Cursed (Cursed Superheroes #1)

But life hasn’t always been perfect for us, at least that’s what I’ve been told. I’ve only heard one story about my family’s dreary past, told around the holidays after my mom drank too much wine and my dad passed out in the lounge chair. The story wasn’t even a real story, more like a warning that my family’s life used to be far from perfect.

“We’re so lucky, Remi, we really are,” my mom said to me on Christmas Eve. “I wish you could understand that—how lucky we are.”

I was twelve and had spent the day begging to open my presents early, to no avail.

“We’re not lucky all the time,” I replied as I sucked on a candy cane. “We got snowed in today, didn’t we? That’s not very lucky.”

But the truth was, the previous night I’d wished for a snow storm, so my dad would have to stay home with us instead of going to the office, like he did every Christmas Eve. I didn’t really believe my wish had come true—I mean, it’s not like people can control the weather—but a part of me pretended that I’d somehow made the snow storm happen. I wasn’t about to tell my mom that, though.

“Oh, honey.” She patted my leg and then took a sip of her wine. Her lips were stained red from the countless glasses she’d drank already, her hair was down, and she’d kicked her heels off a long time ago. “If only you knew how terrible our lives used to be.”

I finished the rest of my candy cane then relaxed back in the chair. “What’d you mean?”

She pressed her lips together and shook her head once, something she did whenever she was about to lie.

“Mom, please tell me,” I said. “I want to know.”

She clasped onto the necklace she wore every day. The pendant was a small glass vial filled with purple sand that, in certain kinds of lighting, appeared as if it were glowing. I often pretended tiny faeries lived on the inside who granted wishes, and that’s was why my wishes came true sometimes. My mom ruined my dream, though, when she told me it was just dyed sand and nothing magical.

“Remi, please don’t ask me to talk about this,” she begged, clutching onto the vial. “I never meant to bring it up.” She glared at the empty wine glass. “I drank way too much tonight.”

“Why don’t you want to talk about it?” I pressed. “What’s the big deal?”

Regret flickered in her eyes. “Because I hate remembering what we were and what we did to get here…. And what lies ahead in the future.”

For the briefest instant, I swear the vial shimmered, but it happened so quickly that I questioned if it was the reflection of the fire in the fireplace.

After that, my mom rose to her feet and hastily left the room.

My families past was never brought up again. Even though I desperately wanted to understand what my parents gave up for our luxurious life, the fear in my mom’s eyes made me afraid of the answer.





Chapter 2





“Are you sure you want to go?” My mom asks me as I slip on my favorite pair of velvet platforms. “I thought maybe we could stay up and watch a movie together.”

“I promised my friends I’d go with them to this party.” I retouch my makeup, a dab of lip-gloss, some eyeliner, and I’m ready to hit the road. “Sorry.”

Normal parents would probably force their kid to stay home, but my mom’s laidback in the discipline department and pretty much lets me do whatever.

“But I want to give you your birthday present at midnight,” she tries to entice me to stay.

I fluff my long, brown hair then grab my purse. “You can give it to me anytime tomorrow. It’ll be my birthday all day.”

“I know that. But…” She trails off, chewing on her bottom lip.

I stop, sensing her worry. “Is everything okay? You seem, I don’t know, worried.”

Her frown deepens. “I’ve just been thinking about how you’re going to be turning eighteen tomorrow. You’re growing up so fast. It seems like just yesterday you could barely tie your shoes.” She blows out a breath as she glances at my shoes. “Now look at you. All dressed up in heels.”

My stomach twists with guilt. “If you really want me to stay home, then I will.”

She clutches onto her vial of sand dangling around her neck. “Okay…” She swallows hard, shakes out her shoulders, and frees a trapped breath. “If you want to go then go.” It seems like it takes a ton of effort for her to get the words out.

I study her closely. My mom looks a lot like me, only older. But she has the same brown hair, warm brown eyes, and above average height. I also know her well enough to know that she clutches onto her necklace whenever she’s anxious. Right now, she’s holding onto the damn thing as if her life depends on it. She’s never been much of a nervous person, except for that one Christmas Eve when she briefly mentioned my family’s past. Her ability to remain composed in any circumstance is why she does such a fantastic job at putting events together.

“Maybe I could come home around eleven,” I suggest, hoping to alleviate some of her worry. “That way I’d be back in time to open a present at midnight.”