And this, with the first few notes of his song, Michael Glass proved vividly to the entire hall.
The concert was great. The after-party was overwhelming, mostly because Claire hadn't really known there would be one, and she wasn't up for being stared at by a few hundred strangers who were all pressing around, trying to get to Michael and wondering why she was so special that she got to be behind the autograph table, instead of in front of it. Michael had barely had time to say hi since he'd come out the stage door into the lobby; he'd been mobbed, and not even Eve, standing there looking gorgeous and movie-star sleek, could get private time with him while the fans circled. There was no sign of Kim. The vampires didn't bother to mix with the crowd, but as each of them left the building, they stopped to look at Michael, and nod. Claire supposed that was their version of a standing ovation.
As the number of autograph seekers finally died down, there were only a few people left. One was Pennywell, leaning against a marble pillar a hundred feet away, looking bored but eternal, as if he could wait another ten thousand years if necessary without a change of underwear. One was Kim, who was locked in animated conversation with a couple of TPU guys who looked, to Claire's eyes, like liberal arts students. She kept casting glances at their little group, and Claire figured that any minute she'd kick her holding-pattern boys to the curb and make straight for Shane.
The last person, though, was a human - an older guy dressed in a black tailored leather jacket and jeans - kind of like business tough, if there was such a thing. He had great hair, and one of those nice, even, white smiles people had on TV shows - and a tan.
"Michael, great show," the man said, and leaned over to shake Michael's hand. "Seriously, that was out of the park. My name is Harry Sloan, my daughter, Hillary, goes to school here. She wanted me to come and check you out, and I have to say, I was very impressed."
"Thanks," Michael said. He looked a little tired, no longer the mighty god of guitar that he'd been onstage, and Claire thought he just wanted to get this done and get home. "I appreciate that, Mr. Sloan."
Mr. Sloan produced a business card, which he slid across the table toward Michael's hand. "Yeah, here's the thing. I think you've got real potential, Michael. I work for a major recording company, and I want to take a demo CD back with me."
There was a moment where they all stared at him, and then Michael said, blankly, "Demo CD?"
"You don't have one?"
"No. I've been - " Michael didn't know how to finish that sentence. "Busy." Busy getting killed, then being made into a ghost, then turning into a vampire. Fighting wars. Et cetera.
"You really have to get in the studio, man, right now. I'll set it up - there's a good place in Dallas. I'll book the time for you if you tell me dates. But I want to take your stuff into our next discovery meeting. I think we can really do some business. Think about it, will you? First thing is to get that demo CD done. Call me."
He held out his hand again, and Michael shook it. He looked pale, and a little vacant, Claire thought. Mr. Sloan flashed them all that Hollywood smile again, slid on a very expensive pair of sunglasses, and left.
"He can't be," Eve said. "It's a joke, right? Monica's idea of a joke or something."
Michael held up the business card. Eve examined it, blinked, and passed it to Shane, who passed it on to Claire.
"Vice president," Claire read. "Oh. Wow."
"It's not a joke," Michael said. "There was an article about this guy in Rolling Stone about six weeks ago." Michael slowly got to his feet, and it really hit home. "He wants to sign me. As a musician."
Shane held up his hand, palm out, and Michael slapped it, then grabbed Eve and spun her around in a rush of velvet and squeals. He went still, buried his face in the soft shine of her hair, and just held her. "All my life," he said. "I've been waiting for this all my life."
"I know," Eve said, and kissed him. "I'm so proud of you."
Across the gap of a hundred feet of outdated carpet, Mr. Pennywell started clapping. It had the crisp, startling sound of gunshots. The two boys Kim was chatting with discovered they had places to be, and hit the doors to flee into the night; Kim, just as Claire had feared, walked back over toward them. Pennywell finished clapping and said, "You do realize, of course, that they'll never allow you to leave?"
Michael raised his head, and it felt to Claire like the rest of them faded out of the world. It was just Michael and Pennywell.
"They?" Michael said. "You mean Oliver and Amelie."
"They want all vampires here, under their control. Under their care." Pennywell's sneer was like a slap across the face. "Two frightened little pups trying to control a pack of wolves. Are you a pack animal, Michael? I myself am not."
"What do you want?" Michael asked.
"Of you? Nothing. You are only a dog running to heel." His empty gaze moved away from Michael and fixed with a snap onto Claire. "I want her." Shane, Michael, and Eve closed ranks in front of her before Claire could draw a breath. Pennywell clicked his tongue. "No, no, no, children. This is a waste of blood. I will kill you all - yes, even you, fledgling - and take what I want in any case. You, girl - do you want to see your friends dead on this rather unpleasant carpet?"
"Fat chance," Shane said. "We already fought your punk ass once, remember? Go ask Bishop how that went for him if you're scared to think about it."
Pennywell sent him a scorching look of contempt. "You were not alone, boy. You had allies. Here, you have - " He turned a slow circle, and focused on Kim. "Her. Perhaps not your most persuasive argument." His tone went eerily quiet, and very serious as he moved his gaze back toward Claire. "I have been alive seven hundred years, and I have been a killer since I was old enough to hold a sword. I have hunted witches and heretics down across Europe. I have destroyed stronger than you, in harder times. Do not mistake me when I tell you that I will not give you another chance."