Free Mendoza in Hollywood by Kage Baker

wife, though she looked like Miss Kansas Corn to me. She turned to him, too, and there was evidently an exchange of some kind; for as soon as the stage rattled away, leaving the three immortals there, she screamed like a steam whistle and fell on him in an embrace.
    “Porfirio! You goddam son of a whore, you look
great!”
she said.
    “Eucharia!” he said, and they staggered around and around in a prolonged hug. The big man, meanwhile, took Nancy’s hands in hisand was leaning over her, evidently murmuring anxious queries as to her well-being during the ride. She smiled and said something reassuring. He bent and kissed her face.
    I gawked. You see,
he was an immortal too
. In all the years I’d worked for Dr. Zeus, I never, ever saw a pair of immortals in love with each other. I thought it just didn’t happen. Our teenaged neophytes have crushes on anything that moves, of course, but full-grown immortals put all that behind them. Don’t they? Plenty of affectionate friendships, even noisily affectionate ones like what Porfirio and the bleached-out lady from the Midwest apparently shared, but romance? No.
    She was leading him by his big bear paw up the slope to me, her eyes sparkling. “Dearest,” she said to him, “allow me to present my oldest friend. Mendoza and I have known each other since we were neophytes together. How many years has it been?” She put out her arms, and we hugged. I hadn’t hugged anybody since 1700. It felt strange.
    “Three hundred and nine,” I said. “But who’s this?”
    The big man bowed. “Vasilii Vasilievitch Kalugin, mademoiselle, at your service. I am indebted to you for an excellent botanical survey of the Novy Albion region, though you may not recall the occasion—?”
    I accessed hurriedly and suddenly placed the name. “In 1831.
You
were that operative up at Fort Ross?”
    “The very same. My eternal thanks.” He took my hand and kissed it. The clothing was aristocratic Russian; but the accent was exquisitely Continental, as was hers now. She wore her servant’s calico with her customary grace and style, and believe me, they didn’t in the least look mismatched as a couple. Some of Kalugin’s bulk was his Russian coat, but he was genuinely a big guy, with sort of harsh sneering features in a round pink face framed by amazing muttonchop whiskers. His eyes were timid and kindly, though, and he couldn’t keep them turned from her for long.
    “I’ll just go bring up the trunks, shall I, my love?” He squeezed her hand. “Your pardon, mademoiselle. I return directly. I daresayyou ladies have much to discuss, no?” He turned and bustled after the trunks like an anxious husband. Gosh, he was cute.
    “Well!” I burst out laughing, and she just stood there looking happy. “When did
he
happen to you?”
    “We’ve known each other since 1699,” she said. “It’s a long story.”
    Sixteen ninety-nine? That was just before I’d been posted to California. “I’ll bet. And you’re really—? He’s really—? It’s love?”
    “Yes,” she said, turning to watch him. “Oh, Mendy, it is.”
    Mendy
. God, the years were rolling back. “So, like, are you married?”
    “In a manner of speaking. Not as mortals marry, of course. We’ve exchanged certain vows of our own. Our work has parted us frequently, years at a time, on occasion. Fortunately the Company is understanding and arranges our work near each other whenever possible.”
    “What’s he do?”
    “He’s a marine salvage technician,” she said, and I nodded, because she was an art conservation specialist. I couldn’t think their jobs would overlap much.
    “So he’s away at sea a lot? But what are you two doing here in California?”
    “All those San Francisco millionaires are returning from Europe with art treasures for their mansions,” she said. “Half of them will be beggars within the next five years, and their collections will be blown to the four winds. I’m doing a preliminary survey