The mighty Quinns: Liam - By Kate Hoffmann Page 0,5

voice. “You have shown yourself to be a kind and clever lad, but now you must become a man and take your rightful place as king. Give the stones to Comyna and she will offer all she owns. Take it. It is your birthright, but you must rule as King Ail-frid did, with compassion and a generous spirit.”

This was the part in which their father usually launched into a long lecture about trusting women, about how all women were greedy and deceitful at heart, and how Ailfrid met his ruin because he loved Comyna and was blinded to her evil side. But Conor and Brendan usually left those parts out.

“And so the charming boy learned of his charmed life,” Brendan said. “Riagan took his place on the throne, and during his reign, the kingdom flourished. And in a crofter’s cottage at the edge of the dark forest, the greedy Comyna lived out her days, with only a bagful of pink stones found on the bottom of a small stream, knowing she had been bested by the boy with the silver tongue.”

Brendan reached over and ruffled Liam’s hair. “How was that?”

“Good,” Liam murmured with a smile. “I feel better now.”

Conor frowned. “What was wrong before?”

Liam heard Sean suck in a sharp breath and Brian nudged him in the ribs, a silent plea to keep his mouth shut. But Liam knew better. Conor was the only one who could keep them all safe. He was the Mighty Quinn and he’d find a way to keep the dragons from descending on the house.

“We skipped school today,” Liam said. “And a social worker came to visit.”

1

LIAM QUINN’S NOSE itched as he stepped into the musty attic, dust kicking up with every step. The place smelled of old wood and the floorboards creaked beneath his feet. A decrepit horsehair couch sat in the corner, and against the far wall he saw a tiny abandoned fireplace, probably used by a former household servant. The first three stories of the Charlestown home were in the midst of renovation, transformed into condos, like so many in this old neighborhood of Boston. But the attic held clues to a different past, when Irish immigrant families had replaced the wealthy shipbuilders who had founded the neighborhood.

Liam glanced into the shadows behind airy cobwebs. Somewhere in the dark corners he knew there were bats waiting to swoop down on him. Hell, he hated bats. “Could it be any colder in here?”

“The presidential suite at the Four Seasons didn’t happen to be on the right street,” Sean muttered.

“I had a date tonight, you know. Cindy Wacheski was supposed to meet me at the pub at ten.”

“You’re going to run out of women in Boston to charm,” Sean muttered.

“Luckily, new women arrive every day,” Liam teased. “I could introduce you to a few, boyo. How long has it been?” He picked up the camera he had hanging from a strap around his neck, peered through the lens at his older brother and snapped the shutter. “You look like a guy who needs sex and a lot of it.”

The flash illuminated the dark attic and Sean cursed vividly, holding his hand up to his eyes. “This is a stakeout. Anyone on the street can see that flash.”

“I’m sure there are hordes of tourists on the street looking up at this place. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was on the historic Boston tour.” He shook his head in derision. “Couldn’t you have found a place with heat? What could possibly be worth photographing in this attic?”

“It’s not here. It’s across the street. Take a look.”

Liam reached down into his camera case and pulled out his telephoto lens, then exchanged it with the one on his camera. He walked to the grimy attic window and looked out at the street. To his eye, there wasn’t anything worth watching outside. The sidewalk below was empty, the narrow street lined with parked cars.

“This is an important case,” Sean said. “If you’re in, you’re in for good. No backing out later.”

“You could at least start acting like you appreciate me more,” Liam muttered. “I’m your brother and your roommate. I pay half the rent, and tidy up after you and collect your messages when you’re out of town. I don’t have to help you out with this case. I have important work of my own to do. What if I get an assignment from the Globe? Being a stringer means that I have to be available. I had