"I swear, Angus," Jean-Luc interrupted him. "If you say I told you so, I'll ram one of your claymores down your throat."

Angus simply arched an eyebrow that dared him to try it. "I did warn ye to leave ten years ago. And again five years ago."

"I was busy building my business," Jean-Luc protested. He'd started off in 1922, designing evening wear just for vampires, but in 1933, he'd expanded his business to include the Hollywood elite. After realizing how much mortals liked his designs, he made his big move in 1975. He started creating all sorts of clothes and marketing them to the general public. Soon, he had become a celebrity in the mortal world. The last thirty years had sped by in a whirlwind of success. When you were a vampire more than five hundred years old, the years passed by in the blink of an eye. Angus MacKay had warned him. Angus had started his investigation and security business in 1927 and was now posing as the grandson of the original founder.

Jean-Luc picked up a copy of Le Monde from his desk. "Have you seen the latest?"

"Let me see." Robby MacKay grabbed the Parisian newspaper and scanned the article. A descendant of Angus, Robby worked for Angus's security company. For the last ten years, Robby had been in charge of security for Jean-Luc.

"What does it say?" Gregori peeked over Robby's shoulder.

Robby frowned as he translated. "Everyone in Paris is wondering why Jean-Luc hasna aged in over thirty years. Some say he's had cosmetic surgery half a dozen times, and others say he's found the fountain of youth. He's run away, but no one knows where. Some believe he's hiding in a mental institution, recovering from a nervous breakdown, while others say he's undergoing yet another facelift."

Jean-Luc groaned as he collapsed in the chair behind his desk.

"I warned ye this would happen." Angus dodged to the right when Jean-Luc threw a ruler at him.