The Hound of Rowan Read Free Page A

the other side. He sounded tired and sad. Max drooped and thought better of sharing the fact that he had also lost his sketchbook.
    Once on the train, the pair slid heavily into a padded booth. Mr. McDaniels handed his return ticket to the conductor, then leaned back and closed his eyes. The conductor turned to Max.
    â€œTicket, please.”
    â€œOh, I’ve got it right here,” Max muttered absentmindedly. He reached into his pocket, but procured a small envelope instead. The sight of his name scripted clearly on the envelope made him pause.
    Confused, Max retrieved the ticket from his other pocket and gave it to the conductor. Glancing to confirm that his father was still resting, Max then looked over the envelope. In the warm yellow light it appeared buttery, its heavy paper folds converging to pleasing corners. He turned the envelope over and examined the silky navy script.

    Mr. Max McDaniels

    His father now breathing heavily, Max ran his finger along the envelope’s flap. Inside was a folded letter.

    Dear Mr. McDaniels,
    Our records indicate that you registered as a Potential this afternoon at 3:37 p.m. CST, U.S. Congratulations, Mr. McDaniels—you must be a very remarkable young man, and we look forward to making your acquaintance. One of our regional representatives will be contacting you shortly. Until that time, we would appreciate your absolute silence and utmost discretion in this matter.
    Best regards,
Gabrielle Richter
Executive Director

    Max read the note several times before stowing it back in his pocket. He felt utterly drained. He could not guess how the letter had come to be in his possession, much less what a “Potential” was and what it all had to do with him. He
could
guess it had something to do with the hidden tapestry and the mysterious presence now roaming free within him. Max stared out the window. Brilliant shafts of sunlight chased wispy trails of storm clouds across the western sky. Exhausted, he leaned against his father and drifted off to sleep, his fingers closed tight around the mysterious envelope.

                   2                  
    T HREE S OFT K NOCKS
    T he next morning, Max yawned as he watched his father toss a pair of black socks into an overnight bag. Zipping it closed, his father suddenly grunted and lumbered down the hallway. He returned a minute later with a handful of television cables and video-game controllers.
    â€œNot that I don’t trust you…”
    The tangled mess was stuffed into the bag and zipped up tight.
    â€œWhat am I supposed to do all day?” Max moaned.
    â€œBeing grounded is a punishment,” his father growled. “You’re the one yawning—feel free to sleep the day away.”
    Max had to admit that didn’t sound half bad. He had spent much of the night peering out of his window. The idea that the dead-eyed man might have Max’s name and address and could be coming at any moment had kept him occupied until dawn. By daylight, however, his fears seemed silly.
    All the same, as a taxi honked outside, Max had a sudden urge to tell his father about the man at the museum. He swallowed his words. At this point, it would seem little better than a last gasp to avoid punishment.
    â€œI’ll only be gone a day,” his father sighed. Mr. Lukens had granted Mr. McDaniels the opportunity to pitch a new client, and he was off for an overnight trip to Kansas City. “The number for the Raleighs is on the fridge. They’ll expect you for dinner by six, and you can sleep over there. Be good. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”
    With a peck on the head, Scott McDaniels was gone. Max locked the door, and curiosity led him back upstairs to examine his letter. Several readings later, it was still a mystery. He stood and looked out the window, listening to the wind as it shook the tall