Page 124 of Even Vampires Bleed
She flinches at my tone, but then straightens her back as if she needed to steel herself for what she has to ask.
I’m not a morning person. Sue me. She needs my help, so she’ll deal with it.
I sit at the kitchen table and start preparing Elodie’s lunch box and my breakfast. The others are old enough to make theirs.
“I need a service,” she says, as if testing the waters.
“Usually, people who come to me always need a service. Whether I can make that happen and they can pay for it is more important to me.”
“I can pay,” she says without missing a beat.
I gathered that. One doesn't live in Notre Dame and is poor. The dragon wouldn’t tolerate that. He pays handsomely. It’s just a shame that all the jobs I’ve taken with him were initially dad’s.
Because it means he knew what would be paid, and it arrived directly on his account—not mine.
But this time, Dad isn’t here. He hasn’t even come back from his nightly outing.
“What would you pay me for?” I ask her, suddenly way more awake than I’ve been until now.
I’m thinking about all the things I could buy with fresh money—new shoes for Coralie, new bag for Amélie, therapy sessions for Elodie, and maybe if there’s some left I can buy the parts I’ve seen online to upgrade Milton.
“Do you remember the man with the brain chip? The one that could erase his memory if it’s triggered?” she asks me, and I don’t need to think long.
I will remember that man forever.
Twice I’ve been asked to come and give a diagnosis for him. Twice I’ve given a very bleak one.
I hate being the bearer of bad news, but for this man, I’ve been exactly that. Twice—even if he doesn’t remember the first time.
I don’t know what I could help with, though.
“I remember,” I tell her. “But didn’t the doctor already say that the chip can’t be extracted unless he’s ready to suffer significant damage?”
“Yes, that’s what he said, but that’s not why I’m here,” she says. “We’ve been living in a special zone in the south of France for the past few days, and I can’t tell you where it is, because he’s still there, but you just have to know that this place was built like a faraday cage, except bigger, much bigger. No wave can enter. No phone works and there isn’t even a drop of electricity there.”
I’m surprised a place like this still exists, but I just nod for her to keep going. I don’t know what she expects of me, but I’m interested.
“I was wondering if you could build something like that, but at a much smaller scale. Imagine something he could wear that would act like a faraday cage all around him—like a protection bubble. Would you be able to do that?”
She sounds hopeful, and I don’t want to burst her bubble, but I know this has never been done. Oh yeah, portable faraday cages have been built, but they were still lining the edges of something, like a car or a box.
I don’t think this has ever been done without material to make a box, though.
“Did you say you were in a place that was built like a faraday cage?” I ask, half of me still with her and the other one already seeing the possibilities. “Were you able to see the sky?”
“Yes, why?” she asks, and I wave at her, so she stops talking and lets me think.
Yes, if I find what was used and how it was used to make that bubble, I might be able to reduce its size. But where could I put it? Putting it in the soles of his boots would make one side work, but I wouldn’t be sure it would cover his whole body. I’m not about to make him wear a woolen cap, but maybe a sun hat? But then what happens at night? Because he obviously can’t remove the device to go to sleep or all of that would be for nothing.
“Would he be amenable to a couple more chip implants?” I wonder out loud. I’m not expecting one, but Cassiopé still answers.
“I’m not sure, but I can find out.”
“Could you also find out if Elhyor would agree to me visiting the place he’s staying at?” I ask Cassiopé while my brain is making a million calculations at the same time, imagining what could be used to get a near microscopic system.
“I can ask,” she says with a bit of mistrust.
Iguess she cares about the man who is soon-to-be-missing—or not—his memory.
