#Review - That Ain't Witchcraft by Seanan McGuire (Urban Fantasy)

Series: InCryptid #8
Format: Paperback, 448 pages
Release Date: March 5, 2019
Publisher: DAW
Source: Publisher
Genre: Urban Fantasy

The eighth book in the funny and fast-paced InCryptid urban fantasy series returns to the mishaps of the Price family, eccentric cryptozoologists who safeguard the world of magical creatures living in secret among humans.

Antimony Price has never done well without a support system. As the youngest of her generation, she has always been able to depend on her parents, siblings, and cousins to help her out—until now. After fleeing from the Covenant of St. George, she’s found herself in debt to the crossroads and running for her life. No family. No mice. No way out.

Lucky for her, she’s resourceful, and she’s been gathering allies as she travels: Sam, furi trapeze artist turned boyfriend; Cylia, jink roller derby captain and designated driver; Fern, sylph friend, confidant, and maker of breakfasts; even Mary, ghost babysitter to the Price family. Annie’s starting to feel like they might be able to figure things out—which is probably why things start going wrong again.

New Gravesend, Maine is a nice place to raise a family…or to make a binding contract with the crossroads. For James Smith, whose best friend disappeared when she tried to do precisely that, it’s also an excellent place to plot revenge. Now the crossroads want him dead and they want Annie to do the dirty deed.

And that’s before Leonard Cunningham, aka, “the next leader of the Covenant,” shows up…

 

That Ain't Witchcraft is the Eighth installment in author Seanan McGuire's InCryptid series. It is also the third book featuring Antimony (Annie) Price, the youngest of the Price family of cryptozoologists. As Annie's story continues, she and her friends Cylia, Fern, and Sam are still attempting to lie low and not be caught by the Covenant of St. George who her sister Verity declared war on in the book called Chaos Choreography.

There is more to Annie's story, but I won't get into it for fear of spoiling something for readers who haven't read the series yet. It's fair to say that Annie has made her share of enemies since leaving home without any support, but she continues to blame her sister for her troubles which I am honestly sick of. She has the Covenant who wants to bring Annie back to them, she has a group of Sorcerers from Lowryland who she pissed off, and she has the Crossroads just itching to collect on a debt she owes them for saving her life.

This story takes Annie from Ohio, where she meets monsters called Corn Blight, to Maine where she encounters a sorcerer named James Smith who lost his best friend to the Crossroads and learns that the Crossroads has decided to call in their marker. The crossroads is an otherworldly entity that makes bargains that never really seem to go the way people want them to go. One of this series reoccurring characters, Mary Dunlavy, is a crossroads ghost and also a sort of babysitter protector for the Price family, especially Annie.

If you thought the author was just going to have Annie face off against the Crossroads, boy are you mistaken. Nope, she has to bring back one Leonard Cunningham who just happens to be the heir apparent to the Covenant of St. George. Leonard believes that Annie wants to come back with him to London. Annie has other ideas. The Covenant would also like to bring the entire Price family down in flames. The Covenant of St. George was founded to uphold one simple ideal: anything that was not present on the Ark—anything they deemed "unnatural"—needed to be destroyed. 

Monsters. Creatures of myth and legend. All of them would be wiped from the Earth in the name of Man's dominion. Unfortunately for them, not all the monsters agreed with this plan...and neither did all the human beings. They hate the fact that Annie's family has tried to protect certain species. Annie's friends are all cryptid's and they are not easily impressed with those who want them dead.  

The Price family has been monitoring, working with, and attempting to survive encounters with the cryptid population of North America since the early 1900s, when Alexander and Enid Healy first immigrated from England. In that time, the family has managed to amass a great deal of information about these cryptids. Most of it is potentially even accurate. The Price family also has a weakness. They tend to adopt allies into their family, including Cryptids like Sarah.

So, why my rating you ask? Sam. I have not been an easy reviewer to please when it comes to Sam. I hate the fact that he spends a large chunk of this story feeling like someone took away his cookie stash, and won't give them back. I get that Sam left a life behind for Annie. Yes, I do get that. But, nobody told Sam to continue on this ride with Annie and her group. He could have gone home to his grandmother at any time. It's fair to say that I am hoping that this is the last Annie book for awhile. 

There is a short novella in the back of this book featuring Alex Price and Shelby Tanner who readers last saw in Pocket Apocalypse. It also features a few characters who you will have met before if you've read this entire series. The next book in the series, Imaginary Numbers, will be narrated by Sarah Zellerby. The first Cryptid to take the lead role in this series.

Prologue

“Children are a blessing. Like all blessings, occasionally they’re also a curse.”

-Evelyn Baker

The woods near Portland, Oregon, about to do something really stupid

Three years ago

The staccato rhythm of a woodpecker slamming its beak against a pine tree echoed through the woods, filtered and distorted by densely-packed branches. There were no other sounds, not from the birds and animals that lived there, and not from the human girl who hung by her knees on a bough in one of the larger trees, a knife in either hand.

Antimony sometimes thought that if she were to total up the amount of time she spent upside down-between her work with the family and taking the occasional header during roller derby-she’d probably be able to qualify as an honorary bat. As it was, she’d come to find inversion strangely soothing. It definitely helped to straighten out the kinks derby practice left in her spine.

Somehow, she didn’t think the rest of the team was going to take “spend a lot of time hanging out upside down in trees” as a therapeutic tip.

Also unlikely to catch on with the rest of the team: floating. Fern seemed happy about it, but Fern wasn’t human and, for her, being in a situation where she could dial her personal density down to something roughly akin to a blowup doll was probably really, really relaxing. She drifted gently up from the ground and grabbed the nearest available branch, stopping her ascent before she could reach the top of the trees.

“I have good news and bad news,” said Fern. “Which one do you want first?”

“The bad news, please.” Antimony didn’t bother keeping her voice down. They weren’t hunting anything arboreal: attracting unwanted attention wasn’t a concern. More importantly, her siblings were only about two hundred yards away, working their way toward her. If she wound up in a bad situation, one phone call would bring her backup running.

She wasn’t the biggest fan of her older brother or sister, but that didn’t mean they didn’t know how to do their jobs. If there was one thing she could count on, it was them following their parents’ instructions to the tediously detailed letter.

“Well, it’s definitely a unicorn,” said Fern. “It has all the unicorn-y bits. Like the horn. Also the blood. I did not expect a unicorn to have that much blood on it. Are unicorns usually covered in blood?”

“Every unicorn I’ve ever seen has been.”

“Oh.”

“Is the good news that it’s already super dead and I can come down from the tree and we can go out for pizza?” Antimony’s hands tightened on her knives, clearly telegraphing how annoyed she’d be if the unicorn had been handled without her.

Fern glanced at Antimony’s hands, but wisely didn’t comment. She had known her friend and teammate long enough to know when she was facing a fight she couldn’t win. “No, it’s alive and bloody and armed-um, horned-and heading this way, so it’s probably going to get here soon. The good news is that Karen is single again.”

“Karen-what?”

“You know, Karen. The blocker from the Concussion Stand. Um, she skates as Can’t Believe It’s Not Beater?”

“I know who Karen is, I’m just not sure why that’s good enough news to bring it up when we’re in the middle of a unicorn hunt.”

Fern looked at her with wide blue eyes, increasing her density just enough to let her gaze slightly up at Antimony, like a particularly trusting child. Sometimes Antimony envied that trick. No one knew exactly how sylphs were able to change their personal density-not even the sylphs, who usually shrugged and went about their business when asked-but they were good at it. Good enough to fly, or at least float, when the need arose. Also good enough to turn themselves into the proverbial immovable object.

Antimony wasn’t good at anything like that. In a family of Lilu, ghosts, dimensional travelers, and telepaths, she was just Ordinary Annie, the unnecessary third child. And nothing was ever going to change that.

“Karen likes you,” Fern said patiently. “I mean, I don’t understand why, since you’re sort of mean sometimes-not to me, but to the other girls during practice, when you think they’re not focusing enough-and it’s not like you ever hang out and talk to anybody, and the last time you came to a party you just leaned against the wall drinking Diet Coke and glaring at anyone who tried to get you to dance, but she does, and she’s single. So I bet if you asked her out, she’d say yes at least once.”

Antimony raised an eyebrow. “Why would I be doing this, exactly?”

“Because dating is fun and smoochies are fun and you’re lucky enough to have members of your own species around to do smoochies with, so you should at least try once in a while. You said you thought you might like girls. This is your chance to find out.”

“Okay, one, I doubt Karen wants to be my bisexual experiment, and two, I told you, I’m not looking for anyone right now. Not on the team, not off the team, not at the grocery store, not on the weird cryptozoologist dating site my cousin Artie keeps threatening to set up-”

“He’s not really going to, is he?”

“Uh, no. Half the signups would be Covenant assholes trying to infiltrate us, and the rest would either be overcommitted LARPers or some bored Bigfoot looking for someone to catfish. He’s smarter than that. He may not always act smarter than that, but he is.”

“Oh.” Fern bobbed in place, clearly relieved. “Good.”

“Yeah, good. But really and truly, I’m not interested in dating right now. If there’s someone out there for me, I’ll find them eventually. I mean, they’d have to be pretty weird to be interested in,” Antimony waved a knife, indicating her entire inverted self, “all this. So maybe it’s not going to happen.”

“It will. I know it will. Someday your weirdo will come.”

Antimony snorted. “Whoever it is, they must have been very, very naughty to wind up stuck with me.”

Fern opened her mouth to object-she didn’t like anybody saying bad things about her friends, not even her friends-but stopped as a bloody, vaguely equine shape trotted into the clearing below. Wisely, Fern shut her mouth and pointed.

Antimony turned to follow Fern’s finger. Her smile in that moment would probably have been enough to hurt her dating prospects, such as they were, for the foreseeable future. It was the smile of someone finally being allowed to start breaking things.

“All right,” she breathed, sheathing one of her knives and reaching under her vest to produce a Ziploc baggie filled with raw steak. It had been pressed against her side long enough that it was virtually at body temperature, and the smell, when she broke the seal, was strong.

Fern wrinkled her nose and didn’t say anything. She kept not saying anything as Antimony dropped the baggie like a plummeting meat bomb. It burst when it hit the ground, strewing chunks of steak everywhere. The unicorn’s head snapped up, nostrils twitching.

It really was a horrifying creature, bearing less resemblance to a My Little Pony than to a horse that had been sent to the glue factory, murdered everyone it found there, and come looking for revenge. The only part of it that could be considered beautiful or majestic was the long, spiraling horn that emerged from its forehead. The horn shone like mother-of-pearl, despite its thin coating of gore.

Fern whimpered. It was a reasonable response.

“Shhh,” said Antimony, and pulled another bag of steak-this one laced liberally with rat poison, because there’s no kill like overkill-out of her vest. She was grinning as she dropped it. In a very soft voice, she continued, “See why I don’t date? You try explaining this to your significant other, and see how single you are in the morning.”

The unicorn was under the tree, nosing at the spilled steak. As it began to eat, Antimony unsheathed her second knife, winked at Fern, and unhooked her legs from the branch where she’d been hanging.

The unicorn never saw what hit it.

One

“Don’t look back. You’ll never see anything but what you’re doing your best to leave behind, and you’re a lot more likely to trip and fall down, which gives it another chance to eat you.”

-Frances Brown

A large corn maze somewhere in the middle of Ohio

Six days ago

The wind blew across the corn with a sound unnervingly like a million bones rattling in the distance, a skeleton army marching on our position. I’ve never seen a skeleton army, but if they exist, I’m absolutely positive they’d be marching on Ohio. There’s nothing else to do in Ohio. It’s just corn, corn, skeleton army, possibly evil corn maze, football, corn.

When they show farms in the movies, the ground is always soft and loamy, inviting. It’s ground that says “hey, have a picnic on me.” This ground wasn’t like that. This ground was hard and dry and seemed to consist of equal parts petrified dirt and rocks, which dug into my butt in a way that managed to be simultaneously uncomfortable and invasive. I tried to squirm unobtrusively. All I did was work a few particularly pointy chunks deeper.

Sam grimaced. “Is it ants? Please tell me it’s not ants. You can lie if you want. In this one situation, I give you full and enthusiastic permission to lie.”

“It’s not ants,” I said. “I think I’m sitting on a rock.”

“I know you’re sitting on a rock. I’m sitting on at least six rocks.” Sam leaned back on his hands. “I feel like this farm is missing its true calling. Get rid of the corn, harvest rocks.”

“I doubt a rock maze would attract nearly as much in the way of tourism.”

“Okay, first, this is Ohio, there is no tourism. There’s just bored teenagers looking for someplace to go on a Friday night. Second, how much tourism do you think they’re getting, with all the mysterious disappearances? Ballpark figure?”

“They got a lot of bonus tourism after the first couple disappeared.” If there’s one thing humans and sapient cryptids have in common, it’s the burning desire to gawk at the site of an accident-and that goes double when you substitute “mysterious disappearance” for “accident.” One mysterious death or missing teenager is a short-term gold mine for the heartless entrepreneur. As long as you don’t mind building your success on a foundation of bones, you can make a lot of money.

The trouble begins when the deaths and disappearances keep happening. The “lightning never strikes twice” school of morbid curiosity can turn into “maybe I should have a vague sense of self-preservation” with reassuring speed, and the crowds stop coming.

The corn maze where we were enjoying the wonders of nature had been the site of not one, not two, but eleven disappearances since the start of the Halloween season. Always couples, always in their late teens or early twenties, and always fitting the “would totally sneak away to make out in the corn maze” demographic.

(Not as narrow or specialized a demographic as you might think. I know for a fact that my older sister went all the way in a corn maze with one of her high school boyfriends. She came home with husks in her hair, a smug expression on her face, and the phone number of the guy who’d been driving the hay wagon. My brother never got lucky in the corn as far as I know-although it’s also possible that Alex has more of a sense of discretion than Verity, which hello, not hard-but he definitely took a few girlfriends to walk the supposedly haunted trails and hold hands in an atmosphere of delightfully artificial fear. Sex and terror go hand in hand.)

Sam frowned, tilting his head back until he was gazing at the sky. The nearest city was far enough away that it was a gorgeous deep black, splashed generously with stars. The moon was a perfect bone-pale circle, looking down on us like a single unblinking eye.

“Didn’t you say you had family near here?”

“My maternal grandparents,” I confirmed. “They live in Columbus. My cousin Sarah was staying with them the last time I checked. She hasn’t been well.” That’s putting things mildly. Sarah is a cuckoo, a kind of pseudo-mammalian cryptid telepath. She’s a nerd fantasy on the outside, all long black hair and big blue eyes and books on complicated mathematics. On the inside, she has more in common with a tarantula wasp than she does with your average mathlete. She’s not human. She’s only technically a mammal. Evolution made her, threw up its hands, and went home.

Cuckoos are psychic, and that’s what got her into trouble. Most cuckoos use their telepathy passively, letting it make the world easier for them without actually exerting any effort. A few years ago, Sarah used her telepathy actively, in an attempt to save my sister’s life. She succeeded. Verity lived.

She also failed-or at least, she also paid. Her telepathy hasn’t been working right since she used it to manipulate the memory of some Covenant goons, and when a telepath’s powers go on the fritz in the real world, it’s not the cute two-issues-and-resolved dramatic twist like you get in the comic books. It’s scary and it’s grueling and sometimes I’m scared that Sarah is never going to be back to what passes for “normal” with her.

We’ll love her no matter what. She’s family. But I miss spending hours online chatting with her about her latest math obsession, and what’s happening in the comics, and whether she’s ever going to tell Artie-one of my other cousins, not actually related to Sarah; the family tree is complicated-that she’s hopelessly in love with him. I miss Sarah. I wish I could be sure she was coming home.

I wish I could be sure I was.

Sam glanced down, a hopeful look in his eyes. “We could go visit. Let them see that you’re okay.”

I threw a handful of corn husks at him. “What part of ’in hiding from my family for their own protection’ don’t you understand?”

“The part where I’m tired of sharing rooms in shitty motels with Cylia and Fern, and I’m sort of hoping your grandparents have a guest room.”

“Uh.” I raised an eyebrow. “Am I wrong to interpret that as ’I miss getting laid, and I think my chances are better in your grandparents’ house’? Because if so, wow, do I suddenly have some questions about your pre-me dating life.”

Sam snorted. “Please. You met my grandmother. Between her overprotective ’I will end you’ routine and the whole monkey thing, you know I wasn’t getting any before you came along.”

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