Devil Take The Hindmost

Chapter Seventeen

I sat on the sofa in Priya's ostentatiously decorated lounge and eyed the small, wheeled suitcase with hostility. It contained the few possessions Sophie had left behind at the farm after her departure.

"I could have taken them to Birmingham," I sulked.

"Look, Satch, this isn't easy. I said I would help her out as a friend," Priya crossed her trouser-suited legs defensively.

"A friend ..." That one hurt. Priya was supposed to be my friend. I opened my mouth to say something to that effect but paused when I realized how childish it would sound.

Priya and I went way back, and we enjoyed a friendship of sorts, though the waters were muddied to a degree by the long-standing feelings I had for her.

Some might consider me putty in her hands, but on reflection I more resembled a blob of chewing gum she had trodden on at some point which had subsequently collected a grotesque collection of muck and fluff to the extent that, on the surface, it was difficult to distinguish from the rest of the sole.

"Take a bit of time and move on," Priya's tone changed to one that approached, but did not quite reach, consoling.

I nodded, again staring at the suitcase. Its only contents were a pair of yoga pants with a jagged hole in the knee, a hairbrush bedecked with a matted tangle of bottle-blonde strands and a block of bow resin for her cello. These were possessions so trivial, so petty, that Sophie's demand for their return signified the end of our relationship with greater finality than anything she, or Priya, could say.

"I hope you are managing to keep busy?" Priya small talked our way out of awkward conversational cul-de-sac.

"Oh, I am," I smiled wanly.

I averted my gaze from the luggage and its silent mockery and looked across at Priya who was, as ever, flawless.

She returned my attention with a look espousing concern and edged with pity. Priya's large almond shaped eyes had the inescapable lure of black holes. Stare too long, or stray too close, and they would draw you into a vortex that would crush your soul to powder; a swirling smouldering abyss from which no light, love, nor lust could hope to escape.

"I've managed to crack one case, now I'm on the trail of a possible serial killer," I forced a smile onto my face to signify that, while true, I wasn't taking myself too seriously. Just the same old Satchmo.

"All of this heroism while being pursued by some devil worshipping nutters called the Daughters of Wulfruna, apparently," I shrugged in mock amusement.

There was the briefest flash of something, perhaps alarm or discomfort, that danced across Priya's face like an electric shock.

It was the momentary and involuntary grimace of someone encountering something difficult or distasteful while attempting to suppress any signs of external change, like a polo-necked vicar trying surreptitiously to fart during a funeral.

I paused, my own smile fading fast.

What the Hell was that, and had I imagined it?

Priya sat placidly, nodding her apparent interest. There was no barbed retort, nor any caustic jibe designed to bring me back down to earth. This was, in short, not like Priya at all.

"Yeah, Widdershinz... have you met Widdershinz yet? Anyway, he is a leading light in the Scottish conspiracy theory scene, and he reckons there is a secret society of Satanists right here in town called the Daughters of Wulfruna who are out to get me! Can you believe it?" I exclaimed, watching Priya very carefully.

At the mention of the Daughters, Priya's fingers went to her throat and began to toy absently with the thin golden chain of a pendant necklace, covering her suprasternal notch in the process.