Five SFF Books With Abilities You Absolutely Do Not Want - Reactor

When The Curse Workers series came out, it was a concept universally envied among YA authors. The setup is so simple and so brilliant: some people are born with powers, but those powers are illegal. This leads to a black-market industry filled with those who can give or take away things like luck, love, memory, or even death. But there’s always a magical blowback on the curse worker. Take away a memory? Lose one yourself. Make someone unlucky for an hour or a day? Suffer the same amount of bad luck. But worst of all is being a death worker. Evidence of your guilt will appear in the form of a dead body part—and you don’t get a choice in which one it’ll be. If you’re lucky, it’ll be something small and survivable, like a toe. If you’re unlucky, your first job will also be your last.

Listen, the concept behind the subtle magic that powers London’s fantasy trilogy is very cool. An ancient language that allows you to connect to giant, deadly eagles? Falconers being the preeminent warriors and spies in complex conflicts? The ability to catch and control birds of prey being the main source of social currency? All fascinating. But even as twins Kylee and Brysen gradually realize gaining power only means they’re going to become pawns in larger conflicts, there’s a simple truth about their abilities I think we need to acknowledge: Birds are terrifying. Full stop. Have you ever been lying in a hammock and had a hummingbird dive bomb you? Been charged by those fancy dinosaur nightmares known as peacocks? Accidentally made eye contact with a one-legged seagull coming for your churro and your soul? Birds should stay unknowable and far away. No psychic connections with them, please and thank you.

I love a messed up magic school where the consequences of failing aren’t just having to repeat a course, but rather destruction, devastation, and even death. (See also Vita Nostra, A Deadly Education, and Magic for Liars.) In Henderson’s fantastic dark academia novel, Lennon is invited to Drayton College to learn the art of Persuasion. As she is trained in how to wield her will like a weapon against other people and even reality itself, the physical, mental, and emotional consequences build. Power always comes at a cost, and Lennon’s is unfathomably high. No one in generations has been able to do what she can, which means those in charge will stop at nothing to use her. Plus—and I cannot emphasize enough how cruel this is—amidst training and torture and near-death experiences, Lennon still has to go to class.

In the world of The Rook, there exists a clandestine British government office dedicated to protecting citizens from more unusual threats than the typical 007 agent can comprehend. Myfanwy, the people-averse administrative assistant in charge of making sure everything stays organized and running smoothly, wakes up surrounded by bodies, with no memories of who she was or how she got there. The book itself is filled with various powers—psychics, vampires, sentient mold—and Myfanwy herself has the ability to manipulate people through touch. But it’s not that skill I’m terrified of. The real power Myfanwy wields is a comprehensive knowledge of the ins and outs of running a massive bureaucracy. I shudder to think how poorly I’d do if I were in her place. I can’t even be bothered to keep my financial records in something more complicated than a shoebox. No supernatural abilities are worth having to keep track of years of official records. And I suppose the fact that people want to kill her is also a significant downside.

Cashore’s Graceling Realm series is littered with terrible graces, aka powers one is born with. Some of the graces are obvious. Some are subtle. Some are mysteries even to those who have them. Though Bitterblue, the main character of the third (and my favorite) book in the series, doesn’t have a grace, she’s friends with someone who has the actual worst power I’ve ever heard of: the ability to give people the dreams you say they’ll have. It seems tame, bordering on boring. Until you realize this ability would doom you to a lifetime of everyone telling you about their dreams. There’s nothing more horrible or mind-numbingly boring than being forced to listen to accounts of what other people’s brains do while they’re sleeping. I’d take the secret of that grace to my grave.