Chasing Family: Reborn an Ability Thief

My family is unique. I do not say this from pride. To be honest, it's a pain in my ass. My oldest girl can change the weather, my son can influence people's decisions, and my youngest daughter can find anything hidden. My nephews and nieces aren't any better. And to make it worse, my siblings and I have no special abilities and therefore no way to control these little ruffians. We have spent most of our adult lives trying to instill untested morals into our children. It's easy to say "don't hurt anyone", but how do you convince a teenager that changing the weather will hurt someone? All she wants to do is have a nice sunny day for her date, after all, what's wrong with that?

GAH! I developed gray hairs in my thirties trying to figure out these answers. If I had known this would have happened, I would have studied philosophy. I had a solid foundation in fantasy books and superhero comics, but even Spiderman wasn't much help. I wasn't trying to teach them to fight crime, just how to use their abilities wisely within the scope of their lives. And don't give me that bullshit about repression and the like. We never even considered that option. Could you imagine telling seven rebellious teenagers that they can't use their abilities? No way. We would have been on the losing end by a long shot.

They grew up pretty well despite all of our worries. By the time the youngest of them had graduated from college, they were even starting to help us teach them the new rights and wrongs of their lives. My siblings and I let out a collective sigh of relief and washed our hands of the business.

Then the first grandchild was born. Along with his first wail, the dogs a mile in each direction howled. Every single one of them, children and grandchildren, developed a different ability. We must have done something really strange in our past lives to be granted such torment. We now had twenty grandchildren with abilities, with the looming threat of more grandchildren to come.

Don't mistake me – I love every single one of them. They are the most splendid, wonderful, insightful, beautiful, and interesting children and adults that could ever grace this earth. But by 84-years-old, I was tired and quite at peace in my death bed as I contemplated my upcoming end. My daughters had very kindly arranged flowers in my window so that my room smelled of lilacs and roses, and my son had set up my old iPod on my bedside table with a clicker so that I could listen to my favorite songs. When I had mentioned that it would be nice to able to use it, my second daughter had found the speakers I needed, ones that I was sure were so outdated that they couldn't even be found in retro shops. Relatives visited me a few times a day, so I never felt lonely. It was actually perfect.

It was one of those days around late afternoon. I had just finished a small lunch, cooked by one of my nephews, when I heard his wife enter the apartment accompanied by their daughter. I was particularly close to their daughter, who had a similar ability to my son. Her wishes almost always came true. One could never be sure which one would come true, or how it would manifest, however. She was nicknamed Little Genie; if you were smart you wouldn't hedge your bets. It was a group effort to try to figure out how she should phrase her wishes. Of course, we had yet to convince her that she shouldn't make random wishes. She was only 4-years-old, after all.

A few minutes later, Little Genie entered my room.

"Hi, Gr'aunty." She placed her small hands in my old one.

"Hello, my darling. How are you?" I had gotten used to my wispy, soft voice. Now I barely noticed that people had to lean in to hear me. It was their problem, not mine. All I cared about was that they spoke loud enough so that I could hear.

Caught up in my meandering thoughts, I hadn't noticed that Little Genie had sunk into silence, staring at her feet.

"Mommy says…" mumble mumble mumble.

"What's that?" I blinked at her. "Speak louder, darling."

She returned my blinks, then opened her mouth wide and shouted: "MOMMY SAYS THAT EVERYONE'S COMING!!!"

"Holy…" My free hand went to my forehead, as if it could block the sudden pain. Of course, the sudden movement wasn't all that pleasant either. These young children were getting cuter from a distance every day. "Not that loud!"

"SHE SAYS THAT YOU'RE SICK!"

"Darling—"

"THAT IT'S TOO LATE!"

"Wait a second—"

"AND WE'RE GOING TO SAY GOOD-BYY—" She dissolved into heart-rending wails that would have been even more pitiful and endearing if she hadn't been sobbing right next to my ear. I was beginning to miss being able to walk, unable to escape from the high-pitched keens.

Fortunately, her parents had finally heard her and were bustling into the room to grab the little banshee. Her mother smushed her to her chest, patting her head as she cooed and hummed. My nephew rubbed his daughter's back. Neither of them thought to remove her from my room. Okay, now I regretted my quiet voice. Trust family to make you feel supremely uncomfortable.

My cellphone should be somewhere around my bed, I thought. Maybe if I called my son, he could get them out; he was excellent at crowd control. I started fumbling around.

Meanwhile, the little banshee continued to keen, her words barely understandable. Something about this older cousin said that, this one said this, and the whole lot of them apparently had a lot to say on the subject and not much sense to impart. The least sensible were her damn parents who were still standing in my room.

Then came the crowning moment. I had finally caught my phone (slippery as a fish in this crucial time), and was trying to slide it open when Little Genie's words became fatefully clear:

"I don't want Gr'aunty to die!"

First of all, who taught this 4-year-old that word? Not necessary. Just tell her that Gr'aunty is going to sleep for a while. Or going to the sky. Anything that sounds nice and cheerful.

But that was not the important bit.

Did that count as a wish?

Silence had finally returned. I slowly turned to glare at the main troublemakers—her parents. They stared back, horror twisting their faces. If I turn into a zombie, I vowed, you two are my first victims.