Free Stones Unturned by Christopher Golden Page A

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CHAPTER FOUR
     
    Squire loved this time of day.
    The hobgoblin, clad only in boxer shorts and a wife-beater T-shirt, squirmed around in the leather recliner, trying to get comfortable.
    He called it Squire time, that special time of day when everyone seemed to just leave him alone. He wasn't sure what made these hours between eleven in the morning and one in the afternoon so damn special, but it was almost as if the Dark Gods had set a small pocket of time aside for him alone, a time when he could think only of himself — his wants and desires.
    Squire time .
    His hearing was ultra sensitive, and he listened to the heartbeat of the brownstone: the gentle hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen below, the ticking of the grandfather clock in the foyer, the exhalation of comforting heat blown up from the ancient furnace in the basement through the many vents that opened into every room.
    But not a sound of life. Conan Doyle and Ceridwen had yet to return from England, Danny and his mother had gone out a short time earlier, and Graves and Clay had left the brownstone in the wee hours of the morning, and no one had seen hide nor hair of them since.
    Squire was alone.
    Well, Eve was in her room. But she was dead to the world and would remain that way until the sun started to creep below the horizon. He could have run a marching band through her room, and she still wouldn't have been able to get that beautiful ass out of bed.
    He remembered a time about ten years back when Conan Doyle had suspected the house was under attack by a spell of decimation — a nasty piece of sorcery that was almost like an airborne cancer, though not as pleasant — and had ordered everybody into a circle of protection he'd conjured. It had been up to Squire to pass the news and gather the troops together. He'd saved Eve for last, knowing what it would be like to drag her from her bed.
    Squire smiled, raising a hand to his chest, slowly running his nubby fingertips over the front of his shirt, feeling four raised scars through the material. It was probably the fact that he'd pulled back the covers, exposing her naked body that had caused her to practically tear out his heart.
    His smile got wider as he continued his stroll down memory lane. He'd almost bled to death from the gashes made by her talons, but what he had seen beneath the covers had made it all worthwhile. She's one hot tamale , the Hobgoblin thought, scratching at his crotch.
    He reached down to retrieve the remote from between him and the cushion and turned on the big screen television in the large wooden cabinet across the room. He wasn't sure what he was in the mood for, considering The Price Is Right before moving on to one of the multiple movie channels he subscribed to through local cable. He could always find something to hold his interest there. Yesterday while channel surfing, he'd caught an Ernest movie he hadn't seen yet, the one where the hilarious son of a bitch saved Christmas. He'd just about pissed himself it was so funny.
    He didn't find anything with half of Ernest's entertainment value, so he flipped back to The Price Is Right.
    "Awesome," he grunted, seeing that they were playing the High/Low game. He was good at that one and would probably kick ass if he had the opportunity to play, but he couldn't see Mr. Doyle agreeing to allow him to appear on the morning game show. Too bad, he would have loved to rub elbows with Bob Barker.
    He reached down beside his chair and picked up the can of Pringles he had waiting, just the first of many snacks he would indulge in during Squire time.
    "Thatta girl," he squawked through a mouthful of chips, cheering on a housewife that he would've let eat Pringles in his bed any time. She was getting closer to winning herself a pair of Waveriders when the phone started to ring.
    "You gotta be kiddin' me," Squire grumbled, spewing crumbs toward the television set. He considered letting the machine pick up, but realized it was