The ninth book in the Mighty Quinns series, 2006

THE LATE AFTERNOON sun slanted through the grimy windows of the old stone stable. The stalls stood empty, their iron bars tangled with cobwebs and their old wooden doors battered and scarred. From the roof rafters, doves cooed softly, fluttering their wings and sending up motes of dust to dance in the sunlight.

Marcus Quinn huddled in the quiet shadows of the haymow, his arms wrapped tightly around his knees. At his feet, a small pile of wood shavings lay scattered in the musty hay. This had become his secret spot, the place he retreated to when his world got too difficult to bear. Today was his eighth birthday and nothing had changed.

He reached into his jacket and pulled out the Swiss Army knife his father had sent him last year for his birthday. The blade was sharp, honed by his grandmother’s cook with the old whetstone she kept in the kitchen.

Marcus stared at the line of tiny figurines he’d set on a beam against the stable wall, counting them silently-birds, dogs, horses, fish, even an alligator he’d carved from a photo in a book. His very first carving, an owl, had been fashioned from a scrap of sapwood he’d found in the rubbish bin. Though it was crude and a bit uneven, Marcus liked the way its wide eyes watched him.

Over the past year his carvings had become much more detailed, aided by the old tools he’d found in a box in a dark corner of the stable. Marcus pulled the box from its hiding spot beneath a musty canvas and carefully inventoried the tools, touching each as he counted them. The handles were all worn smooth with age, but the edges were still as sharp as razors and free of rust.

Marcus reached down and ran his fingers over the initials carved into the front of the rough-hewn box. E.H.P. He’d wanted to ask his grandmother who the tools belonged to, but he was afraid she’d take them away from him, fearful that he’d hurt himself. Everyone treated him like a baby, always hovering over him, always concerned for his feelings. But Marcus was much stronger than they gave him credit for.