Free Frankenstein: The Dead Town by Dean Koontz Page A

back.”
    “Where did she go?”
    “I hear they threw her in a cauldron of poison that she herself was brewing to use on other people.”
    Chrissy’s eyes widened without benefit of hot chocolate. “That’s so cool.”
    “She tried to turn herself into a flock of bats and fly out of the cauldron to freedom,” Erika said, “but all the bats were still covered in the poison, and they just— poof! —turned into a cloud of mist and vanished forever.”
    “That’s what should happen to bad witches.”
    “And that’s what did happen. Poof! ”
    From the study, along the hallway and into the kitchen, came again the voice of Jocko in the throes of hacker excitement: “Boom, voom, zoom! Got me the puddin’, now bring me the pie!”
    Putting down her cookie, Chrissy said, “Your little boy don’t sound like any little boy I ever heard.”
    “No, he doesn’t. He’s very special.”
    “Another plum, another plum, another plum for me! Jocko shakes the cyber tree! Ah ha-ha-ha, Ah ha-ha-ha-ha!”
    “Can I meet him?”
    “In just a little while, sweetheart. He’s doing his homework right now.”
    “Boogers! Boogers! Boogers! BOOGERS! Okay, okay. Sooo … clip it, flip it, jip it, nip it, rip it, tip it, whip it, aaaannnd ZIP IT! Jocko is king of the world!”
    Erika said, “You remember what you told me your daddy said about the outside and inside of a person?”
    “Sure.”
    “Well, Jocko is very pretty inside.”
    “I hope he likes me.”
    “Jocko likes everybody.”
    Chrissy said, “Does he like to play teatime?”
    “I’m sure he’d love to play teatime.”
    “Boys usually don’t.”
    “Jocko always wants to please. Honey, have you ever been afraid of something, then you discovered there was no reason to be afraid?”
    Chrissy frowned, considering the question, then abruptly beamed. “Like dogs.”
    “Were you afraid of dogs?”
    “The big ones with big teeth. Big old Doofuss next door.”
    “But then you got to know Doofuss better, huh?”
    “He’s really all sweet inside.”
    “And I’ll bet he doesn’t look scary anymore outside, either.”
    “He’s cute now.” Her right arm shot up, and she waved her hand as if she were in a schoolroom and seeking the attention of the teacher.
    “What is it, sweetheart?”
    “The duke. I first saw the duke, he scared me.” The duke was what she called Deucalion. “But then he picked me up and he held me like you hold a baby and said close my eyes tight, and he magicked us from there to here, and he don’t scare me anymore.”
    “You’re a good girl, Chrissy. And brave. Girls can be just as brave as boys. I’m proud of you.”
    Along the hallway, from the study, came Jocko’s voice as he continued hacking: “Jocko spies the cake! Gonna cut him a slice! Then cut a slice twice! They bake, Jocko takes! Delicious digital data! Go, Jocko! Go, Jocko! Go, go, go, GO!”

chapter 13
    Rafael Jesus Jarmillo, chief of police, lived in a two-story American Victorian on Bruin Drive. The house featured gingerbread moldings along the eaves of the main roof and the porch roof, as well as around the windows and the doors. It was the kind of modest but well-detailed house that, back in the day, Hollywood routinely portrayed as the home of any reputable middle-class family like Andy Hardy and his dad the judge, before moviemakers decided that the middle class was nothing but a dangerous conspiracy of dim-witted, grasping, bigoted know-nothings whose residences in films should reveal their stupidity, ignorance, boring conformity, greed, racism, and fundamental festering evil.
    Frost really liked the place.
    He and Dagget had driven past the house hours earlier, in daylight. They knew that it was painted paleyellow with robin’s-egg-blue gingerbread, but at night, with no landscape lights, it appeared as colorless as the snow-covered ground on which it stood.
    As he parked at the curb, Dagget said, “Wife, mother-in-law, and two kids. That