Chapter Thirty
Using Eric’s shock to my advantage, I stab him with Woland’s syringe.
Eric tries to jerk away, but I push the plunger before he gets the chance.
“I didn’t actually lose that arm,” I tell him as I watch his eyes glaze over. “See?” I kick the fake hand and detach the special apparatus in my blazer that I finally got the chance to use.
He still looks shocked—or the drug is kicking in.
To ease his mind, I pull out my unharmed hand from its hiding spot in the left sleeve and show it to him. “Don’t feel bad,” I say. “You’re not the first person defeated by my illusions.”
Eric’s eyes roll back in his head, and he drops to the floor.
I check his pulse and find it steady, which makes sense. The dose in this syringe was meant for me—a smaller person.
Tossing the special prop k
