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9

SIMON

“ S o that’s North Island,” Simon said to Father Anne as their boat neared the destination. “I never thought I’d set foot there.”

“It must have been a cool place to live back in the day,” she replied.

The Georgetown Lighthouse, unmanned for decades, stood tall above the trees. The now-shabby keeper’s house and several storage buildings remained, as well as a long pier used only by the Coast Guard for maintenance.

“I understand cutting costs, but there are times when I wouldn’t mind running a lighthouse and not dealing with the rest of the world,” Simon confessed.

Their chartered boat rode out the waves, forcing Simon to hold onto the railing. Cool spray hit their faces and wet their hair.

“You mean like the days when you go up against an ancient monster?” Father Anne teased, despite the danger of their mission.

“Among others.”

“Glad we have someone on the inside to get us access,” Father Anne said. “I hate to think what the media would do with a collection of witches and psychics getting arrested just as they’re about to do an occult ritual before Halloween.”

Simon shuddered, something that had nothing to do with the cold sea air. “Yeah, that would be bad.”

He had gotten a call from Steven Hardin, the Navigation Aides Officer for the Georgetown Coast Guard office. Teag somehow tracked the man down and explained the situation.

Hardin had just returned to duty after a serious illness and knew the wardings needed to be strengthened. Once he found out about the effort Simon had put together, the officer had thrown his full support behind them, clearing the way for them to have access, privacy, and assurance that they would not be charged with trespassing. Hardin also arranged for a chartered boat to take them to and from North Island and volunteered to go along, together with the person he was training as his successor.

Simon promised not to leave any evidence of their presence or post any photos and agreed to share the incantation so Hardin could help maintain the protections in the future.

Now a protected wilderness, North Island no longer had any human inhabitants. Long ago, wealthy planters built summer homes and lodges there, but that ended after the Civil War. Since then, the land had become a nature preserve and home to the lighthouse. Simon wondered if any of the people who once lived there sensed the power of the land.

“Can you feel it?” Father Anne asked, and Simon nodded, knowing she meant the island’s connection to the larger genius loci that ran along the coast, dotted by the other lighthouses.

“Yeah. There’s a ripple of ancient energy just under the surface. Faint until you know what to look for, and then it’s unmistakable.” Sometimes it amazed him how many things people without supernatural abilities were blithely unaware of in their surroundings.

Out here on the water, Simon sensed the raw energies around them, both from magic and the powerful ocean current.

Everyone in their group wore protective charms and carried an inscribed demon bell. Simon counted on the amulets to help hold off the troll, but he didn’t expect them to keep the creature away completely.

“You doing okay?” Vic sidled up beside Simon.

“I’m antsy. I can’t tell whether it’s just knowing what we’re planning to do or being this close to part of the genius loci.”

“Think the troll will show up?”

Simon nodded. “At some point. When he finally feels threatened. He’s gotten used to doing as he pleased all those years when the guardians were gone and the protections weakened. He’s not going to like getting brought to heel again.”

His phone chimed, and Simon checked his messages. “The teams in North Carolina are heading to their lighthouses. Once we’re all in place, we can start the ritual.”

The boat docked, and they scrambled out. Vic, Simon, and Hardin helped the passengers as the captain tied up at the pier.

“Be careful,” the captain warned. “No telling what’s in those woods. I’ll be waiting when you come back.”

Simon and the others hefted their packs, filled with the materials they would need to hallow the lighthouse and strengthen its connection to the web of energy that protected the coast.

Each of the teams heading for the other lighthouses carried the same equipment, charms, bells, and copies of the incantation. Simon had checked in with the witch teams to make sure the Low Rangers showed up as promised for security, and Vic double-checked with the homeless shelters. Everyone was in place.

Simon lifted his face to the wind. The ancient power of the island made his skin itch and pulsed in time with his heartbeat. He wondered about the keepers and their families who had tended the light for decades and whether they were attuned to the resonance from the beginning or grew more so over their residency.

To what extent did the lighthouses choose their keepers? I can’t imagine that someone who wasn’t in sync would last long. Have the lights missed their guardians? Does the nexus have the sentience to feel abandoned?

Despite no one living on the island, it wasn’t completely overgrown, and the dock was solid, suggesting that the Coast Guard kept the area around the lighthouse cleared and did routine maintenance on the pier.

Hardin led the way since he had been to the lighthouse before in an official capacity with the Coast Guard. Dan, his trainee, followed a few steps behind. Father Anne and her assistant, Beth, came next. Father Anne looked wary, and both she and Beth carried an iron ankh, a protective symbol that was as ancient as the creature they hoped to dispel.

Gabriella brought a duffel bag of the herbs and powders needed to paint the sigils and re-hallow the tower and the area around it. Miss Eppie carried a small satchel with the materials needed for her magical tradition. Sister Cecilia, the retired nun from St. Cyprian who Mrs. Ames had recruited, wore a necklace of a bishop’s crozier—one of the saint’s many icons—along with the amulets the others carried.

Simon and Vic brought up the rear. Simon’s messenger bag held additional charms and bells, and a paper copy of the lighthouse keeper’s incantation as backup to the digital version on his phone.

“You picking up on anything out there?” Simon wondered how the vibes seemed to Vic, whose strong intuition often seemed just a half-step distant from psychic ability.

“I haven’t spotted the troll—although since he can shapeshift, I’m not sure what I’m looking for,” Vic grumbled. He carried his gun in hand, a personal weapon, not his police service piece. “But I feel like we’re being watched.”

“So do I.” Simon scanned the forest that verged on the cleared area around the tower.

“The whole island makes me twitchy,” Vic added. “I’ll be glad when we’re done.”

His instincts, even if they don’t have psychic roots, are spot on as usual, Simon thought.

“Welcome to the Georgetown Lighthouse,” Hardin told them when they reached the base of the tower. “We don’t have clearance to go up in the tower, but fortunately, I don’t think we’ll need it. The ritual that has passed down from my predecessors is all done here at the bottom.”

Simon nodded. “That matches what’s in the version of the incantation I have as well.” He and Hardin had already met to work out any differences between the older version of the ritual that Simon had from the long-ago keeper and Simon’s more recent version. Simon had also compared notes with Father Anne to weave in anything found in the St. Expeditus archive.

They agreed that the individual keepers’ spells were more powerful since they set the wardings while Hardin’s version merely maintained what was already wrought. Steven had quickly agreed to cede doing the working to Father Anne.

Eager to get in and out before the troll showed up, everyone set about preparing for the ritual. Sister Cecilia and Father Anne began to paint protective symbols along the base of the tower in a substance made with consecrated and magical ingredients that faded to translucent when dry.

Gabriella set up a workspace with candles and a small brazier so she could invoke her wardings using mixtures and tinctures from plants to ward away evil and offer protection. Miss Eppie circled the lighthouse, burying small bags of goofer dust and graveyard dirt around the base. She added more invisible symbols to the inscriptions on the tower and made another circle burning a bundle of sage as she chanted.

Simon’s earpiece kept him in touch with the rest of the witchy crews and the people gathered at the shop. One by one, the teams at the lighthouses reported in, ready to begin their incantations.

“Everyone’s here,” Pete told him, “including your Skeleton Crew and a couple of people who said they’re descendants of the lighthouse keepers. We’re packed to the gills, and the power is off the charts. I mean, I can feel it and I don’t have the ability. It’s practically making my hair stand on end.”

“Did the coven show?”

“Yeah. They’re getting along great with everyone. Don’t get me wrong—everybody is taking the protective piece seriously. They’ve all set out their cards, charms, dice, or whatever they use, and they’ll be ready to go right on time. It’s like the most off-the-chain Halloween party ever,” Pete added. “I hope you don’t mind, but I ordered sub sandwich platters, sodas, and cookies since you always need to eat after you do a big effort.”

Simon smiled at Pete’s thoughtfulness and attention to detail. “That’s great. Just give me the receipt, and I’ll reimburse you. Did the bikers show up?”

“If you mean the six really big guys in leather lined up outside the shop, I think this is the safest we’ve ever been,” Pete replied.

“Good. I’ll let you know when we finish, but I’m going silent now so we can do the incantation,” Simon reminded him.

“Good luck and be careful,” Pete said. “Talk to you after.”

Simon checked his newest text message and looked to Vic. “The North Carolina covens have activated, and they’ve supercharged the seven-pointed star. Maret’s coven showed, the bikers are on duty, the store is full of witches, Pete is feeding them, and it’s turned into a house party with magic.”

“Why do we always miss the fun stuff?” Vic said in a dry tone. He grew serious and laid a hand on Simon’s arm. “Remember what I told you. Back off and let the others fill in if it gets too much. Saving the world is important, but I want you in it.” He fixed Simon with a look.

Simon took his hand. “I’ll be careful. Saving the world matters, but I want to be with you.” He understood Vic’s caution and hoped he could keep his promise.

Father Anne joined them. “Gabriella and Miss Eppie are ready. Sister Cecilia is also finished. If you’ve done what you need to do, I think it’s show time.”

“Let’s go.”

Vic stood on guard, gun in hand, watching the forest. Father Anne, Simon, and Hardin stood together to speak the incantation, and the others formed a circle around them and Gabriella’s candlelit workspace. Their updated version combined the best features of several variations since no one had the original text.

Hardin’s assistant Dan joined Vic, standing where he could help keep watch and also witness the ritual.

Simon closed his eyes and sent out a silent summons to the ghosts of the Georgetown Lighthouse. He felt their presence flutter and grow stronger. “ Ghosts and guardians of North Island! Lend us your help to replace the wardings and keep the creature at bay.”

Spirits grew closer. Some he guessed to be the ghosts of the lighthouse keepers, while others were wives and children. A few of the revenants looked like ship captains, and Simon wondered if his call raised them from the deep.

“The power has faded. We were left alone,” the ghosts accused.

“We’re here to fix that. We’ll raise the protections and make sure they stay renewed.”

“The dangerous thing we kept at bay has gotten stronger,” the spirits howled.

“Strengthening the wardings should bind the troll again. Help us.”

The air grew colder, the sky darkened, and the wind picked up as the chant continued. The sea had been calm when they headed for the island, but now whitecaps rose, and waves pounded against the shore.

The troll could choose any of the lighthouses to strike, but Simon had to trust his gut that it would be drawn to protect its most powerful sources—the two strongest lighthouses.

“I’m going to cast off and go out a ways, or the boat will slam into the pier,” the captain said on the frequency for Simon’s earpiece. “I’ll check back every half hour to come pick you up.”

Without the boat, they were stranded on the island with the ghosts, the fluctuating energy of the magic—and possibly the troll. Simon tried to push that from his mind and focus on sending his energy into the spell.

He staggered when he felt the power of their ritual connect with the weak pulse of what remained of the old protections. For just a second, the invisible sigils on the tower walls lit up like flame. The warded circle where they stood glowed, and a translucent, shimmering dome of power rose over them.

Simon felt tendrils of energy expand like vines from inside the warded circle toward the tall, white tower, twining their way up the old brick walls. A flicker of light drew Simon’s attention, Sister Petroula’s ghost joined them, standing next to Sister Cecilia, helping with the chant.

The power of their magic rose like the tide, flowing toward the lighthouse. He recited the old words, feeling them draw from his power.

I’m glad I didn’t try this alone. I’m not sure one person has enough energy to survive raising such strong protections. The spell might have taken everything I had.

Simon heard a commotion from the forest and sensed the ghosts’ sudden agitation, but he couldn’t spare it his attention. Not yet. Faltering now would mean failure and could be disastrous.

He felt the hair on the backs of his arms rise and knew they were no longer the only ones present on the island.

Simon had memorized the words of power. He finally dared to glance away from the page in front of him and caught his breath, only hesitating for a second as he continued to recite the words.

A tall man with the build of a professional bodybuilder—bronzed skin, broad shoulders, thick muscles, and large fists—strode toward them. His wild mane of dark hair framed plain features, and his eyes blazed golden with fury. He looked more like a warrior than the gnarled figures from fairytales and pop culture.

And here’s the troll—right on time.

“Stay inside the circle, no matter what happens!” Simon was glad the boat captain had left and wasn’t at risk. “That’s the troll!”

Vic and Dan opened fire, hitting squarely, center mass. The troll staggered, then kept coming, barely seeming to register the shots.

He swatted away the next round of bullets—aimed for his head—like mosquitos.

The troll roared and ran at them, although he kept his distance from the lighthouse itself as if the bricks were still infused with a century of fading magic. He smelled like the wet leaves and rotting plants of the forest floor.

They fired again, and he staggered but did not fall. Inside the dome, their protections kept them safe from the troll’s psychic and physical attacks, but maintaining the scrim required constant attention and the addition of power. It couldn’t be kept going for long without siphoning away energy needed for the fight or without harming the one casting the magic.

“Salt infused with the protections of the guardian energy will help keep him away from the lighthouse,” Simon yelled above the tide.

“We’ll handle Mr. Fugly,” Vic said. “Do your magic stuff so we can go home and get dry.”

Vic and Dan had brought a varied arsenal with them, including bullets etched with runes, shotgun shells filled with iron and silver filings, and a net infused with silver strands and soaked in colloidal silver. They didn’t expect that any of the weapons would kill the troll; they just needed to weaken him long enough to do the binding.

“Time to rock and roll,” Vic shouted with a glance to Dan to ensure they were in sync.

Simon had no idea how near the troll needed to be to work his magic, but Vic and Dan kept up suppressing fire to keep the being from getting close. All around him, the witches prepared for their spellwork, lighting candles and combining dried plants and other materials needed for the casting.

“He’s in range,” Vic told Dan. “Fire!”

The net launcher sent out a weighted web of steel with a coating of iron and silver that hit the troll with enough force to knock him to the ground.

“He’s down!” Dan shouted.

The troll roared again, a near-deafening howl that rippled across the ground and was felt through the soles of their shoes. He flailed to free himself. The net was large enough that it folded around the creature, making it difficult to find the edges and get free. He hissed and shrieked, angry and clearly uncomfortable from the net’s materials.

“Uh-oh.” As Vic spoke, the troll struggled to his feet and banged its huge fists against the earth. The metal net cut into the troll’s bronzed flesh, and the corrosive substances burned a lattice pattern, but the immortal entity kept moving. He punched at the net and then screamed as he hooked strong fingers through the weave trying to rip it apart.

“I don’t know how long that will hold,” Dan yelled.

Simon couldn’t pause his part in the incantation to shout instructions. Instead, he sent an urgent psychic plea to the ghosts.

“Please keep the troll back until we finish. If he gets through the dome, we’ll die.”

The temperature dropped, freezing the spray from the waves where it fell on the ground. The ghosts who had followed them and the spirits of the lighthouse slowly faded into view, shadowy at first and then more substantial. Sister Petroula rallied the revenants, and they rushed forward, surrounding the troll.

Disoriented by the ghostly reinforcements, the troll thrashed, striking out blindly at targets that could become insubstantial and then grow solid to land a blow.

“Thank you. Keep it up. We’ll be as quick as we can ,” Simon sent to the ghosts.

Several spells wove a similar, invisible net of protection, and Simon hoped it was even stronger than the original. Fortunately, although witches of different traditions and abilities lent their skill and energy to this new foundational binding, maintaining the power of the incantation was a much simpler ritual for Hardin and his successors.

“Shit—he’s out of the net,” Vic yelled as the troll shredded the last strands. The creature bled where the metal had cut into his skin, and welts rose where the silver and iron touched him.

The ghosts surrounded the troll, harrying him and withdrawing, coming at him from all directions. That deterred him for a short time until he let out a rage-filled screech. Then he made a sweeping motion with his hands that made the ghosts vanish.

Shit. Did he destroy the ghosts or send them somewhere else? Or just drain them so they can’t attack anymore? Simon didn’t have time to think about the possibilities, but he hoped the ghosts had not been banished forever.

The troll shrieked again and barreled toward the dome.

“Incoming!” Dan warned.

Simon looked at the others inside the dome. The binding spells took energy and focus, as did maintaining the scrim that kept the troll at bay. Exhaustion numbed him, and his head pounded. From the expressions of pain and concentration on his companions’ faces, he suspected that the working was taking a toll, draining their energy and taxing both magic and life force.

We can’t stop before it’s finished. If the incomplete spells don’t kill us, the troll will.

The possibility of being seriously injured or dying loomed larger and more likely than before.

We need to protect civilians and stop the tribute, but I don’t want to die. Being a hero isn’t worth leaving Vic. This wasn’t supposed to be death magic.

The troll rebounded from the invisible force field, but it didn’t seem to hurt him. He backed up, screamed once more, and threw himself against the scrim, coming back immediately for another hit as soon as he bounced away.

Why doesn’t the troll run away? Maybe he can’t.

Maybe he’s bound to the land, just like the power is bound to the Wellspring.

Simon saw the effort keeping the barrier up cost the witches. He knew that the incantation and major spell still wasn’t quite complete.

We may run out of time. That would be really bad for everyone.

The warding thinned, strained to its limits. A crafty look came into the troll’s eyes, and he muttered something in a guttural voice.

“I will destroy you all,” the troll growled.

Simon screamed in pain and wrapped his arms around his midsection, biting out the words to the spell even as he felt like his insides were on fire.

Trolls can do pain spells. Maybe it never bothered to try before, or the barrier is too thin to stop him.

One by one, the other witches staggered, doing their best to read out the rest of the spells despite barely keeping their feet.

Vic and Dan started shooting again, but the troll seemed to have figured out they couldn’t kill him. The only thing at this point keeping him from wading into their group and ripping heads from bodies was the thin, fragile circle of salt, iron, and silver on the ground.

“Keep going. We’ve got to finish!” Simon shouted between gritted teeth. The dome glitched, waning briefly and then waxing, and he knew they were running out of time.

Simon saw Vic shoot him a glance and knew he was worried that Simon would burn himself out. He tried to give him a reassuring look but wasn’t entirely sure he could keep his promise given the cost of failure.

Sister Cecilia edged forward. Simon caught at her arm, fearing she didn’t realize how close to the barrier she had gotten. She fixed him with a resolute look.

“I can buy you time—and my time is nearly done.” She shook off his hand and stepped over the salt line—and through the barrier.

Simon’s eyes widened, and he gasped, expecting the troll to tear the petite nun apart. Her lips were already moving with a curse as she crossed the perimeter, and whatever magic she wielded forced the troll back several feet. She alternated between English and Italian, hurling dark spells that ringed the creature with flames and covered its skin with boils.

We’re nearly to the end. Please don’t get killed .

Vic and Dan kept up their barrage, probably hoping that if Sister Cecilia’s magic weakened the troll their weapons might have more impact.

The troll’s supernatural healing couldn’t keep up with the attack, leaving him bleeding from ragged wounds that would have felled anything natural. Fury and hatred blazed in his eyes, and Simon knew the creature would fight until too incapacitated to strike back.

We’re in the home stretch. We’ve just got to hang in to the end.

The ghosts had returned, swarming around the troll and clawing at his arms and back. There were more spirits now, and Simon glimpsed what he guessed were ghosts of the escaped slaves. Their assault slowed the troll from returning to the warded line, but Simon knew they wouldn’t be able to hold him off for long.

Sister Cecilia cast a look over her shoulder, and Simon knew it meant goodbye.

No! He cried out wordlessly since he couldn’t stop the chant.

The nun threw her arms wide, ran into the troll’s space, and embraced the creature as she spoke a word of power and flames engulfed them both.

“ Audios nos !” Simon and the others chanted loudly, their voices rising as one.

The troll vanished.

The creature left behind a burned place on the sand, the melted remnants of the net, and the charred body of Sister Cecilia among dozens of bullets and shell casings.

Simon managed to stay on his feet, although he swayed and stumbled. Vic was beside him in seconds, helping him stay upright. Father Anne had paled but remained strong enough to wave away assistance. The younger witches seemed less affected but still looked exhausted. Gabriella and Miss Eppie nodded to Simon to indicate that they were okay, although he thought they looked peaked.

They all looked stunned anguished at Sister Cecilia’s sacrifice. Gabriella and Miss Eppie spoke a blessing.

Simon felt the loss like a knife. It’s my fault she came with us. She deserved to live out her life in peace.

“She knew it was dangerous when she insisted on coming,” Vic said quietly, guessing Simon’s thoughts.

“I could have refused to bring her.”

“That wasn’t your choice to make,” Vic pointed out. “She lived a life of service. This was important enough to her to make a hard choice. She died a hero. You’re not to blame.”

Simon appreciated his words but knew it would take a long time to accept that.

“Are you hurt? Do you need a doctor—or a witch doctor?” Vic gave Simon a no-bullshit stare.

Simon ran a quick internal inventory and shook his head. “I think I’m okay. Not bleeding. The pain went away when the troll burned. I’m just spent from doing the spell. We all are.”

Dan and the ghosts remained on guard in case the troll reappeared. Vic went to the cooler the boat captain left for them and returned with juice and candy bars for all the spellcasters to help them replenish their energy.

From the look on Vic’s face and the grim set of his mouth, Simon felt certain his husband would be adding some vodka to his orange juice as soon as they got home.

“Is that it? Will the troll stay away now?” Dan asked.

Simon sipped the drink and shook his head. “Not forever—not without keeping the wardings replenished. The creature is immortal. We’re just putting up a magical barbed wire fence around this area. There’s nothing to stop the troll from causing problems with livestock or wild animals, but the binding should stop him from killing people.”

“The St. Expeditus Society will work with Hardin’s folks to maintain the wardings,” Father Anne confirmed, and Hardin nodded.

“We’re here to help any time you need us,” Gabriella added, and Miss Eppie agreed.

Simon called the store. Pete answered on the first ring.

“Is it done? Because everyone here looks tuckered out,” Pete blurted before Simon could even ask.

“Yes. The protections have been re-established, and we have new guardians in place to keep the spells strong,” Simon told him. “Is everyone there okay?”

“A couple of people nearly fainted, and we’ve got folks with bad headaches, but there’s no blood, and no one seems badly hurt,” Pete said. “I’ve been passing out ibuprofen like candy and making sure everyone got plenty of carbs and sugar to help recover.”

“Great. That’s exactly what they need. Try not to let anyone leave until they’re steady on their feet.”

“I can’t promise that the witches will listen to me, but I’ll do my best,” Pete promised. “Are you okay?”

Simon gave a grim chuckle. “The last time I felt like this was after a weekend bender in college, but I’ll survive.”

“Don’t worry about the shop. Stay home and get better. I’ll keep the lights on,” Pete replied.

“Thanks. Call if anything strange happens.”

“Strange for us?” Pete laughed. “That would have to be pretty weird.”

“Finish your drink,” Vic ordered when Simon ended the call. Simon downed the rest and handed back the can.

“It’s going to take a moment to hit my system, but I don’t think there’s any damage. Although I might sleep for three days straight.” Simon turned his attention to the ghosts, who now included Sister Cecilia among them.

“I’m so sorry.” He lent the ghosts what energy he could spare so the others could see and hear.

“Don’t be,” she replied. “I’ve lived a long, full life. By binding the troll once more, many more people will be saved. It was a worthy trade. We can help the spirits of the troll’s victims move on if they haven’t already. And I will be honored to take my place among the guardians emeritus.”

Simon planned to return the anchor items that enabled travel for the ghosts that didn’t remain on the island. He looked at Sister Cecilia and hesitated.

“I can be anchored at the college and here with the lighthouse,” she told him. “I feel a connection to both places. I think the other spirits will help me figure it out.”

“We will make sure her memory and sacrifice are honored,” Father Anne said. “I’ll talk to the folks at Saint Cyprian. Be at peace,” she told the ghost.

Simon turned to Vic. “What do we do about Sister Cecilia’s body?”

Vic stared at the charred corpse and grimaced. “I’m still working that out.”

“I’ll handle it.”

They turned to Hardin, who had come to stand next to Dan. “This is technically my jurisdiction under the Supernatural Coast Guard. Not my first haunted lighthouse or the first mess to clean up. It helps that no one is allowed to be here. Leave it to me.”

Vic opened his mouth to argue and seemed to think better of it. Maybe he realized that he’d never be able to write a report for this, Simon thought.

“What we just did should break the motorcycle club deal, right?” Vic cut through Simon’s silence.

Simon nodded. “Yes. With the original protections back in place—and souped up as well, the troll can’t continue the deal with the club or make new ones. He’s bound as long as the lighthouse incantations are strong and the genius loci of the wellspring feeds the magic.”

“Good to know,” Vic replied.

Simon looked to the others who had come out to the island on this desperate gambit. Everyone looked tired and worn, but proud of the difficult victory they had achieved.

Hardin signaled the boat captain, and the sound of the engine made them all turn toward the dock.

“Time to go home, folks,” Hardin said. “You did good. You’re heroes. It won’t be in the news, but I’ll make sure the right people know. Thank you.”

Vic linked arms with Simon under the guise of staying close, but Simon knew his partner was quietly lending him physical and emotional support.

“Pretty impressive,” Vic said quietly once they were seated on the boat and headed back to the mainland. “Now it’s time to get you home and into a hot shower, feed you some sugar and painkillers, and put you to bed.”

Simon wanted to make a witty, suggestive comeback but only managed to squeeze Vic’s hand.

Vic leaned closer so his lips brushed Simon’s ear. “We can have ‘saved the world’ again sex in the morning. I promise.”