Apparently, being forgettable is more dangerous than I thought.
My parents forget my name. It's Elias Cooper, by the way. My coworkers call me Cart Guy, which is honestly more recognition than I usually get. My crowning achievement? Shelving books for years without getting tased by security again, which is apparently a competitive sport around here. I've spent most of my life trying to take up less space than a dust bunny.
Then a vampire tried to eat me and immediately regretted it.
Turns out, supernatural creatures start to unravel if they get too close to me.
Now, for the first time ever, people actually care who I am. Well, monsters do. Lila-my coworker, who is terrifyingly competent at everything and, as it turns out, a mage-yanks me into a hidden world full of vampires, fey, and magic. According to her, I'm a walking deadzone for magic. I ruin spells just by existing.
And when the wrong people start noticing what I can do, being invisible suddenly feels less like a curse and more like the only thing keeping me from getting eaten. Or worse-noticed.
I'm not exactly action-hero material. I'm five foot seven, my knees are bad, and when the supernatural hits the fan, I'm left holding a shotgun and a questionable plan for survival.