"Where's your grandma?" he asked, holding on to her ankles so she wouldn't fall as he walked toward the house.

The house was built in 1748, the large, irregular river stones held together by white masonry. Most of the wide, hand-hewn floorboards and ceiling beams were original, and the ceilings were low-only about eight feet high-and always made Lee feel a little like stooping.

"Mom?" he called, as he pushed open the heavy oak front door. The front hall smelled of eucalyptus and apples and ancient wooden beams. The walls were painted a creamy off-white, adorned with rather masculine hunting prints.

"Hello, Mom!" he called again.

"Fiona!" Kylie shouted.

"You don't have to shout-I'm right here," his mother said, coming around the corner from the dining room. She had perfectly good hearing, but some of her friends had bought hearing aids, and she was sensitive on the subject. Physical weakness would not be tolerated when you were a Campbell.

"Uncle Lee's here!" Kylie cried, rushing to wrap herself around her grandmother's legs.

Fiona Campbell gave Kylie's head a perfunctory pat before extracting herself from her granddaughter's embrace, like a cat stepping over a wet spot on the floor.

Fiona Campbell had the kind of square, strong-jawed good looks that were not exactly pretty, but her high, firm cheekbones, as she put it, "held age well." Her skin had a healthy, ruddy glow, and with her clear blue eyes, straight nose, and firm, determined mouth, she was a handsome woman. Lee had once suggested to her that she try modeling for the cover of magazines for seniors, and she had dismissed the idea with a contemptuous wave of her hand. He wasn't sure whether the contempt was aimed at the idea of modeling or the notion that anyone would think of her as a "senior." She talked about the "old ladies" at her church as if they were an alien species.

Fiona exchanged the necessary kiss on the cheek with her only son and then looked at him closely.

"What on earth happened to you?"

"I had an accident."

"Good lord! What on earth?"

Kylie looked up him too, squinting in the dim light.

"You have a black eye, Uncle Lee!"

"I ran into a door," he lied. "It was stupid."

Kylie was satisfied with this explanation, but his mother was not. She raised an eyebrow at him, but he shook his head and glanced at Kylie. His mother took the hint and changed the subject.

"So where are you two going today?" she asked.

"Can we go to Jekyll and Hyde? Please Please, can we?" Kylie asked.

"Sure," Lee replied.

Kylie turned to her grandmother. "It's the coolest coolest place!" She hopped from foot to foot, humming to herself. place!" She hopped from foot to foot, humming to herself.

"Well, mind you don't stay up too late," Fiona said.

"We won't, we won't!"

"Okay, we'd better be off," Lee said, twirling the car keys in his left hand. He had a tendency toward ambidextrousness, a trait Fiona claimed was inherited from his father.

"Would you like a cup of tea before you go?" his mother said.

Lee glanced at his watch. "No, I don't think so. It's kind of a long drive."

"Very well. Off you go, then," she said briskly, whisking the two of them out the door after brushing her lips across their cheeks.

"Who's that?" Kylie asked when she saw the dark sedan parked out in the road.

"Oh, that's my own personal guard," Lee replied, nodding to the plainclothes cop behind the wheel.

"Cool," Kylie said, waving to him.

Lee decided to take River Road-he liked the view as it twisted and wound along the Delaware. As he headed toward the river through the farm fields, he rounded a familiar turn in the road. There, ahead of him, was McGill's Hill. A wide, steeply sloped incline, it was the prime sledding venue for everyone within miles. People came all the way from Doylestown to sled there. The hill humped steeply at the top; then a sharply angled grade bottomed out into a concave, bowl-like base, followed by a football field's worth of flat land all the way to the creek that snaked through a smattering of trees.

McGill's Hill was an exhilarating ride. The top was so abruptly humped that the sled left the ground, only to return with a thump on the fast downhill slope before rising into the air again at the bottom. After clearing the spoon-like hollow, it was straight across the flatlands to the creek. If the creek was frozen, and if you could manage the sharp turn, you could glide along the ice for a while. The trick was not to hit any of the trees lining the bank. He had seen more than one concussion suffered when head met tree trunk, and had banged his own head once or twice trying to make the treacherous turn.

McGill's Hill was a mecca still popular among local children, who zipped down the hill on everything from plastic bags to fancy hand-steered toboggans-and they still tried to make the dangerous turn, hoping to eke out just a little longer ride.

A thin dusting of snow clung to the brown grasses on the hill's slope, and Lee was reminded of a mocha cake with vanilla frosting. A lone terrier trotted along the crest of the hill, sniffing energetically at the base of a tree before depositing his calling card, casting a short shadow in the feeble February sun. A young woman followed at some distance, carrying a rolled-up leash and reading a book, not paying any attention to her surroundings.

Lee had to stifle an impulse to stop the car and tell her to be more careful. The sight of a woman alone in an isolated area always brought up these feelings for him now. Laura had loved sledding on McGill's Hill.

"Does your grandmom take you there to sled?" he asked Kylie, who was sitting next to him, her eyes half closed, lulled by the motion and warmth of the car.

"Sometimes," she answered. "And she likes to be called Fiona, not grandmom."

Lee smiled. He didn't know what his mother's latest little quirk was about-not about her age, surely. She told anyone who would listen how old she was-usually after asking them to guess first. Then she would beam proudly when they guessed ten or fifteen years too low, as they usually did. Once a very young black waitress had gotten it right on the nose, and Fiona had been in a bad mood all during the rest of the lunch.

"Trying to insult me!" she'd muttered as she picked at her salmon mousse. "She'll be lucky to look half this good when she's my age!"

"Well, you did ask her to guess," Lee pointed out, but that didn't pass muster either.

"I don't care-it's just rude rude, that's what it is!" she insisted.

"Never mind, Mom. We all look the same to them," Lee remarked, but the joke had gone so far over her head he could hear the rushing of wind as it passed.

He had left an especially big tip in case the girl had overheard anything his mother had said.

He looked over at Kylie, whose eyelids were sliding shut, her head resting against the windowpane, her breath forming a cold little spot of mist on the glass. She was a pretty child, with her father's coloring-blue eyes and blond hair. He breathed a silent prayer for her safety to gods he didn't believe in, an empty benediction without the power of faith behind it. Things that were mysterious in his childhood were mysterious to him still. Life's big questions remained unanswered, and he had no faith that would ever change.

Chapter Forty-one

Kylie slept during most of the drive back to the city, but as they neared Jekyll and Hyde, she woke up and began craning her neck for a better look at the restaurant.

"There it is!" she shrieked as the car shot up Sixth Avenue.

Jekyll and Hyde was a theme restaurant aimed at out-of-towners and the Harry Potter crowd-seven- to twelve-year-olds. It occupied all four floors of a curiously stubby building on Sixth Avenue and Fifty-eighth Street, snuggled tightly between towering banks and office buildings. The ornate sign on the neo-Gothic facade was in crimson lettering dripping like spattered blood.

The Jekyll and Hyde Club

Actors roamed the restaurant's four floors dressed in a variety of roles straight out of grade-B horror films-the mad scientist, vampiric hostess, dotty professor, lusty chambermaid-while grotesque statues of gargoyles and skeletons spoke and moved. The creepy portraits in ornate gilded frames lining the walls had eyes that really did follow you around the room.

As they walked toward the restaurant, Kylie bounced from foot to foot and chanted softly to herself. "Chicken nug nuggets, chicken nug-gets."

Kylie adored fried chicken strips, but Lee's mother refused to buy them for her, calling such food "rubbish."

They stepped into the building and were absorbed into the heavy Gothic atmosphere of the restaurant. Red velvet wallpaper lined the walls, and thick Victorian drapes blocked out any shred of sunlight that might sneak in through the floor-to-ceiling French windows. The club was in a state of eternal twilight, with only the flickering of thin yellow flames from gaslights to illuminate the patrons as they wandered through the dim, spooky hallways.

A cadaverous actor dressed as a vampire met them at the door and escorted them up the stairs to the second floor. They were seated at a table in the corner, underneath a portrait in an ornate gilt frame. The face in the picture was of a middle-aged man with heavy features, and he wore a fur-lined red velvet cape and hat, suggesting a nineteenth-century courtier. The man's eyes, under their heavy brows, actually moved. Lee supposed this was done by remote control. Perhaps there was one person on the staff whose job it was to move the eyes in the paintings. As he and Kylie sat down, he saw the eyes follow their movements.

Kylie saw it too. "Look!" she squealed. "He's watching us!"

"Yes," he replied, looking around the restaurant. He had the disquieting feeling that they were actually being watched. But the place was filled mostly with families, the children squirming in their chairs, watching the costumed staff work the room, weaving in and out of the tables as they chatted with customers.

Kylie nudged Lee in the ribs. "Here comes the professor."

Lee turned to look as the actor playing the mad professor approached their table, coattails flapping. Sinister instruments protruded from the pockets of his white lab coat, which was splattered with suspicious-looking red splotches. His hair was teased into a spiky disarray, and his rumpled lab coat suggested someone who, more often than not, slept in his clothes.

"Hello there," he said in a fake-sounding English accent. "What's your name?"

Kylie leaned back in her chair and looked up at him. "Kylie."

The professor raised an eyebrow. His face was angular, with high cheekbones and deep-set eyes. Under the character makeup, Lee could see that he was young, probably in his early thirties.

"Kylie? What kind of a name is that that?" he barked hoarsely. Lee wondered if his voice was overworked from talking over the music and the din of the customers, or if it was naturally raspy.

"It's a nice nice name," Kylie replied, thrusting her chin forward in a challenge. name," Kylie replied, thrusting her chin forward in a challenge.

"A nice name? A nice nice name?" the professor bellowed. "Did you hear that?" he said, addressing a nearby table, occupied by a family with towheaded, pink-cheeked children. "What do you think?" he said, descending on one of the boys, a stout lad in a green Pokemon T-shirt. "Do name?" the professor bellowed. "Did you hear that?" he said, addressing a nearby table, occupied by a family with towheaded, pink-cheeked children. "What do you think?" he said, descending on one of the boys, a stout lad in a green Pokemon T-shirt. "Do you you think Kylie is a nice name?" think Kylie is a nice name?"

The boy blinked and looked at his mother, a plump woman with a face as innocent as a cornfield. She looked embarrassed. She gave a weak little smile and poked at her penne primavera.

"Well?" the actor demanded. "Speak up, boy!" the actor demanded. "Speak up, boy!"

"Uh, sure-I guess," the boy said at last.

"You guess guess? Could you be be any more indecisive?" The professor looked at Kylie. "Looks like I didn't pick a very brave lad to defend you." any more indecisive?" The professor looked at Kylie. "Looks like I didn't pick a very brave lad to defend you."

The boy looked at Kylie, who laughed. Relieved, he smiled. "Yes, it's a nice name!" he declared, crossing his arms over his plump chest.

"I don't know what's happening to our young people today," the professor lamented in exaggerated tones, pulling out a plastic scalpel from the pocket of his lab coat. "Maybe I should dissect one of you to find out, eh? What do you think?" he asked Kylie. "Should we cut up your friend here and see what makes him tick? What do you say?"

"No, leave him alone!" she answered, trying to grab the scalpel, but the professor was quicker. Moving out of range, he replaced the instrument, ran a hand through his fright wig of a hairdo, muttering to himself as he moved on to the next table.

"Young people today," he said, shaking his head. "I just don't know."

Kylie smiled at the boy and then leaned her head on Lee's arm. "He's funny. I'm hungry. Can I have chicken nuggets?"

"You can have whatever you want."

"You won't tell Fiona?"

Lee leaned in and whispered in his niece's ear.

"She won't hear it from me."

Kylie picked up her silverware and began drumming on the tabletop.

"Chic-ken nug-gets, chic-ken nug nug-gets."

The mother at the next table shot a look at them, disapproval stamped on her bland face.

Lee wrested the fork and knife from Kylie.

"Look, the show is starting," he said.

The lights around the stage flickered, and a puff of white steam shot up from the fog machine as the slab bearing the body of Frankenstein's monster rose up from its underground home. The whirr of the hydraulic lift was drowned out by the thundering bass line of the music piped through the sound system loudspeakers. Colored strobe lights danced across the monster's inert form, slashing through the haze of stage fog, cutting it with long ribbons of yellow and blue shimmer.

The music was replaced by the equally loud voice of the MC.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen and everything in between, it's showtime! Please direct your attention to our stage at the front of the restaurant."

"I have to go to the bathroom," Kylie said.

"Okay. Hurry back or you'll miss the show."

She slid down from her chair and headed toward the back of the restaurant. Lee watched her until she turned the corner into the foyer. He considered following her, but didn't want to embarrass her. Kylie was only six, but she was stubborn and independent, and resented being fussed over.

When the waiter came, Lee ordered chicken nuggets and Thai stir-fry for himself, then turned his attention back to the stage, where the mad professor hovered over the supine body of his monster. Jets of steam billowed up from the fog machine and hung clustered around his head. The scientist released a burst of maniacal laughter and turned, laying a hand on a large wall switch, preparing to turn on the "electricity" necessary to animate his horrible creation.

Lee wondered if Mary Shelley realized what she had stumbled onto that night she set her troubled dreams down on paper-the creation of life from death, inert matter transformed into a living, sentient being. Did she know that she, too, had created a "monster" when she wrote Frankenstein Frankenstein, and that 150 years later the story would spawn endless imitators and retellings?

"And now, behold!" the professor cried, whipping the sheet from the body with a single sweeping motion. The lights shuddered and went black for an instant, then came back on to a blue background with a single scarlet spotlight on the monster, who sat up stiffly, arms outstretched. The children at the next table watched, their eyes fixed on the monster-the child abandoned by the parent who gave him life.

Lee was sorry Kylie was missing this part. Come to think of it, hadn't she been gone too long now? Come to think of it, hadn't she been gone too long now? A thin river of panic welled up inside him. A thin river of panic welled up inside him.