Eve shut the door, stalked around the desk, and flopped bonelessly into a classic Evil Overlord chair that was probably worth more than the house they’d grown up in. “Welcome to my world,” she said, with a careless wave at the bay window overlooking a neatly manicured garden that went on and on and on, looking out over some of the most expensive real estate in the world.
“Wait, what—” Imp’s brain finally caught up—“you got a promotion?”
“What can I say?” She shrugged: “Dead man’s shoes.” She smiled a pixie grin that Imp hadn’t thought he’d see again, not since the day their father died.
“Wait, your boss…”
“He was so eager he went to get the book himself.” She frowned slightly. “You didn’t run into him upstairs, did you?”
“No! What happened?”
“I told him I quit, and he could get it his own damn self.” She glanced around. “Obviously I worded it very carefully. And did it in precisely that order.”
“Wait, you—”
“I resigned, then I told him where he could find the book.” The fey grin came out to play again. “He never came back. I’m pretty sure the curse got him: if not, he wandered off into Neverland and didn’t make it out.”
“Damn.” Imp rubbed his forehead, frowning. “How? I mean, he bought it, didn’t he? Isn’t he its legitimate owner now? Shouldn’t it have recognized him?”
“You might think that, but the book doesn’t necessarily agree.” She smiled to herself, a knowing expression that made Imp’s blood chill momentarily. “Rupert was the chief executive of de Montfort Bigge Holdings, you see, an investment vehicle domiciled in Skaro for tax purposes, private equity with a specialty in highly unprofitable global subsidiaries—subsidiaries that forwarded their profits to Rupert’s beneficial trust via a double Irish with a Dutch sandwich, or whatever wheeze the rocket scientists in accounting have replaced the Double Irish Jammy Tax Dodge with this week, to stay one jump ahead of the legal loopholes the authorities keep trying to close on us. And sure, he told me to acquire the book for him. And yes, I did that. But I didn’t pay for it using money in one of Rupert’s personal accounts, or even a company he owned a majority share of.
“Instead, I used Rupert’s funds to buy a house. And then I remortgaged it. It’s a very valuable property, apparently—it’s on Kensington Palace Gardens, don’t you know? I think you can guess the address. Anyway, it gave me a line on the twenty-five million and change I needed in order to preempt the auction, plus a bridging loan and a few other odds and ends I needed. This all went through a management company I set up, and by the way your name is on the deeds along with mine. Which means the purchase of the book used money coming directly from an offshore financial entity that you and I jointly own, which owes Rupert the twenty-five mil but what the hey, he’s not about to come and collect it any time soon.”
Imp flapped his jaw. “What. The. Fuck?”
“Dad was right, you know: accountancy really is magic,” his sister told him. “Only I figured that out too late,” she added quietly.
“The curse affected anyone who took the book and didn’t own it. But we owned—we own—the family house again? So the curse couldn’t affect you or me, or someone acting under our instructions, but your boss … oh dear fucking me.” He rocked back and forth, thinking furiously.
“I’m pretty sure Rupert learned about the book a few years ago, when he hired me. But it took him ages to find the map Grandpa left lying around, and even longer to set me up to go fetch. He told me to buy the book for him. But he didn’t say how I was to buy the book for him, and I was very careful indeed not to give him any authority to collect the book on my behalf.”
“Which is why you resigned first, before you told him where you’d left it.” He looked at her, eyes glittering. “What now?”
“You go back to the house you co-own and check your bank balance,” she said. “I paid the finder’s fee we agreed, in full. The solicitors should be getting in touch soon. When they do, forward me their email?”
“But, but…”
“I’m putting you on salary,” she announced. “You’ll be listed as a janitor, working at, oh, a certain property I mentioned buying earlier: duties to include any housework necessary to keep it in order, the money isn’t great but it includes on-site accommodation for yourself and up to four designated friends and family? You should have plenty of time left over for making movies on the side. But your principal job—which will not be written down anywhere—is to keep that fucking door shut. And don’t, whatever you do, breed. Are we square?”
Imp stood. “This isn’t fair!”
“Jerm.” She walked around the desk until she was close enough to reach out and touch his nose: “Life isn’t fair. If life was fair the family curse would come with an escape clause, Dad wouldn’t have died for you, Mum wouldn’t be in a care home, and your elder sister would probably have babies instead of control of a multi-billion-pound hedge fund.” She looked thoughtful. “Although the hedge fund is a really good consolation prize, come to think of it.”
A pair of cut crystal tumblers filled themselves from the decanter on the sideboard and floated across to her. She took one and passed it to Imp. “Here’s to family,” she proposed, and they raised their glasses to their parents, and the brothers and sisters and children they would never have.
(THE END—for now)
ALSO BY CHARLES STROSS
Singularity Sky
Iron Sunrise
Accelerando
Glasshouse
Halting State
Saturn’s Children
Rule 34
Scratch Monkey
The Rapture of the Nerds (with Cory Doctorow)
Neptune’s Brood
THE MERCHANT PRINCES
The Bloodline Feud (comprising The Family
