Filed under: People vs. de Lioncourt et al. Witness: [REDACTED], Tour Manager, Immortality Inc.

Transcript begins 09:02 AM EST.

“Yes, I am the tour manager.”

“Yes, I signed on willingly.”

“No, I was not informed that “Immortality Inc.” referred to an actual vampire-led musical act. I believed it to be ironic branding. I assumed the coffin was a prop. I thought the fangs were caps. I believed the rider request for “four virgins, lightly chilled” was a typo.”

“Did I find it odd when all the green room mirrors were removed? Sure.”

“Did I think anything of it when the drummer spontaneously combusted under UV stage lights in Berlin? Of course. But by then we were sold out through Milan and Lestat had given me a Cartier bracelet and told me my soul smelled like jasmine. So you understand—morale was high.”

“Regarding the missing groupies, I would like to state—on the record—that no one has been proven dead. Some of them even re-followed me on Instagram. In the past week. From burner accounts.”

“As for the rumors that I’ve been… personally involved with Mr. de Lioncourt—I can neither confirm nor deny what may or may not have occurred in the fogged-up VIP lounge in Prague, the dressing room in Rome, or the bloodbath spa in Barcelona.”

“I am a professional.”

“That said, if the court could take judicial notice of the fact that I glow more now, and that Lestat dedicated a 14-minute rendition of “Wicked Game” to me while levitating, I think we’d all agree this is less a crime and more a very ambitious PR campaign.”

“Also, respectfully, if you had to share a bunk with someone who whispers 18th-century French poetry into your neck while the tour bus careens through the Alps, you’d be defending him too.”

“That concludes my statement.”

End transcript. 09:17 AM EST. Exhibit A: Bite marks.

Lestat was waiting outside the courthouse, lounging against a sleek all-black tour bus. He was, as usual, dressed like a Victorian dandy who got drunk with David Bowie.

He pushed off the bus and ambled over, his walk a cocky saunter.

"My dear." His eyes ran over her. "You're glowing. Lying suits you.”