“You just caught me by surprise,” Paul said after a moment, his tone apologetic. “I mean I knew immortals were long lived, I just—”
“I’m considered a youngster by immortal standards,” Jeanne Louise said quietly, before ducking under the spray to rinse the soap away. She stepped back out, blinking her eyes cautiously open and murmuring a thank you when Paul handed her the towel to dry her eyes.
“Just how long has the oldest one lived?” he asked curiously. “I mean, I suppose technically the nanos could keep someone going forever but—”
“Some who survived Atlantis are still around,” Jeanne Louise interrupted. “Uncle Lucian for instance. Others, like his twin brother and parents, have died in beheadings or volcanic eruptions and such, but there are several around still from the early days.”
“Your uncle Lucian is from Atlantis?” Paul asked carefully.
Jeanne Louise paused and peered at him solemnly. “Do not ever joke about him being The Man From Atlantis,” she warned. “Thomas did once and he really didn’t take it well.”
“Right,” he breathed, and then smiled wryly. “I somehow don’t think you have to worry about that. I don’t see your uncle and I sitting around shooting the shit anytime soon.”
“Stranger things have happened,” Jeanne Louise said with amusement, setting the soap back on the rack and stepping under the water again to let the spray rinse the lather away.
“So,” Paul said as she sloshed the water in the places the spray couldn’t reach on its own. “You’re a hundred and three.”
“Almost,” she said and then grinned. “I’m an older woman, Paul.” Tilting her head, she arched an eyebrow and asked, “Is that a problem?”
Paul let his gaze slide over her body under the spray as he considered her question and then grinned and shook his head and stepped under the spray with her.
“Not at all,” he assured her, his arms sliding around her waist. He kissed the tip of her nose and then pointed out, “It means you can’t get mad at me if I call you my old lady.”
“Ha ha,” Jeanne Louise said dryly and pulled from his arms to step out of the shower, twisting the hot water tap off as she went. “Enjoy your shower.”
“I—Ahhh!” Paul squawked and quickly began twisting taps as the water turned cold.
“So this is Marguerite’s house.”
Jeanne Louise smiled faintly at Paul’s wide-eyed expression as they started up the driveway. “Uncle Jean Claude had it built. He liked to make a statement.”
“Hmm,” Paul said wryly, and then glanced at her. “Who is Uncle Jean Claude?”
“Lucian’s brother and Aunt Marguerite’s first husband. He turned her. Julius Notte is her second husband and her first life mate.”
“Her first life mate? Your uncle wasn’t a life mate too?”
Jeanne Louise shook her head. “No. He turned her and claimed her as one because she looked like his life mate, who died in Atlantis.”
“Hmm.” Paul glanced out the window again. “When did your uncle die?”
“1995,” she answered.
“Jesus,” Paul breathed, and then asked, “How old is Marguerite?”
Jeanne Louise paused to do the calculations. “Seven hundred and forty something.”
“Right,” he sighed and then glanced to Livy, who was clutching Boomer to her chest and peering excitedly out the window.
No doubt he was thinking his daughter had a long life ahead of her, Jeanne Louise supposed, and then glanced out the window as Anders pulled the SUV to a halt in front of the wide double doors of the house.
“Take them in,” Anders said to Bricker. “I’ll park and join you in a minute.”
Jeanne Louise didn’t wait to hear Bricker’s answer, but opened her door and slid out. Paul followed, with Livy hard on his heels, and then Jeanne Louise turned toward the house as the front doors opened and Marguerite appeared.
“Jeanne Louise, sweetie,” her aunt greeted, managing to look apologetic and happy to see her all at once.
“Aunt Marguerite,” she murmured, stepping into the woman’s arms and hugging her.