There’s something unnerving about the October north wind. It makes a wolf in the wilderness turn southward, in search of dangerous prey. It gets inside people’s ears, opening their minds to bizarre ideas. It gets under their skin, inclining them to violence.
Of course there’s the comet too, a spectacular one, tracked by ordinary people in back yards, and by not-so-ordinary cult members at the top of a makeshift observatory.
Something’s gusting into Epsom, Minnesota. A witch in her quiet house feels it with dread. A young disc jockey feels it with confusion. A world-famous Norwegian poet greets it with triumph. And Professor Carl Martell listens to its song with worry—because Martell cannot tell a lie, but he knows one when he hears it.
