Chapter 81
REMEMBER HOW I said Abbadon moved like a magician?
Well, this wasn’t some kid’s birthday party, and I wasn’t going to become his willing volunteer from the audience.
That rage rushing through my limbs and up into my head? I knew who put it there: Abbadon. It’s an Alpar Nokian mind trick, where you make somebody think they’re feeling emotions when actually you’re the one making them feel that way. How do I know this? I’ve used it myself in the past. It’s highly effective. Unless, of course, your target knows they’re being targeted.
So I focused on the knife I held in my hand and transformed it into a Frisbee, which I flung at the Russian. He caught it with his left hand and, furious, came at me with the jagged bottle in his right.
When his fist came up toward my face, I grabbed his arm and locked it in place.
So it would be easier for me to sniff the lovely bouquet of flowers he was offering me.
Yeah, that’s right—I rearranged the bottle’s molecules.
“Flowers?” I said. “For me? Why, Yuri, I didn’t know you cared.”
The Russian thug didn’t look so tough clutching an FTD Sweet Splendor Bouquet.
“You dare mock me?” thundered Abbadon.
He swept his arms up over his head, and the imaginary Russian hoodlum crumbled into a heap of gravel.
“Trust me, Daniel, you will beg to join me before I’m through with you.”
“Doubtful,” I said. “But go ahead. This is your rodeo—show me what else you’ve got.”
That’s when the magician played the most hurtful card in his hand: Mel!