The Dead of Winter - By Lee Collins Page 0,25

at regular intervals. The murmur of voices all around them blended with the clopping of horse hooves on the street.

After a few blocks, Cora paused and stamped her feet. "I hate walking," she said. "Just our luck to catch the only train left in the world that ain't got a livestock car."

"Don't you worry none," Ben said. "Them boys at the hotel livery will take right fine care of Our Lady."

"Ain't her I'm worried about, it's me. Won't do to show up at the good Lord's house all worn out and ragged. Old Father Baez might take us for vagabonds or some such."

Ben started walking again. "He'd be more than half right if he did."

They made it to the church just before dusk. Red sunlight made the golden cross atop the bell tower shimmer, and Cora paused for a moment to admire it. As pretty as it was, she'd never understood why some churches chose gold over silver. Sure, the gold was more valuable, but no demon or monster had succumbed to a golden bullet through the heart.

"Well, let's go see if the old man can help us out." She pushed her hat off her head. The white streak in her dark hair glowed as she smoothed down her braid.

"You go talk to him. I think I'll go scare us up a room for the night." Ben's book was tucked under his arm as his blue eyes looked up and down the street.

"Make sure it's got a good view," she said. "You know how I like to see the mountains."

Ben nodded and started on his way down the street. Cora watched him go for a moment before ascending the big stone steps. The church building, though modest, was still new, having only been built in 1865. The Vatican had commissioned it in honor of Denver's appointment as the capital of the Colorado Territory. Before its construction, Father Baez's congregation had met in a small Spanish mission on the eastern end of the city. Cora had never been there, but the way Father Baez had spoken lovingly of the new church on their last visit, she figured it hadn't been very nice.

She challenged the big front door to a brief Indian arm wrestle before earning her way inside. The smell of stained wood and resin incense drifted out of the shadows to greet her in the darkened foyer. Candles winked at her from their stands on either side of an archway that opened into the small sanctuary. Beneath her feet, thick carpet muffled the sound of her boots as she made her way inside.

Once past the arch, she looked to her right. A small marble basin stood at attention behind the first row of pews. She reached over, dipped her finger in the cool water, and crossed herself. Satisfied, she began walking down the center aisle. Solemn saints watched her progress from their painted windows of red and purple and yellow. Their rich colors were fading with the daylight, shifting from a dazzling display of light to a soft evening glow. Candles burned atop iron stands at either end of each row of pews, casting their pale light toward the rafters. In front of her, a crucifix hung above the altar, illuminated by rows of candles on either side. A purple sash hung down from the Savior's arms as He looked skyward in pious agony. To the left of the altar, the water in the baptismal font reflected the orange candlelight.

The smell of incense grew stronger, mixing with the sweet scent of candle smoke as she approached the altar. She knelt before the crucifix and crossed herself again, bowing her head in reverence. The carpet was soft on her knees, so she lingered for a bit, savoring the silence.

"What can I do for you, child?" a voice behind her asked. A grin blossomed on her lips as she turned to face the voice's owner.

Father Baez stood in the aisle, his hands clasped in front of him. His white hair and beard were bright above his black vestments, making him look a little like a candle himself. The look of concern on his face melted into a wide smile when he saw her face.

"Ah, Cora," he said, stepping forward and holding out his arms. "It is good to see you again."

She accepted his embrace, stooping a little in the process. Father Baez was one of the few men in the world shorter than her. "I'm surprised you remember me, Father."

"Well, I don't

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