Page 1 of Heart of Thorns

BRIAR

My hand fallsto my hip as I chew on the end of my wooden paintbrush. At some point, I had to take a step back from my work, but now I’m just nitpicking the fine details.

The apexes of each mountain hit at different heights, and the colors blend so well that I find myself questioning if they’re real or simply painted onto the wall.

“Damn,” I whisper. “I’m good.”

The building I’m working in is completely empty. The sound of scratching draws my attention to the ceiling. Rationally, I know the sound is probably from some critter that has taken advantage of the abandoned building and made a home. Irrationally? It’s clearly a murderer who has come to strangle me with the paint-spattered drop cloth beneath my feet.

I roll my eyes at my thoughts and begin cleaning up my painting supplies.

Three more murals to go.

The owner, a friend of my art professor, is some fancy investor who decided to purchase an abandoned and semi-dilapidated building three streets down from Shadow Valley U. He has plans for turning it into a new apartment complex for college students.

Makes sense from a financial standpoint, and who am I to complain when I’m being paid to paint the murals inside? Professor Garcia knows I need a creative outlet. Hockey is my one true love, but sometimes I need quiet to…breathe.

Plus, what college student doesn’t need extra money? Women’s hockey is the runt of the litter. Our gear isn’t supplied for us like it is for the men. Not all of it anyway. Fancy scholarships aren’t offered. I need every dime I can get.

I snap a photo of the mural and send it to Professor Garcia for her approval. I stare at it for a few more seconds before she texts back and tells me how much she loves it followed by a reprimand for working after dark. I peek over to the window and shrug at the glare from the moon.

Me

The moon has plenty of light. And I have my headlamp.

I’m sure I look ridiculous. I’d probably scare the raccoon—or rat?—that’s making a home in one of the air ducts on the fourth floor, but the evening is my only free time. Between classes, hockey practice, and conditioning, I hardly have time to study, let alone paint murals. Even if I am being paid.

I’m in the middle of hammering the paint lids back on when the scratching from the building’s pet starts again. I take back what I said earlier. It isn’t a raccoon or a rat. It’s a fucking bear.

My hand rests on top of the paint lid.

What the fuck is that?

Abandoning my mural and supplies, I make my way to the doorway and angle my ear for a better listen. The longer I stand there, the faster my heart beats. There’s another crash, and a second later, I detect a faint scent in the air.

“What is that?” I whisper.

The building is supposed to be empty—and yet, something is clearly going on above me. The hairs on the back of my neck stand, but I can’t ignore it.

Like a dog after a bone, I follow the smell farther and farther. I creep up the steps until I’m at the top of the stairwell. I shove open the door, and a rush of smoke whooshes past me.

My eyes water, and a cough works its way up my throat. Then I register the reason for the smoke and freeze.

Fire.

It’s a fucking a fire.

I run down the steps, taking two at a time, and race toward the exit. The smoke is traveling faster than me, blanketing the building in a haze. Vivid streams of red and orange catch my eye when my foot hits to the bottom floor.

How is it moving so quickly?

Get out, Briar.

I finally catch sight of the open door, and my fear lessens. I’m so close—I’m going to be okay.

I’m going to make it out.

Suddenly, a ball of fire whizzes through the air from the opening and explodes mere yards away from me. The heat sears my skin, and I fall to my knees. The used furniture clustered in the back of the room bursts in flames. Fire licks at the old wood, crawling up the walls and disappearing into thick smoke.

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