The door opened again and a group of friends fell out, giggling and stumbling towards him. From inside, the music faded away to a burbling voice. ‘Our next victim is the fabulous Ivy Wilde who…’ The door banged shut, muffling the words.

Winter sighed. Then his feet swerved round the happy group and into the pub’s interior almost of their own volition.

Ivy’s friend, if that’s what he was, was pushing her up onto the small stage. She was laughing, her blonde curls bouncing and catching the light, but he could see the reluctance in her eyes even from this distance. She turned in his direction, her chin angling upwards and he hastily veered left towards the bar and caught the eye of the barman.

By the time he had a whisky in hand, Ivy was already onto the second verse. Her cheeks were rosy pink and there was a tremor to the fingers that were clutching the microphone. She wasn’t a particularly bad singer but her lack of enthusiasm made her painful to watch. He wished that she wouldn’t sway her hips like that. The movement only served to accentuate her curves and, despite the quality of the whisky, his mouth felt uncomfortably dry.

Regardless of her reluctance, the crowd seemed to appreciate her efforts. They were certainly whooping and cheering loudly enough. The more they yelled, the more confident Ivy grew with both her singing and her dancing, to the point where she replaced the microphone back on its stand and abandoned her sultry swaying for more energetic movements. What no one seemed to have noticed was that she also seemed to be inching closer and closer to the edge of the stage. It wasn’t a long drop – probably less than a metre – but she’d no doubt had one or two drinks already and she could fall and hurt herself. That was what he told himself when he pushed his way through the crowd to get closer to her.

‘Oi!’ A fat man holding the dregs of a pint of beer glared at him. Winter glanced in the man’s direction, which was enough to make him immediately subside. Winter nodded, satisfied.

He’d just reached the front of the stage when Ivy whipped round with alarming speed, as if attempting a pirouette. Her sparkling eyes fixed on him and widened. Unfortunately, her surprise was also her undoing: her feet kept moving but her body didn’t follow and, almost in slow motion, she began to topple forward. Winter didn’t pause. He braced himself, held out his arms and caught her as she fell.

‘Oooomph!’ Ivy coiled her arms round his neck and beamed up at him. She smelled of honey and sunshine and just the tiniest smidge of ancient magic. He breathed in deeply. ‘My hero!’ she burbled.

Winter stared down at her, his expression inscrutable. ‘Are you trying to maim yourself?’ he inquired.

Her smile widened. ‘I know, right? This is why I hate doing karaoke. It’s far too energetic.’