An ex-detective turned addict after his daughter vanishes is caught between being indebted to a biker-gang leader and finding the truth behind the leader’s ritualistically dismembered son. And there’s a very pissed off crone out there somewhere, picking off people one by one.

The cold-open here hooks you pretty quick. Rosson does a great job with setting and atmosphere, a dark, cold, and dreary Oregon town that feels bleached and salty and left behind by the rest of the world. The POV juggling works too, never shaking you out of a mostly linear narrative. There are some jumps in time/flashbacks, but Rosson aptly orientates the reader, and the backstory payoffs are earned.

The twenty to thirty percent mark is a bit weedy, but after that, the gas pedal’s to the floor and it’s all downhill, with a few stops for plot clarity and setup. All worth it.

At first glance, meaning the cover and description, Crone seems like a horror story—witches or monsters—and it is, but mostly it’s a grimy crime story (think Sons of Anarchy, maybe) where the real monsters are people. Rosson puts his characters through the meat grinder, and those kids never had a chance. The action is fast and painful, no long build ups or witty banter or slow motion moments, just bang! and it’s over and you’re shocked.

If you’re looking for a few hundred pages of monster action, this one probably isn’t for you. The monster is there, sure (the story wouldn’t work if you removed it), but it’s not really the centerpiece of the story. I’ll say it again: man, those kids never had a chance. Rosson makes some interesting choices along the way: an interlude that feels like something out of the film Weapons, a kind of SOC near the last few chapters (which I dug), and an epilogue that turns a grim and possibly non-redemptive ending into something hopeful. Icing, bells, and whistles aside, at the core of Crone is a deep-seated fear of being a horrible parent. I totally recommend this one, and look forward to Rosson’s next book.