behind black veils, but she couldn't help feeling thankful that hers was not one of them.
"What did Father Davidson say about it?" she asked.
"Well, he was a little vague. He hadn't heard of this wendigo himself, but as it turns out, several members of his congregation are from an Indian tribe."
"Indians?"
"Yes," Father Baez said, nodding. "According to them, the wendigo is a mythical beast from their own folklore. From what I understand, it's a cannibalistic ghoul that devours the flesh of humans due to a never-ending hunger in its own belly."
"I figured that much. How did old Jules get himself turned into one?"
"It seems a wendigo is created when one person eats the flesh of another person to avoid starvation. The moment they swallow their first bite, a demon begins to twist them from their natural shape, slowly turning them into the creature you saw in the mine the other day."
"So you're saying that old miner was a cannibal?"
"At some point, yes." Father Baez glanced at his hands for a moment. "You said he had a habit of hunting at night, correct?" Cora nodded. "I suppose he must have shot someone one night, mistaking them for an animal. Wanting to cover up his mistake, he took the body back to his cabin and cooked it anyway. Then, when he ate it, he began turning into the monster."
Cora shook her head in wonder. Jules Bartlett a cannibal, and now some kind of cannibal demon. She wondered what Sheriff Jim Barnes would say when she told him about it. Probably that he had known it all along.
"Did these Indians happen to know how to lick the wendigo after it's changed?" she asked.
The priest nodded again. "Yes. Wendigos are vulnerable to silver weapons, but the silver must have the blessing of an Indian shaman."
"No, that ain't right," Cora said. "I filled that thing full of my blessed silver bullets, but it ain't dead yet."
"Your bullets were blessed by a Catholic priest," Father Baez replied. "Although the silver in them was able to injure the wendigo, without the proper blessing, they couldn't finish it off."
Cora made a face. "Why's that? Ain't a blessing a blessing?"
"Apparently not." Father Baez shrugged. "Father Davidson's parishioners said that only the blessing of one of their shamans could make a silver weapon effective against the creature."
"So I couldn't get one of the tribes around here to do the blessing?"
"Most likely not. Even if you were able to find a willing tribe, I doubt it would be effective. The wendigo isn't common in these parts of the country. Too warm, from what I understand. It's a demon of the cold and the snow, and this part of the country is too hot for them to flourish."
"You clearly ain't been to Leadville during the winter," Cora replied. She pondered this new information for a moment, then sighed. "I reckon I ought to make my way out to Boston, then."
Father Baez smiled. "No, that won't be necessary. Father Davidson promised to send out a shipment of blessed bullets as soon as possible."
"Really?" Cora's eyebrows arched in surprise. "What makes him so generous?"
"The Indians in his congregation were very upset by this news. The wendigo is one of the most feared creatures in their society. When Father Davidson told them of our problem, they immediately asked one of their shamans for help. The shaman wanted to come out and deal with the problem himself, but Father Davidson managed to convince him that there was a perfectly qualified hunter already working on the problem."
"And this shaman already had him some silver bullets?"
"Well, no," the priest replied, "but Father Davidson had some spares on hand. Not many, mind you; maybe two dozen at most. You'll have to use them sparingly when they arrive."
"Well, don't that beat all." Cora folded her arms. "Did this shaman happen to mention how many it should take to kill this wendigo?"
"No more than one or two, I understand. The blessing is quite powerful."
Cora nodded, marveling at the innovations of evil. No matter how many monsters she and Ben put to rest, something new always managed to spring up. It was almost as if the Devil took it as some sort of challenge. They had battled his minions for well over fifteen years now, yet he still managed to toss something new their way every once in a while. This wendigo was certainly a fair sight different than anything they'd seen before, even needing its own special type of blessing. Still,