Page 83 of Inception

“Just space,” replied Trace. “It's called teleporting.”

“Freaky shit, right?” Ben hopped up beside Trace so that they were sitting shoulder to shoulder. “First time I saw him port, I nearly pissed myself.”

That makes two of us.

“And the moving betweentimepart? We’re talking about time travelling, right?” The intimate conversation we had in my bedroom about changing the past immediately came back to me, but I didn’t want to bring up the details in front of Ben.

Trace confirmed it with a nod.

I needed time to process the ramifications of what this time travelling thing meant. It was just too much—too big of a deal—to digest in one hazy afternoon.

My curiosity about him, however, begged for me to find out what else he could do. I wondered if he responsible for the warm current I felt every time he touched me? Or if he had some sort of hypnotizing gift? Or mind reading ability? Too embarrassed to ask him outright, I went with the safer question:

“Do you have any otherabilities?”

“He can read your thoughts,” answered Ben.

“Only if I’m touching you.”

My eyes swelled. “That day in the restaurant—you heard me.”And in my bedroom.

He nodded again.

I felt the crushing blow of panic set in as a dozen questions filtered in all at once. What else had he heard? How many times had we touched? Could he hear me now?Hello? I immediately started cursing at him in my mind.

“You're freaking out, aren’t you?”

“No,” I lied, swallowing hard. “I’m just taking it all in.”

And I was, though I suspected it would be a while before I would be square again.

I spent the rest of the week shuffling between school, work, and training with Gabriel, and as a result, the week had flown right by. By Friday night, I was exhausted, and admittedly a little green in the eyes since everyone I knew was out having a great time, doing normal teenage stuff—partying, unwinding, hanging out—and getting ready for the carnival this week-end.

Everyone, that is, except me.

I was stuck in the secret underground training facilities of some ancient building having to learn self-defense tactics and kill strikes like my life depended on it—because it actually did. It wasn’t really the stuff dreams were made of, and would have been a total nightmare if it wasn’t for my skilled, easy on the eyes instructor who made it slightly more bearable for me.

“Now drop your chin as far as you can,” ordered Gabriel. His arm was coiled around my neck and his other hand was on my waist, confining me against him. “You want to take the pressure off your neck and shift it to your chin. Good, just like that.”

As soon as I had the brunt of his arm off my windpipe and could breathe again, I maneuvered us into what I liked to call thestop, drop and roll back, which basically consisted of, well, dropping to the ground and rolling back.

And for the first time since I started training with him, I actually executed the move flawlessly, having dropped us to the ground and then rolled myself back over my would-be assailant to gain the upper position over him. I even fake-staked him with my fist for good measure.

“How do you like me now?” I sassed, feeling all smug.

His lips curled into a smile as he stared back up at me from the ground. “There may be hope for you after all, Jemma.”

“Thanks...I think?”

He rose quickly to his feet, the movement registering only as a blur. “And had you not just driven your imaginary stake through my left lung, it would have been an impressive kill,” he added, straightening out the creases on his black T-shirt.

“Come again?”

“The heart would be about here,” he said pointing to thecenterof his chest. “Between your left and right lung.”

“Oh. Right. I knew that.”

“Let’s just hope you strike better than you lie,” he said with just a hint of ridicule as he moved to reposition the mat.

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