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.