Infernal Magic: An Urban Fantasy Novel (Demons of Fire and Night Book 1)

I
nfernal Magic

Book 1 of the The Demons of Fire and Night Series.

Copyright © 2016 by C. N. Crawford.

All rights reserved.

N
o part
of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

U
rsula can't remember
a single thing before three years ago, so she has to keep her life simple. All she wants is to earn enough money for rent--and maybe a bit left over for a new pair of boots.

But on her eighteenth birthday, all hell breaks loose... quite literally... when a hellhound shifter shows up in her kitchen. Kester's lethally gorgeous, and he's come with a terrifying message: Ursula owes her soul to the goddess of fire.

No one seems to care that she doesn't remember striking that deal.

Thrust in the middle of a war between the demons of fire and night, Ursula must reclaim her magical knowledge and her long-forgotten skills with the blade if she wants to escape eternal damnation.

I
nfernal Magic is
the first book in the standalone Demons of Fire and Night Series. However, it is also part of a larger magical universe which includes
Magic Hunter
the first book in the Vampire’s Mage Series.

I
f 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.”

Her pulse raced.
Time for damage control, Ursula.
“I’m very sorry about the fire. It was a complete accident.”

Just as Muppet put the cell phone to his ear, another man stepped forward—someone she hadn’t even noticed before, though she had no idea how she’d missed him. 

At the sight of him, a shiver crawled up her spine. If she’d thought Muppet looked aggressive, this guy screamed pure malice. It wasn’t his appearance: rich chestnut hair, sharp cheekbones, and perfect lips that could charm the knickers off a nun. No, it was the feral way he moved, and his piercing green eyes that bored right into her soul when he slid a glance her way.

His gaze flicked to Muppet. “I don’t really think that’s necessary.” He spoke in a commanding voice, his accent posh as hell. “Give me your phone, and take your friend to another bar.”

Wordlessly, the Muppet handed over his phone, and the green-eyed stranger pocketed it. Muppet and Stubby grasped each other’s arms, staggering toward the exit.

A small crowd still stood, gaping at the stranger as he closed his eyes, muttering. As he spoke, goose bumps rose on Ursula’s flesh, and the hair on the back of her neck stood on end.
What the hell is he doing?

Whatever it was, the crowd seemed to lose interest, and when he opened his eyes again, the onlookers had drifted back to their tables.

Ursula stared at him, stunned. In the past few months, there had been rumors about witches in London, but…
No, that’s insane. 

Whatever this stranger’s secret was, his stunning physique now drew her eyes. A bespoke suit accentuated an athletic body, and a gold watch flashed on his wrist.
Definitely rich.
The way he had spoken wasn’t just confident; he was entitled, too. Probably a total knob.

Still, he’d helped her out, so it wasn’t like she was going to complain. 

He turned to her, green eyes lingering on her drenched T-shirt. “You work here?”

“Yes.” Despite her fever, she shivered again. There really was something
lethal
in those eyes.

“I’ll have two fingers of the Glenlivet 21. Neat. A glass of water on the side.” 

Irritation simmered. Apparently, no one had ever taught him to say please. But it was more than just annoyance that unnerved her. There was something
strange
about him.
Am I losing my mind, or do his movements seem… otherwordly?

She was losing her mind. That was the only explanation. She had a fever, and she was rattled by… whatever the hell had just happened. 

She cocked her hip. “Well, since you just bailed me out, I guess I won’t insist that you say please.”

He stared at her, his lips a thin line.

Heading back to the bar, she cringed. She shouldn’t have said that, but something about him really irked her—probably the rich-boy attitude that reminded her of Rufus.

This club was just one of the ways her ex invested his father’s money. He was studying business at University College London, planning to build himself some kind of financial empire—a testament to his genius, of course. Frankly, she was getting a little sick of rich people thinking they were better than everyone else just because they’d been born lucky. 

Ursula slipped behind the bar, reaching up for the Glenlivet. When she turned to pour the drink, he’d taken a seat. 

She filled the tumbler with two fingers of Scotch and slid it over, glancing at the fifty-pound note he’d left on the bar. She didn’t often see fifty-pound notes, but this guy probably had plenty. In fact, she could imagine him lighting them on fire in front of a homeless person for a laugh. 

Then again, maybe she wasn’t in any position to accuse others of pyromania. The bar smelled of burnt Muppet, and her stomach was still turning flips from the whole debacle.
What in God’s name happened? Hell of a birthday.

“What’s your name?” the stranger asked, his deep voice resonating.

His intent gaze made her pulse race, but she needed to get a grip and focus on trying to salvage her job. “Ursula.”

He unnerved her, and she could feel her chest flushing.

She turned, catching a brief glance of herself in the mirror with a shiver of distaste. Even on a shoestring budget, Ursula normally prided herself on her sense of style. Tonight, she’d chosen a white shirt with tight maroon trousers that could
almost
pass for leather. She’d accessorized with her favorite boots and a chunky black bracelet. But the look wasn’t working out so well right now. Her ginger hair was a mess, and her soaked shirt clung to her body, showing off the pink bra underneath. Only her black eyeliner remained in place.

With any luck, she’d get the chance to clean herself up before Rufus saw her again. Otherwise, it would only confirm every terrible thing he’d said about her when he’d dumped her.

From behind, the stranger said, “Miss?”

She spun around. “Yes?”

“Pour yourself a drink, on me. It is, after all, your first night at the legal drinking age.”

Her blood went cold.
How the hell does he know that? 

Just as she was stammering out a response, she caught sight of Rufus striding up behind him, a stormy look on his face. Her ex leaned on the bar, immaculate in a pressed white shirt.

“Ursula,” he said. “We need to talk about what just happened.”