That Ain't Witchcraft (InCryptid #8)

by Seanan McGuire

“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.”

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.

“If cleanliness is next to godliness, bleach is proof of the existence of the divine.” –Jane Harrington-Price

“Sometimes it’s important to stop and breathe. It’ll improve your mood. It’ll also improve your aim. Nothing fixes most problems like shooting them in the head.” –Alice Healy

Cylia leaned against the wall, dressed in a fluffy yellow bathrobe that made her resemble nothing so much as a malevolent daffodil come to pass judgment on the weak.

“A cat can have kittens in an oven, but that doesn’t make them muffins,” said Sam.

“I don’t know how you deal with unsolvable problems here in New England, being a stranger to your town and all, but where I come from, if someone presents you with a situation you can’t win, you don’t say ‘well, guess Starfleet wants me to fail this exam.’ You say ‘what would James Tiberius Kirk do,’ and then you shoot the asshole who broke into your house in the head and go about your business.”

Cylia’s purse was a big black leather monstrosity that could probably have been used to smuggle things up to the size of a live chicken. I dug into it, rummaging until I found a crumpled piece of paper and a Sharpie.

There was something surprisingly comforting about that. If a municipality could have an identity crisis, maybe the fact that I was still sorting my shit out wasn’t so big a deal.

There was a clatter as Cylia put our drinks down on the table. I cracked one eye open. Real ceramic cups, on real saucers. “The barista charged me for cocoa, since there’s no setting for ‘putting marshmallows in coffee like a savage,’ and cocoa normally comes with whipped cream. The third mug is full of whipped cream.”

There’s one of us in every class. The kid who takes notes when the teacher sneezes—or worse, who doesn’t need to, who views teachers sneezing as so vitally important that it can be remembered without being written down. The one who blows the bell curve to hell and dances on the ashes.

“Every serious metaphysical scholar in Maine secretly dreams of climbing in Mr. King’s kitchen window and filling his house from top to bottom with centipedes,” said James idly, turning a page.

Ever heard the phrase ‘literal genie’? It means giving someone exactly what they ask for, instead of what they wanted. The ‘make me a sandwich’ gag.”

“She was my babysitter, and my parents wanted me to have a few years where I thought Santa wasn’t real.” “You mean where you thought Santa was real,” said James. “I meant what I said,” I replied.

James gave me a dubious look. “How many weapons do you customarily have?” “The family record is fifty-three, currently held by my mother, who is absolutely terrifying and also really good at hiding darts in her hair without scratching herself,” I said. “I mean, we have some apocryphal numbers on Grandpa Thomas, but he’s been missing for decades, and no one is willing to believe anything in triple digits until we’ve seen actual proof.”

I winked broadly. “Indiana Jones ain’t got nothing on someone who successfully dates a member of my family.”

I blinked. “I . . . what? I don’t know whether to be more offended by you calling James ‘delicate’ or you calling me ‘loose.’ I assure you, I am the opposite of a loose woman. I’m a tightly-wound, sort of prickly woman. Hermione Granger is my Patronus.”

“People who say that right and wrong are all about absolutes are usually getting ready to stab someone for looking at things differently. Try to stab them first.” –Enid Healy

The Doctor would have been proud. Of course, the Doctor would also have come equipped with his very own time machine and rendered this entire exercise functionally moot. Who needs an untested, unpredictable act of sorcery when you have a big blue box?

“Ah, but you see, I’m antipodean. My natural rhythms are the reverse of yours. Trying to get me out of bed early is a denial of my culture.” I rolled my eyes. “There you go again, blaming everything on Australia.”

Megan gave me a horrified look. She followed me anyway. I guess the fear of losing the children was stronger than her fear of an ordinary suburban home.

Also, I want to tell my parents the second you’re comfortable with it, because otherwise, they’re going to find out from the mice.” “From the mice?” Shelby laughed. “How?” “The mice have email,” I said darkly.