Clouds obscured the moon, gathering in grey cotton balls over Salt Lake City. The evening seemed quiet. Traffic rolled through the grid to and from the city center, sky scrapers advertised the million dollar companies housed within. A ribbon of lights highlighted the main road leading towards the plot of lakeside hotels, the hotel Olympique neither the smallest nor the largest amongst them. Popular with tourists and businessmen alike the Hotel Olympique hosted seminars as well as guided tours. The food was first class and the rooms varied from tourist class to VIP suites.<br/><br/>On Tuesday and Friday nights a red ribbon closed off the corridor leading towards the conference rooms and an attendant in Hotel Olympique’s livery stood guard, politely turning away those who had no business with the gatherings of the Salt Lake City Improvement Committee. “Donations would be welcome”, he explained, indicating a nearby table where a flyer could be found amongst the regular advertisements and coupons from restaurants, theatres and, inevitably, Madame Tussauds.<br/><br/>**<br/><br/><em><strong>Henry:</strong></em><br/><br/>When Henry Marrow woke up in his apartment on the evening following the life changing encounter with his former lover, he was blissfully unaware of the impending meeting at the Hotel Olympique. He didn’t know of the SLC or its meetings two evenings a week. Oh, his financial department might have donated to the cause; charity was a legitimate source of tax reduction but the owner of Marrow Corporation hardly ever had to deal with such trivialities.<br/><br/>No, there were more pressing matters demanding his attention. First and foremost there was a sweet, coppery smell permeating his luxurious penthouse. The scent tugged at his senses, and stirred a primal desire for food deep within. Oh, it was nothing he could not ignore, but it was new as were the small dark stains marring his carpet here and there. There were other signs of disorder: his bed sheets were not crumpled as usual after a night’s sleep and the heavy curtains in his bedroom had been drawn and sealed to the wall with heavy duct tape that looked crude against the white plaster.<br/><br/>And on top of that, there was a note on the nightstand that carried Daniela Wong’s perfume.<br/><br/>“Dear Henry,” It read.<br/><br/>“You will be confused and perhaps angry. I understand.<br/><br/>Now it is your turn to understand me. What has been done, has been done. There is no going back. Read this twice, my dear, and I shall repeat: there is no going back.<br/><br/>Soon, you and I shall speak, and I will tell you what you need to know. Until then, be careful. Do not speak with anyone of what happened.<br/><br/>Trust no one. “<br/><br/>**<br/><br/><em><strong>Amanda:</strong></em><br/><br/>The animals had been silent again. No whispers disturbed her rest, no screams or confidentialities came from their plush lips. Their beady, plastic eyes watched her from their shelves and, for the lucky ones, from her bed. One of them, a little pink elephant particularly seemed to hold an interest for the young woman. Perhaps due to a trick of the light its eyes appeared to follow her every move, its little trunk raised in silent trumpeting.<br/><br/>It had been weeks since their screams had last troubled her. Their wails had haunted Amanda’s mind when her clan mate Sarah Lavigne had met final death by a Lasombra’s hand. Sarah had been avenged, but Amanda’s companions had retained a sad, mournful silence ever since.<br/><br/>Unlike Henry Amanda knew the SLCIC was meeting tonight, as she knew the cover it presented. Elysium was open for business and although court wasn’t in session the kindred of Salt Lake City would be welcome to mingle if they chose.<br/><br/>On the other hand, there had been a message from William Jones, one of The Light Foundation’s psychiatrists. They had assigned a guest room for Miss Kyleson; if she would kindly contact them to discuss her preferences and requirements?<br/><br/>**<br/>