Winter's Shadow Read Free

little more than spit and faith keeping that roof up. You’ll be fine so long as you’re careful. Dammit!’ Exhausting his supply of keys, he let the chain and lock drop back against the door. ‘I must have left the key back at the centre.’
    Winter walked up the steps. ‘Do you mind if I try?’
    A little bemused, Mr Denning handed her the keyring. ‘Suit yourself.’
    Winter grasped the padlock and inserted a small brass key. It turned as easily as she expected it would, and the chain clattered to the ground. Startled by the sound, a flock of birds took flight from the bank of trees behind the church. She watched them disperse, ragged black shapes against a blue sky.
    ‘I must have missed that one,’ Mr Denning said, frowning, as he took the keyring back. Winter shrugged nonchalantly. Locks always opened beneath her touch. It was a trick that bordered on uncanny, though one she’d grown so used to that she was barely aware of it any more.
    She took a step back as Mr Denning pushed the front doors inward to reveal the dark interior. A gust of stale air rushed out of the belly of the church, like a breath that had been held for a long time. A slight shiver of fear rippled up the back of Winter’s neck, and she scolded herself for being chicken.
    ‘Now, I hope that camera of yours has a flash – there’s not much light to see by in there.’
    Winter raised the Nikon hanging around her neck. ‘I should be fine.’ Though, if she was perfectly honest with herself, she was beginning to feel anything but fine. Watching Mr Denning open that door into the darkness had unsettled her. She should have brought a torch along.
    ‘Okay then,’ Mr Denning nodded, twisting off the small brass key she’d used to unlock the chain. Before she could take it from his pudgy fingers, he drew it back, imparting one last warning. ‘Mind what I said about the roof. Be careful in there. I’d stay to keep an eye on you, but I gotta man the phones back at the Centre. Besides, you don’t look like you need a babysitter.’
    Winter took hold of the key and slid it into her jeans pocket, thinking he was wrong about that. Mr Denning may not have been the best company, but he was company nonetheless. She didn’t relish the idea of being left alone in the woods, with this ancient dark church.
    ‘No problem, Mr Denning. Thanks again. I’ll drop the key off when I’m done.’
    ‘You do that. Be sure to lock up.’ He frowned at her. ‘What publication is this for again?’
    ‘The
Trinity Times
. It’s our school newspaper. We’re doing a story on heritage buildings in The Bluff, and my editor wanted some photographs to go along with it.’
    Mr Denning shrugged. ‘
Trinity Times
? Never heard of it.’
    Winter wasn’t surprised. Nobody read the
Trinity Times
except for geeks like Harry and perhaps some of the teachers. Winter hadn’t bothered to read it herself until Principal Sorensen had suggested she join the publishing team as a photographer.
Suggested
wasn’t really the right word – Sorensen had more or less told Winter that if she didn’t work with Harry and the other newspaper dweebs for extra credit, she was in danger of flunking. Academic probation, she’d called it. To Winter it felt more like blackmail.
    ‘Be sure to send me a copy. I’m sure Mrs Danvers would like it for her bulletin board.’ Mr Denning began walking towards the path leading through the woods to the Heritage Centre. He paused at the edge of the clearing to wave goodbye. ‘Hope you get what you’re looking for, Miss Adams.’ And with that he turned and set off along the path.
    I hope so too,
Winter thought as she watched the woods swallow him.
    Above the trees, a cloudbank the colour of fresh bruises loomed. If she didn’t finish up here soon, she was going to get drenched on the journey home.
    With that in mind, Winter turned back to the dark doorway, took a deep breath and entered Pilgrim’s Lament.



Chapter 2

    Winter drew her jacket