That tipped the scales for me. He needed a lesson. I turned, made sure he was watching, and vanished. When I re-formed, I was right behind him. It only took a moment, not nearly enough time for him to understand what he'd just seen or to begin to react to it. I wrapped one hand over his mouth and clamped another around the old revolver. The idea was to prevent it from going off by keeping the barrel from turning, but I'd forgotten that by cocking it, it had already turned. But the gun didn't go off when his finger twitched. The back of my thumb was between the firing pin and the bullet. Ouch. It wasn't nearly as awful as actually getting shot. The pain was best compared to a bad toe stubbing—brief, but of an intensity all out of proportion to the area involved. I knew now why they called it a hammer, since the firing pin had neatly nailed itself into me. My hand jerked away, taking the gun along, and I had to release my hold on him. I shoved him across the room and pried back the hammer to