Page 64 of Inception

“I don’t think that’s a very good—”

“Why not?” I interjected before he could finish turning me down. “You’re a Revenant, and you’re Dominic’s brother. Who better to teach me than you?”

“I’m sure you’d be better suited with someone else.”

“Please, Gabriel. I don’t have anyone else,” I pleaded, realizing I wasn’t above resorting to tears.

His face softened, acquiescence looming on the edges. “I’m only going to be in town for a couple of weeks, at the most. I don’t see what good it would do.”

“A couple of weeks training is better than no weeks training, isn’t it? Come on, Gabriel, you could help me if you wanted to. I know you can.”

He ran his hand over the length of his face. “I suppose I could train with you while I’m in town, or at least until they find something permanent,” he said and then held up his hand when I began to squeal. “Providing the Council approves it.”

The way he said it led me to believe the chances of that happening weren’t exactly in my favor.

“They’ll approve it,” I said boldly. “They have to.” Because I wasn’t going to give them a choice.

This was happening one way or another. Gabriel was my best chance at learning the skills I needed to keep myself alive. My only chance, really. It was him or nothing. If the Council couldn’t see it my way, I would just have to find a way to make this happen without them.

19. TRAINING DAY

The rain battered the windshield as my uncle and I pulled up toTempleon the east side of town. The limestone structure was ornamented with rows of dimly lit windows, strange alabaster carvings, and a gated walkway that drew from the edge of the sidewalk all the way up to the bronze door.

“I don’t understand why Gabriel and I can’t just train at the house,” I said, looking through the blurred glass at the menacing building outside my window.

“Because that isn’t the way we do things.”

“What difference does it make tothemif I—”

“Don’t push your luck, Jemma.” My uncle interjected before I could finish my argument. “It’s a wonder the Council even approved this with the amount of opposition they had.”

“Opposition?” I flinched back, surprised.

“Surely you can appreciate how unconventional this is.” He looked at me expectantly. “The Order is built on tradition. Rites and Customs that have been adhered to for centuries, to advance us in our mission, and to protect us—our identities, our safety, our lineage. Anything that threatens to disrupt that security is naturally not going to be well-received.”

“But this isn’t even about that. This is about me.” More to the point, this was about me staying alive, I thought, bitingly.

“Yes, it is about you. But it’s also about Peter Macarthur. And Trace Macarthur,” he said purposefully. “It’s about order. There are other factors in this equation whether you are prepared to recognize them or not. I suggest you not tempt the fates any more than you already have.”

I turned back to the building acridly, realizing where the core opposition had come from: from Trace’s father, my boss. I wondered how close he had come to stopping this from happening. To stopping me from getting the training I desperately needed.

I couldn’t help but wonder what other unknownfactorsmight be out there, and just how many of those unknowns might wind up getting directly in my way again.

The lobby was quaint, circular in form, with glossy marble floors and cream colored walls. There was an empty reception desk at the front and a waiting area with red chairs and a glass coffee table at the center. Something about the room looked staged, as though it were all playing host to a sordid illusion.

The fortified doors on either side of the reception desk were unmarked, locked, and appeared to be leading to opposite sides of the building. I followed my uncle to the left door nearest the reception desk and watched as he swiped a plastic card through the security reader.

The light flashed green and the door unlocked, allowing us to pile into a small holding area where we waited in front of another armored door while the one behind us closed.

One could easily become incredibly claustrophobic in such a tight space, I thought, wiping my palms against my jeans. “Is it hot in here, or is it just me?”

Ignoring me, my uncle pushed his thumb into what looked like a fingerprint identification machine, and then stood back as a woman’s mechanical voice sounded over the speakers.

“Welcome, Karl Blackburn. Please enter your personal identification pass code.”

He fingered six numbers into the keypad, and then waited for the light to flash green before turning the knob, giving us access into the cavernous building known as Temple.

“What was all that about?” I asked as we walked through the atrium. Guarding sphinxes and stone columns lined both side.

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