Infernal Magic (Demons of Fire and Night, #1)
C.N. Crawford
Chapter 1
If Ursula had been able to plan her eighteenth birthday, the evening would be going very differently. First, she wouldn’t be working in a nightclub owned by her ex. Second, she wouldn’t have this weird fever burning her cheeks, setting her nerves on edge—like she was blazing from the inside out. And third, she definitely wouldn’t be pushing through an unruly crowd to break up a fight between two hammered university students.
In an ideal world, she’d have called in sick and taken the whole night off. Of course, in an ideal world, she wouldn’t be worrying about the rent that was due in two days.
“Excuse me!” She said, squeezing between a gawking couple, arms raised. That shows authority, right?
Two young men squared off on the dance floor, bathed in District 5’s pulsing orange and pink lights. A pounding bass rumbled through the room.
Part of her wanted to let these two knobs stab each other with broken bottles, but she had a mission tonight, fever or not. She was going to prove to the world that she had her life together, that she was a valuable asset to the club—or at least, she was going to prove it to her ex. Granted, Rufus was an idiot, but he was her boss and she was hanging on to this job by a thread.
A small crowd gathered around the potential brawlers, and she tried to suss out the bigger threat—possibly the red-faced giant who swayed in place. His platinum hair, bushy eyebrows, and full lips gave him the appearance of a Muppet—a murderous one who might crush someone with his giant, meaty hands.
“I told you to watch where you step. You scuffed my shoe!” The Muppet screamed, a vein popping in his forehead. “Arsehole!”
His opponent, a stocky guy with a bushy beard, jabbed a stubby finger. His voice boomed over the music. “Oh, is that what I am, you fat-faced donkey?”
Oh, good. A totally rational argument over a scuffed shoe. Sweat beaded on Ursula’s skin, and she wiped the back of her hand over her forehead. God, it was hot in here. She couldn’t be the only one who felt like the room was on fire. Maybe that was what was making these guys act like lunatics.
The two drunks circled each other, and Ursula squeezed between them, ignoring the heat burning through her. “Everyone take a step back,” she said, trying to project as much authority as possible.
Muppet was definitely the real threat here. He sloshed the remnants of his beer from his pint glass, baring his teeth. “You know your girlfriend still wants me,” he growled at Stubby.
Of course. It didn’t matter if the argument was about shoes or football, every bar brawl came down to one thing: a fight over some girl. Whatever the case, no one was civilized after five pints of Bombardier.
Stubby grinned. “She said you only lasted for two—”
“Okay!” Ursula cut in, holding up her hands. “Seems like you’ve both—”
The tall one lunged past her, trying to smash his pint glass over Stubby’s head. With a reflex so fast it shocked even her, Ursula’s hand shot out, gripping the man’s wrist. Warm beer splashed all over her white shirt. Bollocks. Now I’m getting really annoyed.
And, incidentally, so was the giant Muppet. He clawed at the shorter man. “I’ll rip your hairy face off and shove it up your arse.”
Ursula needed to get control—now. And despite her petite size, she had one thing on her side: a surprising amount of physical strength.
Still gripping Muppet’s wrist, she twisted his arm behind his back, wrenching it up high and forcing him over.
“Get off me!” He shrieked. “Stupid bitch!”
Not the B-word. It was one of those insults that really burned her up, and she was already way too hot. In fact, her body felt like some kind of inferno, and she could think of nothing but white hot flames.
“She’s burning me!” Muppet shrieked.
Her attention jolted to his shirt—which, incidentally, was on fire.
What the hell?
Panicking, she released him. The man threw himself to the ground, frantically rolling to put out the flames. Within moments, a girl doused him with a pitcher of water, and the air filled with the scent of burnt cotton.
Ursula stumbled back, staring at her hands. Was it just her mind, or were grey tendrils of smoke curling from her fingertips? This fever must be rattling my brain. She really needed to go home and lie on the sofa.
She clenched her fists, trying to ignore the rising panic. She stood in the middle of Rufus’s club, her shirt soaked in beer, having lit a customer on fire. Her plans to prove her worth to her boss had backfired just a bit.
Muppet rose, his hands shaking, and pulled out his mobile phone. “I’m calling the police.”