“Comets were often thought to be holy portents. God’s messengers. When Lucifer, the light-bringer, fell, he streaked through the sky just like a tail of fire, it is said.”
“When will the comet be overhead in New York?”
“October eighth, about midnight,” Will said.
“That’s less than two weeks away.” Evie bit her lip, thinking. “You said that the Brethren is a vanished cult. What happened to them?”
“The entire sect burned to death in 1848.” Dr. Poblocki opened a groaning file drawer overstuffed with papers. “There had been an outbreak of smallpox, you see. Several of the Brethren died from it. Apparently Pastor Algoode became convinced it was a sign of God’s judgment and that they should prepare themselves to bring on Armageddon. No one knows exactly what happened, but they think that Algoode gathered his followers and doused the meetinghouse in kerosene—a jar of it was found in the ruins. The doors were barred. A hunter nearby saw the flames and smoke. He said you could hear prayers and hymns turning to screams.”
Evie shuddered. “How awful. Did no one survive?”
“Not a soul,” he said solemnly. “The town of New Brethren was built in the valley below, about five miles from the original camp on the hill. They say that unquiet spirits still haunt the woods of the original Brethren. They’ve heard terrible sounds and seen lights in the trees up on the mountain. No one ventures there, not even the hunters.”
Evie tried to imagine all those souls locked inside the meetinghouse, singing and praying, the mothers clutching their children while the flames raged. “Burned to death. Why would they do such a thing?”
“Why does anyone do anything? Belief. A belief that they are right and just in their actions. Abraham was willing to sacrifice his son, Isaac, because he believed that God had commanded it. To kill your son is unthinkable. A crime. But if you are acting in the belief that your God, your supreme deity whom you must obey, has demanded it of you, is it still a crime?”
“Yes,” Will said.
Dr. Poblocki smiled. “I know you do not believe, Will. But imagine for a moment that you believe fervently that this is truth. In this framework, your actions are justified. Glorified, even. They are inculpatus—without blame. If this is the case with your killer, then he is on a holy mission, and nothing will stop him from seeing it through.”
“What is this?” Evie asked. She had turned to the last page in the Book of the Brethren, which had been torn out. Only the ripped edges remained.