Invisible (The Curse of Avalon Book 1)

by Sariah Skye

  “What guy? Are you okay? How much did you have to drink? And if you did have too much to drink, what are you doing driving? And what the hell are you doing home so early?” She demanded, tapping her foot on the concrete driveway.

  “Your guy was a dud,” I replied to her blandly. “And all I had was iced tea. I figured it would go wrong, so I needed to be coherent to drive.” Summer rolled her brown eyes, and motioned for me to follow her into our house. I turned the car off and started to follow her, but before I went into the house, I paused in the doorway, scanning the street for any sign of the mysterious, tall, dark, and handsome hottie I’d nearly hit a garbage can for. The only movement I saw on the road was a neighbor’s white dog, pacing in the yard across the street. The rest of the block was dark, except for the sporadic streetlamp. I snorted. I must have been seeing things. No way anyone could run that fast unless he had super speed. Or was hiding somewhere, like a pervert.

  Which would just be creepy as hell. I wrinkled my nose at the thought, and shut the front door behind me. Even still, I couldn’t get the image of his face out of my mind, and the intensity of his gaze.

  “All right, Avie. Spill.”

  The house I shared with Summer was a duplex owned by my mother. She owned it outright, and didn’t make us pay rent which was nice. She didn’t have a traditional job, as she was an artist. My grandparents died suddenly when I was a baby, she was left with enough money for the house—and to put a little aside.

  The house was simple, yet functional. The front door opened to a living room, a kitchen attached, and a slight hallway to a bathroom and two bedrooms for Summer and me each. Before Summer and I lived in the other side, my mother just used it for storage. She never rented out the other unit. Both of us liked our privacy, apparently.

  We had a basement, but it was mostly unfinished besides a laundry room, and a fairly empty room with an egress window. I used that room for an office to do my work. “Work” consisted of an exceedingly boring job of data entry and medical transcription. I hated it, but thankful I had a job where I could avoid going into an office every day, and not have to deal with people.

  I was not good with people. At all. Not only was I completely invisible to men, but even normal, everyday people seemed to look over me as well. I’d attempted many customer service jobs…people just seemed to look right past me. Or, I never got credit when I did something right. Or even wrong. My presence just blended into the woodwork, generally. Although, my loopy mother insisted it was because of the energy I put out; I was convinced people were going to ignore me, so I acted subdued and blended in before they could. She could have been right, but I couldn’t bring myself to act differently.

  I also didn’t like being around people because…sometimes strange things happened around me. I knew I was being ignored—because I genuinely couldn’t be seen. There were times, in awkward situations I’d involuntarily gone…invisible. The first time it happened was in my seventh-grade social studies class before a presentation I did not want to give. Or, the time Summer and I skipped P.E. class later that year because we’d gotten our periods (yes, at the same time). We hid in a bathroom and she’d gotten caught; I did not. And all the times in high school when teachers had forgotten I existed. And all the time Summer would urge me to tell my various crushes that I liked them, only to have them later say, “Who is Ava? I don’t remember her.” This weird quirk of mine somehow bled into all parts of life; I missed out on dances because the boys didn’t notice me—no matter how hard Summer tried to fix me up. At my first jobs, I’d be there on paper, and get paid, but no one would really notice my contributions. I always wondered if perhaps it was just me, or if they somehow really didn’t notice me.

  Or, they were just assholes, and I was a social invalid. There was that possibility too, and my “magic” was fake. I’d never caught myself disappear in a mirror, and no one had ever caught me doing it. I told Summer about it, and she swore in that seventh-grade social studies class, she saw something “weird” but never could elaborate other than that. She was the only person I ever told about it, and never would attempt telling anyone else. What would I say? I’d probably just get told I was just bad with people—which wasn’t untrue. I especially wouldn’t tell my mother about my strange abilities. She’d once been a practicing pagan in a coven. To help my anxiety as a child, she’d splash me with various oils, stick rocks on me, and recite some annoying poetry to me she called “spells.” If I told her about it, she’d probably do it again, claiming I was plagued with some sort of nasty, negative energy. And nope, nope, nope. I definitely did not want to give her the opportunity to “torture” me like that again.

  Without Summer, my longtime friend, I felt out of place, always. Unlike me, Summer was great with people. She was a cosmetologist. She did hair and makeup and she was quite good, with the beginnings of an impressive clientele list. She was the extrovert to my introvert; the beauty to my beast. Okay, I wasn’t unfortunate looking, but next to her exotic Latin heritage, I was pretty sure I paled in comparison. Quite literally.

  My friend fetched a beer from the fridge, and set it down at the dark wooden kitchen table. She pulled out one of the mis-matched chairs, urging me to “sit.”

  I sighed, and did as she requested. She grabbed her own beer from the fridge and sat across from me.

  “Spill.”

  I took a long drink, shrugging. “There isn’t much to tell, Sum. I met him at the bar, we sat down, and ordered drinks and dinner. He proceeded to spend the next thirty minutes on his phone, texting or whatever the fuck it is losers do. He called me ‘Eve’ and didn’t even notice when I left.”

  Summer, in mid-chug, slammed the brown bottle down on the table. “Fuck. This is the last time I trust a straight guy to recommend a blind date.”

  I chuckled. “It’s not his fault, Sum. I’m just invisible to men. It doesn’t matter what I do; they don’t like me. They don’t notice me. Period.”

  She laughed shortly. “I don’t get it. You’re beautiful, you’re nice—what the hell is their problem? I don’t get straight men, seriously! Did you show off your boobs? Flirt a little?”

  “Ha. I poured my tits out on the table. They were out there for anyone to see, and Jimbo didn’t even glance.”

  Summer grumbled. “Shit. You offered up your tits on a plate and he still ignored you?”

  I giggled at the thought. “Right there on my salad!”

  Summer burst out laughing. “Tit salad! I could get behind that!” She said with a wink.

  “Sure! Add some croutons, some dressing…” I suggested, laughing at the image of my boobs slathered with dressing and salad toppings. Then I recoiled, thinking about how to fish out cheese and croutons from my bra. How awkward would that be?

  “Oh, stop tempting me,” she chuckled. Summer was gay—but she’d never been interested in me. I’d known her since kindergarten, and she was more like a sister than anything. Being that neither of us had much family, we were quite close (my family was dead, hers was back in Mexico, or living along the East Coast). She was a very beautiful, statuesque, intelligent, and witty sister that, if I hadn’t known her forever I probably couldn’t associate with her, because her super-model appearance would make me jealous. She was intimidating with her tall, good looks, and sharp attitude. She was a half-Hispanic version of Ashley Graham, complete with curves, and a shapely butt for miles. She had sun-kissed skin, warm brown eyes, and wavy brown hair that grazed her shoulders. I was completely glad I didn’t have to compete with her for men, because there would be no competition. Summer would win every time. Men still hit on her, but of course, she wasn’t interested.

  I had slightly-wavy, light blonde hair, blue eyes, and very pale skin. I was on the shorter side, and Summer never let me forget it—good-naturedly always calling me “Short Shit.” I had curves too—wide hips, curvy thighs, butt, and big boobs. I wasn’t fat, but no one would ever accuse me of being thin. Summer called me “voluptuous.” I’d go with
that, instead of “she really likes macaroni and cheese.” I did weight-train though (just hand weights and lots of squats, for sculpting, and the occasional gym venture), and it did help keep my curves from becoming total lumps. Honestly? I was okay with my curves. I just wished someone else wanted to enjoy them once in a while.

  Summer was always made up beautifully, with perfect hair and makeup. She loved to experiment on me with hair and makeup looks; currently my hair was streaked with strands of lavender and sky blue, and tousled with perfect beach waves which almost grazed my waist in length. She styled it, kept it healthy, but refused to cut it more than trims because, as she said, “It was so pretty!” Normally I would just pile it on top of my head in a heavy bun, and not bother with makeup. I could do makeup though, because Summer was a great teacher; I just didn’t bother with it most of the time since I didn’t go out often, and no one here would care how I looked.

  Tonight, before I went out on my pointless date, she went all out. She gave me a bright pink lip, a smoky eye with winged liner, and perfect contouring.

  Summer sighed audibly. “It’s a shame to waste such good makeup on a Friday night just sitting here at home.” She frowned. Reaching over the table, she patted my hand and grinned. “Come on, Avie! We’re going out! Just…try not to do your invisibility thing again.”

  I groaned. “Aw come on! I don’t try to do it. You’ve never even seen me do it! And, I tried to be social, Sum! It didn’t work!”

  “I’ve no proof you haven’t done it either,” she said, with a wink. Suddenly, Summer leapt out of her chair, looking gleeful. Like she’d just had the best idea ever. And when she looked like that, I knew I was going to hate it. I clenched my mouth shut, fearing the worst. “Better yet, we’re going dancing!”

  I let out a little scream of terror. “Dancing? Like, to a club? Where drunk college kids that are half naked rub up and grind on each other on a nasty dancefloor? Are you nuts?”

  “Yes!” She grabbed my hands and pulled me out of my seat to a standing position. More like a pouting position, as my shoulders slumped, face fell, and lower lip puffed out like a two-year-old. “You’re always complaining you feel like you’re invisible! Well, now everyone will be forced to look at you when you’re shaking your ass at them!”

  I snorted, rolling my eyes. “Oh yeah because my ass will get so much attention when my tit salad failed to.”

  She didn’t hear me. She was off and running to her bedroom to get herself ready. “Freshen up! We’re going out!”

  I groaned, rubbing my hand over my forehead, careful to not disturb Summer’s perfect makeup job. Well, if I’m going out, I might as well look good.

  CHAPTER 2

  “Ugh, seriously what are we doing here?” I wrinkled my nose as Summer and I entered the Stargazer nightclub. The Stargazer was a former warehouse/office, and had a very industrial look; complete with plate-glass windows, overhead piping, and exposed steel beams. Everything was painted black, and doused with various murals in neon to catch the black-light from the wall sconces, and neon laser lights that swooped over the walls and floor.

  Being a Friday night, the place was crawling with sweaty bodies, grinding, and shaking against each other; their drinks in clear plastic Solo cups held in the air as they swayed to the beat. The music was loud of course, and thrummed through the building loudly; some sort of repetitive, shoe-in-the-dryer music that I found inane, but some called “dance.” And we won’t discuss the smell: a mix of stale beer, perspiration, and body odor. I wished I would have brought a bottle of Glade so I could spray the air to rid myself of the stench. And of course, it didn’t appear that anyone over twenty-one was in attendance. In Minnesota, it was legal for teens to attend certain clubs at eighteen, and it was clearly young’un night—even at twenty-five I felt nearly ancient compared to this group of club-goers. They couldn’t drink, but half of them still pretended, with cups of Coke gripped tightly against their bodies. Not like we couldn’t see the giant Xs on their hands in permanent marker (indicating they’d been checked at the door by a bouncer, and determined underage to drink).

  “Oh come on, Avie! Lighten up! We used to love dancing, remember?” Summer grinned and hip-bumped me with one of her curvaceous hips. She looked fantastic—as always—with glowing, natural makeup, and her brown hair in a high bun.

  I grumbled, but allowed my friend to drag me by the hand to the bar across the dance floor. We had to dodge a threesome of two young men grinding up against a girl who was clearly enjoying herself, as well as a group of boisterous males standing in the center of the room and doing shots. One bumped into me as we passed by, causing me to tumble on my ass, and lose Summer’s grip.

  I landed on the grimy, sticky floor, with a curse that no one could hear over the pulsating music. One of the guys turned around, wondering what he’d bumped into. His eyes glanced at me for a split second but quickly turned away, as he shrugged and said, “I dunno!” And they began laughing again, and talking like goons.

  Reluctantly, I placed my palms on the floor to help push me upward; hesitant to touch the filthy floor. I really wasn’t a germaphobe, but dance floors were another disgusting, filthy animal no one wanted to touch.

  I winced, crying out in pain as I felt a heavy boot crush my fingers. I looked up, pulling my hand away quickly and cringing at the throbbing pain; the boot was attached to a blond male, who was making out with a brunette female that I swear didn’t appear to be older than thirteen. I didn’t know what was more disgusting; the perverted scene, or the blood that was beginning to pool on my hand. Not that the blood itself was gross, but all the germs that were sure to be crawling all over were.

  I managed to stand up awkwardly, clutching my hand against my chest, all the while glaring down the freak who’d just stepped on it. I coughed loudly, trying to get his attention.

  Nothing. The blond freak continued to stick his tongue down the too-young-girl’s throat. I feigned a gag.

  I glanced quickly around for Summer; I didn’t see her. She was tall, but I couldn’t see over everyone’s taller heads. I was like a sprout in the middle of a redwood forest. And currently I was fuming a bit from the sepsis I was probably going to get from crawling on the floor.

  I poked the “gentleman” pervert in the arm. Hard.

  He pulled away from the “child woman.” His eyes were heavy and bloodshot, indicating that he was probably high on something. He looked around, not fully focusing on anything as I glared, non-injured hand on hip. He looked bewildered for a minute before the girl pulled his face down to kiss him again.

  I grumbled. This time, I gave him a good shove, and knocked him out of the embrace of the girl. “Hey, dickmuffin, you just fucking stepped on me, you know that?”

  The dickmuffin-man narrowed his eyes slightly in my direction. “Huh?” I wasn’t sure if he was just stoned, or really couldn’t grasp the fact that he was standing in front of another person: me. He scoffed and turned back to the girl who was busy giving him goo-goo eyes.

  I glared. I shoved at his arm before he began performing a tonsillectomy on trampy woman-child with his tongue. “Prick. How about an apology?”

  “Go away,” the girl-child retorted, and let go of the pervert boot-stomper’s face just long enough to flash me the bird.

  My fists clenched at my sides. “Why, you slut—” I raised my hand to connect with slutpuppy girl’s face, when a strong grip preventing me from striking.

  “Summer!” I warned angrily, even though the grasp was too strong, hand too rough to belong to my friend. I turned my head, seeing a strong, tattooed arm attached to the hand that was stopping me from getting into a fight. My gaze followed upward, lingering on the feather artwork of tattoos on his arms that resembled wings, disappearing under a black, tight fitting t-shirt.

  I swallowed, as my eyes landed on his face. His exceedingly handsome face.

  The man stopping me was gorgeous; broad shouldered, and muscular. Not quite as muscular as the disappearing-brick-
shithouse man from earlier I couldn’t prove I’d seen, but still quite a broad shouldered, wide-chested sight. His short, auburn hair that was styled in a purposeful bed-head, and one lone tendril hung in his deep green eyes. His jawline was chiseled, full lower lip set in a firm line. “I don’t think you want to be doing that, luv.”

  He spoke deeply, with a hint of an accent that was hard to place? Scottish? Irish? All I knew was, I wasn’t going to be getting into any fights today. My breathed hitched in my throat, as his eyes gave me a once-over, lingering ever-so slightly on my ample breasts peeking out of my black cardigan. “But—he—” I began, but he cocked a brow.

  “Someone as pretty as you doesn’t deserve jail time,” he said, the corner of his lips quirking a smile.

  I relaxed my fist and elbow. “You’re right, I just—” He let my hand fall at my side, but noticed the injured hand I held tight under my chest.

  “May I?” he said, nodding his head towards my hand.

  “Um—” I stammered, gingerly handing him the injured appendage. He pulled it closely to his massive chest, examining it. “Let’s get this cleaned up, lass, shall we?” Definitely Scottish. Oh, holy hotness! I thought to myself.

  “I—sure.” My heart skipped a beat as he gingerly kept my hand close to him as he tapped the pervert ‘gentleman’ on the shoulder, roughly.

  “Huh?” He asked, confused, reluctantly pulling away from the girl.

  “Aye, you might wanna watch what you’re doing, you stepped on the lady’s hand here. How about an apology?” My knight-in-t-shirt armor stood, towering over him, his attractive face serious and stern.

  The blond shook his head before his bloodshot eyes finally landed on me. “Oh, dude. I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.”

  I snorted, rolling my eyes. “Story of my fucking life.”

  “Dude. Be more careful next time,” my ‘knight’ suggested, and the stoned guy nodded quickly.