A/N: Just a quick note to say a huge thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far. I was about ready to give up on this story, but your encouragement has got me to this point and hopefully beyond! Please continue to let me know your thoughts about my writing and I hope you enjoy this chapter :)

Chapter Ten – Chris

His hands felt like they were on fire. Or like – like ants were crawling all over his fingertips. Biting ants. Fire ants, trying to burrow into his skin. He flicked his hand to shake them off, but that just sent a thin bolt of lightning shooting across the floor. The swirling white dust jumped in response.

Lightning. He was firing lightning from his hands. He was firing lightning from his hands.

As new powers went, it was a doozy. It was also… kind of terrifying because right now he couldn't switch it off.

Wyatt approached, hands out, palms facing him, ducking carefully in between the specks of white dust that continued to circle Chris. "Chris… you okay?"

"Y-yeah. Um…"

"Can't stop it?"

"Apparently – apparently not."

"Mel? Can you call Mom and Dad? I think they're at Aunt Paige's house."

Chris hadn't realised his little sister was still in the room, but there she was – cowering over by the overturned chaise longue. Unlike Wyatt, it was far too easy to read the horror in her eyes. Something turned over in Chris's gut. Was it because of the demon attack? Or Chris himself? God, what did he look like right now?

"Mel," he managed. "I'm okay, honestly."

She stood up and brushed dust off her sundress. Favouring one arm and with more of that white dust in her hair – she looked like she'd been through the ringer. She had. They all had. And it wasn't over yet because his hands were beginning to become their own light source.

"Uh, Wyatt –"

"I know. Mel, go on. It's okay."

Their sister darted out of the attic, leaving Chris with nothing but the growing pain in his hands. The lightning was beginning to ripple up his arms now, making the hairs stand on end. In response, the white dust began to circle faster.

"Chris… I think you need to calm down."

"Hurts."

"I know, man. Just take a deep breath."

Chris did as Wyatt suggested, taking one, two, three, four breaths. The more he took, the more the lightning died, until it was back to just skittering along his fingertips again. Chris balled his hands into fists and felt something give inside. When he opened out his fingers again, the lightning had gone.

Suddenly exhausted, he dropped down onto the floor like a puppet's whose strings had been cut. The white dust plummeted with him, spreading across the floorboards like a carpet of snow.

There were other piles around the edges of the room, a couple to his right and one just in front of him. Demons, he realised distantly. Demons he'd vanquished with the flick of his hands.

What was this new power? And more importantly, what did it mean for him?

"Alright, now?" Wyatt had joined him on the floor, ignoring the ash.

"Yeah. I think the light show's over for now." He crossed his legs and rested his hands on his knees, palms up. They looked perfectly normal now, the skin unblemished from the power that had coated it only moments before. Had he just imagined it? He found himself wanting to believe that. But something inside had shifted and although the power wasn't showing now he could still feel it, bubbling away under the surface like a pot of water on the stove. It didn't hurt exactly, but there was a definite throbbing at the back of his mind that was threatening to turn into one mother of a headache.

"Where'd that come from?"

"Dunno." Chris flexed his fingers experimentally. "I guess I saw we were pretty outnumbered and I… d'you think it's a new power?"

"Maybe." His brother looked troubled, but didn't offer up anything more.

"Thought you were supposed to be the one with all the magical mojo. Twice-blessed and all that."

Chris ran a tentative hand through the ash, sending specks floating up into the air again. "I vanquished all the demons, didn't I?"

"I think so, yeah."

Chris blew out a breath. It was just… hard to get his head around. Like everything recently. He hadn't even started coming to terms with the stabbing and Warren's death and now he was shooting thunderbolts uncontrollably out of his hands. He wasn't sure whether he should be laughing or crying.

There was demon ash at his feet and suddenly he couldn't stand to look at it anymore. He rose too quickly, making Wyatt jerk backwards and his head throb angrily. The floorboards lurched to the left and then righted themselves again. "Right, well, guess I'd better clean this up before Mom sees. There any good spells for that in the book?" He didn't wait for an answer, reclaiming the book from where Melinda had dropped it and rummaging through the pages. The words and images swam before his eyes. "Seeing how it's written by Mom and the aunts you think there would be… is it classed as personal gain if it's demon dust?"

"Chris –"

"I'm thinking not, but you can never tell with magic."

"Look, leave the dust. It doesn't matter and Mom won't care –"

"Are you kidding? She chewed me out when I didn't empty my bin last week – month. Last month. This'll get me grounded for sure."

"She won't care, Chris. She'll just be happy that we're okay."

"I guess I can argue it out. I've got a pretty good case."

"The cleaning isn't important, Chris," Wyatt interrupted. "What just happened is, so just slow down a minute will you? We need to – look at your hands!"

Chris unconsciously followed the instruction and his stomach twisted. The pot had boiled over and the lightning was back, caressing his fingertips, leaving a burning sensation wherever it touched. It was equally beautiful and terrifying in turn. Like a wild animal that had finally broken through the bars of its cage and was just begging to strike. With effort, Chris held it back.

"I need to clean up," he murmured.

"It's okay, I'll do it, yeah?" Wyatt scooted across and carefully took the Book of Shadows from him. The edges of the pages where the book was open were slightly singed. Chris stared at the black marks, oddly fascinated. He'd done that. Marked an ancient magical tomb with the touch of a finger. Would future generations wonder where those marks had come from?

Wyatt rattled the spell off. There was shimmer of golden light and the demon dust floated upwards, only to vanish. The broken window and shattered furniture were all restored to their former states, bringing the attic back into some semblance of order.

With the evidence of the destruction he'd caused gone, some of the tension unfurled inside Chris and the lightning flickered and died. His hands became just regular old hands again and he stared at them mutely. The ease with which he'd lost control frightened him. He'd never felt like that before. If Wyatt hadn't stopped him, he might have –

He was trying to wipe that unpleasant thought from his mind when their parents arrived.

While Wyatt quickly explained what had happened, Chris tucked his hands into his pockets and took a seat on a nearby chair. The effort of keeping the lightning at bay was beginning to tell and he felt light-headed.

When Wyatt got to the bit about the demon attack and how it had ended, his parents exchanged worried glances and then Mom was kneeling by his side, reaching up to touch his cheek.

"How do you feel, baby?"

Chris just shook his head.

"Leo?" she called urgently and Dad moved to join them. He gave his son an assessing look and then drew Chris's hands out of his pockets, turning them over carefully.

"Can you feel it inside?" he asked and Chris nodded, wondering how his dad knew to ask that. "Can you control it for a moment?" Another nod and Dad sat back on his heels, looking relieved. "Good, that's good. You're doing really well, Chris. Really well. Now, I want you to breathe with me, okay? Try and match your breathing to mine."

It sounded so easy, but the power didn't want to obey. Chris closed his eyes and bit down hard on his lip, using the pain to help him to focus. His dad's words drifted into the background and he concentrated on the rise and fall of the older man's chest. Rise and fall. Rise and fall. Rise. And. Fall.

Time passed, slipping away into the darkness, bringing with it flashes of memory. A face, scarlet with anger, eyes narrowed to points, spittle flying from lips that screamed at him. His body jerking in a macabre dance of pain. The sticky taste of blood in his mouth. Light glinting of a silver blade, turning it a shimmering, sickly yellow. A burning sensation in his side, swelling outwards, consuming him in fire that mercilessly scorched his skin, sucking all of the air from his lungs and –

Something cool touched him in the middle of his forehead, shattering the memory and easing the pressure in his mind. An intense feeling of peace washed over him and he revelled in it, wrapping it around him for a few moments, content just to be. Then, slowly, cautiously, he opened his eyes.

His dad had moved away and a woman was standing in front of him. She had short blonde hair and a kind face, and it was her finger resting against his skin. There was something naggingly familiar about her, but Chris couldn't place her. When she saw that he was back with them, she drew back and folded her arms in the sleeves of her robe.

"The power is contained." Her voice was soft, melodic even. "But, Leo, this is only a temporary reprieve. He must learn to control it."

"He will," Dad promised. "Thank you, Sandra."

The woman held Dad's gaze for a long moment and then turned back to Chris. Her expression softened into something like pity. "This was… unexpected. And the timing unfortunate. You are young for such a responsibility and the consequences have been too great. For that I apologise. Perhaps we should have… but no matter. We should look to the future, and the days when you have mastered this power. For then you will be an important ally for the side of Good."

"That's enough," Mom snapped. "You're confusing him."

The woman inclined her head. "Very well. Leo, it was good to see you again. You too, Piper."

Mom snorted. The woman smiled faintly and then orbed out.

Chris's head was swimming and he was glad he was sitting down. He could still feel the power inside, but it was subdued. Quieter. And it no longer burned. Whatever that woman had done, it had worked. He felt almost… normal. The relief was intoxicating.

"Chris?"

His family were all looking at him and he realised his mom had been trying to get his attention. "It's okay," he told them. "Mom, I'm okay."

She swept him up into a hug. "Mom," he protested half-heartedly.

"Hush," she murmured, releasing him and brushing his hair back out of his eyes. What she saw there obviously didn't reassure her because she frowned. "You should go lie down."

"I'm fine."

"Don't argue with me, Chris," she said firmly. "You're exhausted."

It was true, he was. But there were also things he needed to know.

"Who was that woman?"

"It's not important." Mom took his arm and tried to lead him towards the stairs. Chris pulled away, the world spinning slightly on its axis. "It's not – how is it not important? What did she do to me?"

"She helped you to control your ability."

"Yeah, I know that but –"

"Chris, not now."

"So you tell me later then?"

"Don't be smart with me."

Frustration made his words sharp. "Then stop trying to brush me off! What's going on?"

Mom glared at him, tight-lipped. He glanced beyond her, to his brother and sister, but they didn't offer him any answers. Wyatt looked tense and worried, and Melinda was refusing to meet anybody's eyes.

It was left to Dad to break the silence. "It's called electrokinesis," he said quietly, "and you inherited it from me."

They ended up in the lounge, Chris, Wyatt and Melinda on the couch and their parents in the chairs opposite. Mom had tried to get Melinda to leave, protesting she was too young, but Wyatt had insisted. Eleven she might be but Melinda had seen what had happened in the attic, he'd stated calmly. She deserved answers as much as the rest of them. Mom hadn't liked it, but she'd relented.

Dad sat forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped together. For a moment he didn't speak. Chris waited impatiently, unconsciously curling and uncurling his fingers.

"I was only an Elder for a short time. I didn't want the responsibility, but circumstances forced my hand and… well, I accepted the promotion. Wyatt, you were very young at the time so you probably don't remember." He paused, but Wyatt didn't say anything. "The point is that I was still an Elder when your mom got pregnant with you, Chris. It never crossed our minds that there would be consequences of this – we just assumed you'd have the standard Whitelighter powers with some extra Witch magic thrown in. If it had… well I could have warned you what to expect.

"Electrokinesis is one of the most powerful Elder abilities. I didn't use it much and when I did…" A shadow crossed his face and the words faltered. In the other chair, Mom had stiffened, but she remained silent. After a few moments, Dad swallowed and continued. "It was both addictive and terrifying. It's tied more tightly to emotions than any other power I've experienced and when fuelled by anger – it can be devastating. As soon as Wyatt described what happened, I knew. It's why I called Sandra down – I knew only an Elder could help you learn control, Chris."

Electrokinesis. An Elder power. It sounded so grand and impressive. A week, a day, hell, even a couple of hours ago, Chris would have been revelling in the idea of an exciting new ability. But now, with his dad's words echoing in his ears and the memory of what had happened in the attack, he just felt sick. Whatever that woman had done was only temporary, which meant that sometime soon, the lightning was going to be back. And if he couldn't master it…

He must have given something away, because Dad shot him a reassuring smile. "Your Mom and I have been speaking to the Elders and they're confident that we'll be able to train you how to use this power properly. It'll be okay, Chris, I promise."

"The Elders aren't teaching him?" Wyatt interrupted, looking alarmed.

Mom scowled while Dad shook his head. "They don't believe in getting involved with our affairs unless it's absolutely necessary."

"And they don't think this is necessary?"

"Sandra trusts that we can teach Chris ourselves."

"But what if –" Wyatt broke off, embarrassed, even though it was clear what he'd been going to say.

"We'll deal with it as a family," Mom finished, in a tone that brooked no arguments. "As we always do."

"Can't you just take it away?"

Chris's question brought them all up short. The silence that followed was so abrupt and absolute that he could hear the ticking of the old grandfather clock in the hall. Unconsciously he began to breathe in time to it.

"Is that what you want?" Dad asked carefully.

Chris shrugged, unwilling to commit. Honestly, he wasn't sure. The idea had only just come to him, spilling out before he had time to think it through.

"Chris?"

"I don't know." He had to stand, to move, to walk this off. But with them all crowded into the lounge, there wasn't a lot of room and he ended up over by the fireplace, staring at himself in the mirror. Dark hair hung limply against skin that was so pale he could almost see the veins beneath. He looked like a vampire. Or a scared little boy who has just thrown lightning from his hands.

"Is that even possible?" Wyatt wondered.

"Binding all powers is," Mom explained. "Grams did that to me and your aunts when we were children, but singular powers –?"

"I've never heard of that happening," Dad said slowly. "Perhaps the Elders…"

They were all so quick to agree, Chris thought as the conversation continued behind him. All so quick to jump on board with his request to abandon a part of his magical heritage. Had he scared them that much with his display in the attic? Or was it that they didn't think he could handle it?

His watched Melinda in the mirror. His little sister had been uncharacteristically quiet during all of the uproar, sitting back, huddled in on herself, almost like she wanted to disappear into the sofa cushions. Wyatt had healed her arm, but there was still white dust in her hair. It made her look older than her eleven years, as did the unusually serious expression on her young face.

When she saw him looking, she slid off the sofa and padded over to join him.

"You should give it up."

Her voice was quiet enough that their parents and Wyatt didn't hear, but Chris did and he was taken aback. Melinda loved magic. It was the centre of her whole universe. She was fiercely proud of their magical heritage and took great delight in sharing with anyone who'd listen that they were part of the most powerful magical family in the world and she was personally descended from a Whitelighter and a Charmed One. Once Chris had even caught her painstakingly drawing out their family tree. She'd sworn it was for a class project but he'd seen her sneaking it into the Book of Shadows when she'd thought no one was looking. For her to be standing in front of him, willing him to give up this new power, said more than a thousand words from his parents ever could.

"Why would you say that?"

She traced the carving on the mantelpiece, digging her nail into the wood.

"Mel?" he prompted.

She continued digging. "You said it first."

"I was just…" Just what? he wondered. Considering my options? "Thinking out loud."

She jumped on that one. "Me too."

"Mel."

She twisted around to face him, eyes dark and wide, somehow begging him to understand something that was beyond his reach. "It's dangerous."

He couldn't deny that. "Dangerous to demons, sure, but… that's good, right?"

"I guess."

"But…?"

"It hurts people."

Whether consciously or not, Melinda had cut straight to the heart of the matter. The power was so raw, so out of control, that the thought of what he could do with it by accident terrified him. In the attic he'd obviously acted on some kind of instinct, striking out at the demons to protect his siblings. But what if he didn't make the distinction between family and enemy next time? What if they were in the firing line? As much as he liked to hold himself aloof from his family at time, he'd never be able to forgive himself if he hurt one of them. And that Elder, she'd talked about responsibility and consequences and being an ally for Good. He was fifteen. He wanted to be hanging out with his friends, not worrying that he was going to destroy them with the flick of a hand.

The irony of it all almost took his breath away. For years he'd envied Wyatt his powers, bristling with resentment every time his older brother received attention and praise just because he was the twice-blessed child. And now, when he finally had an ability of his own to rival Wyatt's, all he could think was that he wanted it gone. Did that make him a coward?

"I don't want to hurt anyone," he murmured, finally understanding where the suggestion to give up his power had come from.

Melinda touched his arm in an oddly mothering gesture. She looked so sad, he thought distantly. Why does she look so sad?

"I don't want to hurt anyone." He said it loudly enough that his parents and Wyatt would hear too. They broke off their conversation and in the reflection from the mirror he saw his parents exchange a long look. Then dad rose and came up behind him and Melinda, putting a hand on each of their shoulders.

"I can't promise anything, but I'll see what I can do."