Key kneeled beside the creature who had started the whole thing and waited for the weak, watery eyes to focus on him. When they did, the erosion seemed to increase exponentially. As Key watched, Craven’s hips and waist seemed to foam away, like the retreating wake of an ocean wave on the beach.
Craven tried to raise his arm, but it was already dissolving like ash at the end of a burning cigarette. So, instead, the sides of his lips twitched, as if attempting a final smile.
“Maa Durga,” they heard him whisper. “Dhanyavaad.”
He had called Key by the name of the most venerated Hindu deity that mixed the Royal Bengal Tiger and the Great Lion. But he had saved his last breath to gasp, “thank you.”
Then Lancaster and Key watched as the tormented tormenter turned to dust before their eyes.
About the Author
Richard Jeffries holds a degree in Creative Writing, obtained before he went to work for American intelligence. He has seen the world—and things in it—which inspired the writing of these novels. Now retired from covert ops, Jeffries divides his time between rural Connecticut and London. In his spare time he pursues his lifelong interest in Kung Fu and classical piano.
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