“Simon, why have you agreed to do this interview?” the reporter asked.
“To clear my family's name, of course. Everyone wants to make out like my boys were terrorists or something. But they weren't. They were good, hard working, honest Americans. They just tried to bring some honor and respectability and equality back to the outcasts and lost control of their abilities.”
“Their...abilities?”
Simon nodded. “You see, you only think that each country's government runs the show there. But the truth is, all over this world right this very second it's really the Clann who are secretly the master puppeteers, and they have been for a long, long time."
"The Clann?" the reporter repeated in encouragement. "Tell me about this Clann. Is this in any way related to the Ku Klux Klann?"
"Lord, no! It's Clann spelled with a C and two N's. It's Gaelic Irish for 'family' or 'descendant'. The Clann is a huge group of families that began in Ireland and formed together around the time of the druids so they could safely work together to develop their powers, or what you might call special abilities."
"So it's a religious organization."
"No, because you see, there ain't no worshipping pagan gods in the Clann. At least not for as long as any of them can now remember. We all have our own individual choices of religious beliefs to follow."
"I see." You could tell from the reporter's tone that he really didn't. "And these special abilities you mentioned?"
"They start showing up when a descendant hits puberty, and then you've got to be trained up on how to control it all. Or at least that's what my grandpa told me when my abilities started showing."
The reporter frowned. "Wait. So you're saying everything you just told us about this so-called organization is just something you heard about from your grandfather?"
"Well, yeah. I had to hear about it secondhand from him because my family are all outcasts." At the reporter's slow blink, Simon added, "My grandpa left the Clann when he was a teen. He didn't want no part of any of it, and once you know how to control the power, you can decide to leave the Clann if you want. But it's permanent, and once you're out, so's all your kin from then on. Your choice cuts off the rest of your whole bloodline, and you're not even supposed to tell them anything about it."
The reporter cleared his throat. "Mmm hmm. Okay, so what happens when you leave the Clann? Do they strip you of these...uh, abilities?"
Simon shook his head. "Your abilities are supposed to be like a muscle. Once you learn to control them, you can decide not to use them anymore and then they atrophy. The Clann elders thought that also meant your heirs would be born without any abilities. But they were wrong."
"So now you're saying there are hundreds—"
"Thousands," Simon corrected him. "Maybe even millions."
"Okay, so you're claiming there are now thousands or even millions of these outcasts running around with special abilities and they don't even know it?"
"Yep."
"Then why haven't we heard about these abilities before?"
"Oh you have. Circus show performers, traveling magicians—the real kind, not just those fancy illusionist types—even as far back as Merlin in the days of King Arthur and Camelot. Stories about us have been a part of humankind's history for ages."
The reporter gave one long, slow blink and sat back in his chair. His eyelids lowered halfway, as if he were looking down at his notes in his lap either in desperate search of some way to save this doomed interview, or maybe out of boredom. Finally after a long pause he sighed. "Mr. Phillips, you called my producers because you claimed you could reveal the truth behind what happened in Washington D.C., not to discuss fairytales and fantasies—"
Simon's eyes narrowed as he grabbed the armrests on his chair and leaned forward. "Fairytales and fantasies! You think I'm lying? Fine, I'll prove it to you! Here!"
Simon held up his left hand, and a ball of fire the size of a grapefruit erupted on his open palm.
"Holy—!" Dad gasped, making me jump.
On TV the camera wobbled, making the view shake for a second as the reporter jumped out of his chair and yelled for a fire extinguisher. The sound of running footsteps broke out in the background of the video as the camera person fought to refocus the camera on Simon.
At our house, Dad fumbled with and then dropped the remote.
"Seen enough?" Simon barked at the reporter.
The reporter nodded quickly.
Simon stared at the fire on his palm and the flame went out with a poof of smoke. “And that’s why I told you guys to turn off the smoke alarm in here.”
“I knew it,” Dad whispered, rewinding the show to the point where the flame burst into life on Simon’s hand then playing it again in slow motion. He did it twice more then paused the show. "Haven't I been saying it for years now? I told you these abilities were out there!" He rubbed a hand over his mouth, his gaze glued to the TV. "Oh man, the physics that's got to be behind that... What I wouldn't give to have him in my lab for a few tests!”
I bit my lip and tried to look shocked too, like I never watched a whole bunch of my friends doing some variation of this exact same thing nearly every weekend in the woods.
He should see them call down lightning. That would really freak him out.
My only question was...how the heck was Simon controlling his abilities so well?
Mom paused in the doorway to the dining room, full popcorn bowl in hand, and sighed. “This guy’s still on? You two do realize that fireball in his hand is completely fake, right? Chris Angel and that Damon Blade kid were pulling stunts like that on TV years ago!”
“You mean David Blaine,” I automatically corrected her.
Mom waved off the correction. “Whatever. The point is it’s obviously a trick, and an old one at that. I can't believe they’ve stooped this low just for ratings! Whatever happened to hard hitting journalism? If Jeremy were here—”
“If Jeremy were here, he’d have the good sense to know when to be quiet and watch history being made!” Dad muttered as Mom flopped onto the sofa beside him. “This show’s producers never would have put on a simple parlor trick. This is real.”