Briar

  Briar

  Midnight’s Crown: Book 1

  By Ripley Proserpina

  For My Editors Extraordinaire:

  Heather, Jennifer, Becky

  Briar

  Midnight’s Crown: Book 1

  Copyright©️ 2017 by Ripley Proserpina

  Copyright ©️ 2017, Ripley Proserpina

  First electronic publication: November 2017

  Ripley Proserpina

  www.ripleyproserpina.com

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the author’s permission.

  NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. The author does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.

  Published in the United States of America

  Prologue

  Briar knew what it was like to burn alive. She’d watched her skin blister and pop the moment a beam of sunlight touched her.

  Long ago, on a beautiful summer day, with the smell of mown grass in her nose and the buzz of cicadas in her ears, she bounced with all the restrained excitement a five-year-old was capable of having. She stood on her toes, fingers pressed against the sliding glass door as her parents rolled back the cover on their brand new pool.

  Sticky with zinc oxide to protect her fair skin from the rays of an early June sun, she waited. Her elbows stuck out like chicken wings, held away from her body by stiff plastic floaties bought especially for this first swim of the year.

  She stood next to her brother, who huffed impatiently. “I’m going off the diving board first. You have to wait. I call dibs.”

  Her parents waved at them, and Briar and her brother launched themselves from the house, feet flying.

  The wood was hot against the soles of her feet, and she jumped, the cool water taking her breath away. Liquid covered her head for just a second before she popped to the surface, and flames seared her from the top of her head to her tiny collarbones and shoulders.

  A scream ripped from her throat, and in the days that followed, she was hoarse, her small baby voice only above a whisper. Hands plucked her from the pool, but still she screamed and thrashed, seeking to escape the pain from which there was no relief.

  Soon, unfamiliar adults held a mask over her mouth and nose, tangy air blowing over her, and later, when the swelling in her lips and face receded, she could still taste it on her tongue.

  Not much was as clear in those first few moments when Briar’s life changed forever and the sun became her enemy.

  There was a name for what she was, and while the kids at her school called her a vampire, she wasn’t that. She was photosensitive, with, as the doctors would quote to her as she grew older, an extreme sensitivity to ultraviolet light.

  A moment of sun, and her skin swelled and reddened, cracked and bled. There were no lazy days at the pool, no beach vacations.

  For Briar, there would never be any track and field events, never a wedding in the backyard on a sunny day. Her life happened inside, curtains drawn.

  And if she did venture out, she covered herself, head to toe, in special clothes that only made her stand out more.

  She was part of the darkness now; her days in the sun were over.

  Chapter 1

  Briar

  Briar Hale had waited four years for this day.

  Four years of online classes, taking every pre-requisite Boston College required and getting the best possible grades.

  The leading researcher of the genetic syndrome, erythropoietic protoporphyria, or EPP, Professor Nors knew more than anyone else in the world about Briar’s condition.

  But the man was notoriously reclusive and never returned any of the emails Briar had sent him. Nor had he answered her questions about bone marrow and ferrochelatase catalyzing. A girl like her had a lot of time on her hands, and she’d spent that time searching for answers about why her body worked so differently than everyone else’s.

  A garbage truck went by, distracting her, and she waved her hand in front of her face to dissipate the sickeningly-sweet smell. Then, she let it drop to her side as she took in the scenery.

  “Move.”

  Briar had been staring up at the gothic revival architecture, working up the courage to go inside for her first college class with other students.

  Now, however, she narrowed her eyes at the man who spoke. Pointedly, she stared at the available sidewalk around her. In response, he merely raised a dark eyebrow bisected with a scar.

  “Don’t be a dick, Sylvain. Sorry, miss.” A behemoth of a man with blond hair elbowed his friend and tipped his chin in an old world way that made her smile.

  The dark man snorted, and her good feelings melted away. “Walk around me. I’m not taking up the entire sidewalk.”

  At five and a half feet, Briar was solidly average.

  The dark man seemed to bulk up at her challenge, and for the first time, she really studied him. A foot taller than she was, he had tan skin, and shoulder-length, wavy brown hair. Broad shoulders and thick arms clad in a long-sleeve tee completed the lumberjack look he had going.

  Sylvain.

  She amended the occupation she’d mentally assigned him. Instead of a lumberjack, he looked like a man who lived alone in the Appalachian Mountains near her parents’ home in Beckley, West Virginia. With the manners he displayed, it seemed a fitting characterization.

  “What?” he asked, and she realized she’d been staring.

  “I’m just wondering how long it’s been since you’ve spoken to other humans,” she mused, not trying to hide her sarcasm. “You seem out of practice.”

  His dark eyes widened for a second, but when his friend burst out laughing, they narrowed again. Mumbling something under his breath, he dipped his head and strode toward the building.

  “Hope I don’t have class with that guy,” she muttered, and the light-haired man laughed again.

  “Don’t worry, you won’t. Sylvain’s too dumb for college. Have a good day, miss. It’s been a pleasure.” Like he had earlier, the man addressed her formally. When he bowed, hand over his heart, Briar took a step back, surprised.

  “Goodbye,” she replied and watched as he followed Sylvain inside.

  It took her a moment to gather herself and remember what her purpose was. She was used to deflecting snarky comments, so Sylvain hadn’t bothered her as much as his friend’s actions had. Those had left her off balance and confused. A part of her wondered if the man had been making fun of her and his friend.

  Annoyed at herself for being distracted by a single unexpected blip, she straightened her shoulders and went inside. It was late afternoon, but sunlight still poured in from the windows. The outside of the building belied the bright, open interior. Light floors and stainless steel fixtures made the room seem full of light, and instinctively, Briar searched for the shadows.

  Her skin was covered, white-buttoned gloves on her hands and long sleeves right over her wrists, but she knew what would happen if an inch of her skin came into contact with the sun. This room seemed to be designed to be in the light, no matter where she stood.

  She’d been less nervous outside, which didn’t make any sense.

  But pain chang
ed a person’s brain, she reminded herself, and her reactions to things weren’t always rational. There was no reason to hide at the edge of rooms. She was covered, and if she hadn’t burned outside, she wouldn’t burn inside.

  Taking a deep breath to shore up her nerves, she searched for a map of the building, identified the auditorium where Professor Nors was lecturing, and made her way there.

  As she suspected, all she needed to do was follow the hordes of people to find the hall. Professor Nors’s mysteriousness made him that much more popular. If his communication with her was any indication, he would have a ton of other scientists and students dying to ask him questions or hear of his latest discoveries.

  Briar caught her breath when she entered. Built like an amphitheater, the room was teeming with people, and the seats were quickly filling. Some had already given up and staked out a piece of the wall. Energy hummed through the room, as if they were fans waiting for a rock star to appear.

  Briar moved as close to the front as possible, grateful, in this room at least, there were no windows. She was able to slide her hat off her head and remove her gloves and immediately felt more at ease. Those pieces of clothing were the things that made her stand out the most, identified her as different. Without them, she was another student. Pale, yes, but not glaringly obvious as other.

  A hush descended, and from a side door came the man who must be Professor Nors. Whispers died away, the hall so quiet Briar wondered if anyone was breathing.

  No doubt about it. He was a handsome man. He had pale skin, a shock of dark hair, square jaw, and full lips. His cheekbones looked carved from ice. But his entire countenance screamed, stay back.

  “My name is Dr. Hudson Nors. I will be presenting my research on EPP and genetic screening. I will not be taking questions.”

  At those words, a wave of voices rose in denial, but Professor Nors lifted an eyebrow, and the room descended back into silence.

  It was strange; she could be both amused and annoyed by this man. She had a million questions she wanted to ask, and would, if she had to chase him down to do so. She appreciated his damn-the-torpedoes attitude, but it wouldn’t frighten her away. He could snarl as much as he wanted. She hadn’t braved fire to run away scared now.

  Briar studied the man standing twenty feet in front of her. He was the one person in the world who gave her any hope of living a normal life. A wave of gratitude swept over her, because no matter how unfriendly or weird he was, he was doing something for people like her.

  Almost as if he felt her, he lifted his gaze and met Briar’s curious stare. She didn’t have a lot of experience with other people besides her immediate family, but he seemed confused. His dark eyebrows—two straight lines that slashed above his eyes—drew together, and he frowned.

  “This lecture is a one-shot, please do not approach me. I have no desire to read your research or be part of your study.”

  Mister, we get it. Briar wrinkled her nose. He was laying it on a little heavy, but maybe he had no choice. There must be a reason for his actions. Perhaps other scientists had burned him in the past.

  “Chromosome 18 is where our problem begins,” the professor began, and the room plunged into darkness. A screen illuminated behind him. With a laser pointer, he indicated a section of a chromosome.

  Science! Briar edged closer, perched on the end of her chair. Soon, she had no other thoughts except recessive and dominance patterns. His presentation, while not offering information Briar didn’t already know, was different, coming from the horse’s mouth, so to speak.

  “As many of you know, there has been some success in Europe and Australia with use of the drug afamelanotide, but it hasn’t been approved by the FDA for use here in the United States. Now, I received an interesting email weeks ago from a young college student that would put the rest of you Ph.D.’s to shame. This girl, who just graduated from college, suggested bone marrow transplants as a way to treat EPP.”

  Briar’s head popped up. This was her! Her idea!

  “Now, I haven’t heard this idea from any other researcher, and while I, too, considered, and later rejected, this hypothesis, it was telling that the idea came outside of the scientific community. There are too few of us researching EPP. You’d do well to use this young lady as an example.”

  At his dismissal of her theory, she pulled her shoulders to her ears. Part of her was embarrassed her hypothesis was wrong, while the other was grateful he’d read her email. Thank goodness no one here knew who she was. She could just imagine the pointed looks.

  And why was he calling her young lady? The professor looked only to be five or six years older than her!

  The lecture went on. Her mind spun with the ideas and suppositions he posited, though most of them she’d heard before.

  “Thank you for your interest. That is all.” Professor Nors gathered his notes, and Briar sat up, clapping politely along with everyone else. Most of the audience was already standing, gathering their belongings or shuffling to the exit, but Briar stayed in her seat.

  After preparing so long for this day, it was a supreme letdown. Oh, Professor Nors was brilliant. He had a commanding presence, but much of his lecture had touched on topics she’d already studied. With a flash, she realized she’d been hoping for a cure. That was something she hadn’t allowed herself to want since grade school, a time when she still believed in Santa and the Easter Bunny. In those days, a miracle was as likely as finding a dollar bill from the Tooth Fairy beneath her pillow. Which was to say—totally possible.

  Annoyed, she reached for her bag and pulled out her hat and gloves to hold tightly in her fists. She’d wallowed in self-pity enough. It was time for action, and the first thing she was going to do was find Professor Nors and ask her questions.

  No—she would demand answers to her questions. She slapped the gloves into the palm of one hand, but as she did, one slipped from her grasp. It flew into the seats below hers, smacking in the face a young man waiting to exit the row.

  He touched his cheek with a long-fingered hand before he bent at the waist to pick up her glove. “The last person who slapped me with a glove was challenging me to a duel.” Bright, sea-green eyes met hers. “Is this yours?” he asked, flashing an even, white smile his dark face seemed to make even brighter.

  “Um. Yes,” Briar answered, mortified. “I apologize.”

  He reached forward. Did he want to hold her hand? No, he was merely waiting to drop the glove into her palm.

  “No problem.” He stared at her a moment longer, studying her face, gaze lingering on the place below her right eye, and Briar quickly dipped her head. He was staring at one of her multiple scars. The second burn she’d suffered, though not the worst, had been on her lips and face. A skin graft was required after the burn ruined the muscles in her cheek. Her smile was lopsided because of it.

  “Bye,” Briar whispered, facing away from him.

  Hurry, hurry.

  The line to leave the row was crawling along, and she could feel the young man’s continued stare. Ignoring the impulse to cover herself, she instead stood straighter, and then with a deep breath, faced him. He smiled apologetically when she did. He knew he’d been caught, and he opened his mouth to speak, but someone tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to the now-quickly moving line. With a rueful grin, he walked away, down the stairs and out of the auditorium.

  Briar followed suit, trailing along behind the line of people while tugging on one glove. A dim hallway led back toward the atrium, and she went slowly in that direction while checking her watch.

  When she left, she’d need to call her parents. They’d been anxious about her since she’d made the decision to live on her own. They wanted her in cloudy Beckley, where they could watch her and protect her. But she couldn’t stay there a moment more.

  She had things she wanted to do, and the place to do them was Boston, Massachusetts. All she needed to do was convince the anti-social Professor Nors to allow her to work with him, and her plan would
be in motion.

  Barking a laugh, she shook her head. After finally seeing the man, it seemed highly unlikely this part of her plan would work. Still, she was determined to try.

  Light from the atrium spilled through the door. She placed her hat back on her head, and glanced up as she entered the open area. In front of her, a crowd had gathered, and Professor Nors’s dark head towered above the group.

  Apparently, she wasn’t the only one who planned on ignoring his directive. Four or five rows of people encircled him. He shook his head and glanced around, searching for an escape.

  It made Briar stop short. The man’s face morphed from irritated to panicked, and his shoulders heaved like he was out of breath. Sympathy welled inside her. What could be causing him to look that way and how dense were the people around him for ignoring his very clear body language?

  You were prepared to dismiss his wishes and corner him.

  Canting her head, she regarded him and the people surrounding him closely. Most of the crowd was women, her age. She snapped her mouth shut. Were they groupies? Squinting and edging closer, Briar studied them. Eye-makeup, check. Rapid-blinking, check. All signs pointed to flirting.

  From the corner of her eye, something white fluttered to the ground. Without thinking, she bent and reached for her glove.

  Stupid.

  In her excitement, she’d only put on one glove and her hat. Without thinking, she extended her hand into the beam of sunlight where the glove had fallen.

  The pain was instantaneous and all-consuming. Her cry was louder than the din of voices, echoing and reverberating through the hall.

  “Are you okay?” Someone took her shoulders, and though well intentioned, they dragged her further into the sunlight, holding her when she would have jerked away. “I think she’s having a seizure.”

  “Let me go!” The skin on her hand swelled, and a searing sensation traveled from her wrist to her elbow. No! This wasn’t part of the plan. She couldn’t be injured, she was here to be normal—to study. Not to catch fire and smolder in front of the people she wanted to be her colleagues.