Doughnut - By Tom Holt Page 0,69

sister’s having you followed?”

“I tell myself it’s a sign of affection, like the way some cats bite you to the bone,” he said. “But I don’t think it is, really.”

“No?”

“No. I think it’s because she’s sick in the head and fundamentally nasty. But what the hell, nobody’s perfect.”

She gave him a second and a half of sympathetic grimacing, then said, “You found the compact?”

“Yes.”

“I left it,” she said, “so you’d see how honest and trustworthy I am.”

“And it’s DNA-encoded so only I can make it work.”

“That too. Well? Let’s see it.”

He sighed. On the other hand, said a small voice in his head, it’d be quite nice to have some company for a change, instead of having to do it all on your own. He thought about that, and could see the merit in it. That said, he recognised that small internal voice. It was the same one that had urged him to propose to his third wife. But, he rationalised, getting rid of her would be more trouble than letting her stay. “Here,” he said, and put the compact on the table.

She was frowning. “That’s so weird,” she said, and he realised he’d been using his invisible hand. “Can’t you put a glove over it or something?”

“Sure,” he said. “But all that’d happen would be, I’d be wearing an invisible glove.”

“Whatever.” She shrugged, then gave him an accusing frown. “Oh, and you never answered my question.”

“What? Which question?”

“Milk and sugar?”

“What? Oh. Yes.”

“Milk and sugar.”

“Yes.”

“Help yourself.” She pointed at a carton and a small bowl of sugar lumps, and bent her head over the compact. The mirror reflected her face, and that was all. “Presumably we can download this into a laptop or something,” she said, frowning.

“No idea,” Theo replied, putting his mug on the desk and leaning over her shoulder. “I think I’d better have the chair,” he said.

“Fine.” She stood up, and he took her place. Now she was leaning over his shoulder, and the ends of her hair were just touching his cheek. He tried very hard to ignore that. “Right,” he said briskly, “here goes.” He licked the tip of his index finger and pressed it to the glass of the mirror, which immediately brought up –

YouSpace 1.1

User’s Manual

“Next,” he said, and when the list of contents appeared, he said, “Getting Started.” The screen cleared, a tiny red horse galloped across his face, and a page of text stood out on a white background.

“You need a PIN number,” she said in his ear.

“Already done that,” he said.

“What is it?”

He pretended he hadn’t heard. “What I want to know,” he said, “is how you cancel the security protocols. The ones that keep landing me in life-threatening situations.”

The screen cleared again, the red horse cantered across the bridge of his nose, and –

6.2.1 Cancelling security protocols.

In order to cancel the security protocols, wish for the security protocols to be cancelled.

“Is that it?” she said.

He shrugged. “Is that it?” he asked. The screen cleared, and-

Yes.

“Oh well,” Theo said. “Right, then. How do you choose where you want to go?”

27.6.13 Choosing where you want to go.

In order to choose where you want to go, choose where you want to go.

“We’ve got to try this,” she said. “It can’t be this easy.”

“What, now?”

“Got anything else you really need to do?”

He frowned; then he took the bottle from his pocket. “I’m not sure about this.”

“Don’t you trust me?”

Her hair was tickling the side of his neck. “Do you get upset when people lie to you?”

“Yes.”

“In that case, I trust you.” The bottle was resting on a nest of his fingertips. “The hell with it,” he said. “Where would you like to go?”

“I don’t know. My mind’s gone a complete blank.”

“Mine too.” He closed his eyes. Somewhere nice, he thought. Oh, and deactivate the security protocols.

Somewhere nice…

He opened his eyes and saw a seagull.

Somewhere nice. He could feel the warmth of the sun on his face, and sand under his bare legs. Lying beside him, in a bikini, was a woman with long red hair. He could only see the back of her head, but that was all he needed to see –

“Amanda?”

“Mphm.” It was her all right. Nobody else in the world could do that soft sleepy grunt of utter contentment. Quickly he glanced down. His right hand was still visible, and there was a wedding ring on its fourth finger.

“Honey,” he said, “what’s the date today?”

She told him. She was quite right too.

He couldn’t have moved if he’d wanted to. Somewhere