Kiss of Death Page 0,91

assistants--if that was what they were; Claire wasn't sure. "Let's see what he's got." He flipped a switch. "Michael ? Go ahead, whenever you're ready." He started out playing a slow song, head down, and Claire felt the mood in the room change from professional to really interested as he settled into the music. It flowed out of him, silky smooth, beautiful, as natural as sunshine. It was an acoustic guitar thing, and it put tears into Claire's eyes; there was something so soft and sad and aching about it. When he finished, Michael held the chord for a long moment, then sighed and sat back on his stool, looking through the glass toward them. The engineer's mouth was open. He closed it, cleared his throat, and said, "What's that called, kid?"

"`Sam's Song,"' Michael said. "It's for my grandfather." The engineer closed the microphone, looked at the other two, and said, "We've got a live one." How darkly hilarious, Claire thought. If only he knew. "He's great," Shane said softly, as if he'd never actually realized it before. "Seriously. He's great. I'm not crazy, right?"

"You're not crazy," the engineer said. "Your buddy has insane skills. They're going to love him out there." Out there. In the world. In the real world. Where Michael couldn't really go for long. The booth door opened, and Oliver walked in. He was in a normal human mode, looking fatherly and inoffensive. The aging hippie, complete with tie-dyed T-shirt and faded jeans and sandals. Claire bet that if she'd told the engineer Oliver was a vampire, he'd have laughed and told her to lay off the crack. Oliver perched on the arm of the sofa, listening. They all scooted over, because even Claire didn't really want to lean against him, no matter how nice he was apparently being. He said nothing at all. After a while, they all relaxed a little, as Michael continued to pour out the amazing rivers of music on the other side of the studio glass. Fast, slow, hard rocking--he could do it all. When the last song was over, two hours later, the engineer hit the microphone into the studio and said, "Perfect. That was perfect; that's a keeper. Okay, I think we're done. Congratulations. You are officially on your way, my man." Michael stood up, smiling, holding his guitar in one hand, and caught sight of Oliver watching him. His smile almost faded, but then he moved his gaze over to Eve, who was on her feet, blowing him kisses. That made him laugh. "Rock star!" Eve yelled, and clapped. Claire and Shane stood up and clapped, too. Oliver sat quietly, no expression at all on his face, as they celebrated Michael's success. It was their last night in Dallas. Oliver had allowed them to have a nice dinner out, at a fantastically expensive restaurant where all the waiters were better dressed than Claire ever had been. He didn't go, of course, but somehow Claire could feel his presence, feel him watching. It was still an amazing meal. She tried everything on her plate, on Shane's, even off Michael's and Eve's. They laughed and flirted, and after the dinner--which went on Oliver's credit card --they went to a dance club across the street, full of beautiful people and spinning lights. No liquor allowed for them, thanks to the glowing wristbands they didn't get, but they danced. Even Shane, although he mainly held on to Claire as she danced--which was fantastic. Hot, sweaty, exhausted, happy, the four of them piled into a cab and headed back to the hotel. It was on the elevator ride up when Shane asked, "Are we really going back?" It was a long ride; their rooms were on the very top floor of a very tall building. Nobody spoke, not even Michael. He rested his chin on top of Eve's head and held her close, and she put her arms around him. Shane looked at Claire, the question plain in his eyes. She felt the heavy weight of it, the absolute vital importance of it. The claddagh ring on her right hand felt cold, suddenly. "Seriously," Shane said. "Can you leave all this? Just go back to that? Michael, you've got a future out here. You really do."

"Do I?" Michael asked. He sounded tired and defeated. "How long do you think I could last before something went wrong, man? Morganville's safety. This is--beautiful, but it's temporary. It has to be temporary."

"It doesn't," Shane insisted. "We