Even in repose he's as tight as a steel spring. I have no doubt that he is armed, and I know he thinks the same of me. And he's right, of course.
    His eyes follow me as I approach, watching for telltale body language or sudden movement. His gaze flickers to my shoulder. Confusion, as fleeting as a summer cloud, crosses his face.
    "May I sit down?" I ask, gesturing to the empty bench. He nods but says nothing. I slide in opposite him.
    A waitress with a weary expression and sagging pantyhose moves to take my order. I point to my companion's drink and she returns a moment later with a white ceramic mug and a half-empty Bunn pot.
    The coffee smells of scorched grounds. Neither of us moves or speaks until the waitress has returned to her station behind the counter.
    "You are the Blue Woman." It is not a question.
    "I have been called that. My name is Sonja. Sonja Blue."
    His eyes go back to my shoulder. "I shot you the other night, but you're not wounded. Do you wear a Kevlar vest?"
    "No.
    The furrows on his brow deepen.
    "Look, forget the shooting, okay?" I say, cutting him off before he can ask anything else. "I didn't agree to meet with you to compare notes. I'm here to talk you into giving up this madness. You've been lucky, so far. But that luck will eventually fail you. Despite everything you think you know, you are in no position to truly combat these things."
    A flash of anger darkens his eyes. "Who are you to tell me what I do and don't know? I'm hardly a novice on the matter; I've been hunting these creatures for five years! I know if I shoot them with a silver bullet, they die. I know that if I take their heads, they stay dead. I know that if I touch them with a crucifix, they burn."
    I shake my head, fighting the urge to laugh. "Everything stays dead if you chop off its head. As to burning them with a crucifix, religious icons have no effect on them."
    "Mine does," he says, the muscle in his jaw jumping. I extend my hand. "Let me see it."
    Estes casts his searchlight gaze about the diner, then reaches into the interior right breast pocket of his duster and retrieves an ornately detailed antique silver crucifix measuring a foot in length. I take the relic from him, turning it over carefully in my hands. It is weighted so that it can bludgeon as well as bless.
    "I bought it from a dealer in rare objects," Estes explains. "He claimed it was a specially designed for use by the Inquisition and blessed by Pope Sixtus IV."
    "I know what it is," I reply curtly. "It was used to administer church-sanctioned beatings of heretics and those accused of witchcraft. Breaking bones with a blessed object was believed to pain the demon that possessed those under the Question and guaranteed that no imp could enter the wound after the fact." I return the witch-breaker to him, wiping my hands with one of the paper napkins from the dispenser on the table. "They burn because it's silver, not because it's a crucifix. Not even because it was blessed by a Pope."
    Estes stares at the crucifix for a long moment as if truly seeing it for the first time, then carefully returns it to its