The night was cold in Sacramento. Even still the hotel parking was busy. Between the guests arriving or departing and the staff working to bring a sense of calm to an otherwise chaotic experience, there was hardly a place to look that didn't have something going on.

It was into this pandemonium that a plain black limousine pulled into the valet drop-off. The black tinted windows gave no appearance to the occupants. A smart dressed valet moved swiftly to open the passenger door. The dark interior gave birth to an equally dark figure. Covered head to toe in black lace the creature stood tall, allowing all eyes to settle on the newcomer. A palpable aura of dread seeped out in wispy tendrils and the murmurs of conversation ground to a halt. The figure waited, counting three, four, five false heartbeats before stepping forward and breaking the spell.

Crowds parted and the figure quickly found the front desk. Behind the counter a young woman smiled a practiced grin, even though a glimmer of fear crept through her eyes. "Welcome to Kimpton Sawyer Hotel. Are we checking in?" the woman's voice cracked slightly as she spoke. She cleared her throat to try again but the figure interrupted. "Yes, we are. You will find our reservation under W.L. Salem holding company." the words were kind and matched the majestic plural speech pattern.

There were audible clicks of the Clerk's mouse. After a moment she let out a sigh as if she had only just remembered to breathe. "Ah yes here we have it. Looks like you have booked for the week. Is this your first time here at the Kimpton Sayer?" The figure's covered head shook a negative. "No, we have been to this establishment once before." Continuing the adopted pluralis majestatis

A memory invaded the figure's mind, A meeting with the Prince and the Priscus in this very hotel. It was a very pleasant experience. The clerk finished the check in, rambling by rote all of the pertinent information required to find the room. The shadowed figure nodded thanks and moved away with purpose.

The Inside of the room was well furnished. Nothing as extravagant as the penthouse but comfortable nonetheless. The creature found a simple desk and sat. From a carried attaché case came a stack of fine quality parchment and a modern fountain pen. With a skilled hand the figure began to write. First a letter to the Matron. The glue who held the clan together and was diligent in working what politics required. Second to the rebel whose unbending determination brought endless frustration along with admiration. Last to the gentleman, a cunning and ambitious sort who would no doubt achieve greatness one day. Once all three letters were complete the creature left the quiet room and fled out into the night through back stairs.

Using the dark gifts made movement past the kine a simple task. The shadow’s destination was well known to the creature and it was not long before a single lamp post materialized in the distance. The creature stopped and lifted a single boney white, claw-like hand and touched the landmark gently with a sense of tenderness. Calling again upon the gifts of the blood the shadow evaporated from sight and moved silently and stealthily to the familiar catacomb once called home. It may be difficult to enter the sanctum unseen, but it was not impossible.