Hello, lovely people!

Welcome to the final instalment of 'The Immortal Coil Saga.' I hope you enjoy it!

Update: I wasn't happy with how the original draft was structured, so expect some changes.

LookAliveSunshine03

WARNING: Contains some strong language.

Chapter 1:

A Frenchman's advice

2nd January 1992

Life for Hazel Lewis was peachy – well, not entirely; the Volturi demanded a lot from her family with Aro sending them hither and yon to keep an eye on talented immortals he coveted. So, Julia travelled in secret to Cairo as Michael trekked through Denali.

He frequently moaned. It should be the other way around, Hazel! Aro knows Jools hates the heat; he has no excuse not to forget that with his power.

It's a test of our loyalty, Mikey, Hazel thought bleakly.

Michael groaned. Aro may live to regret that decision – we may live to regret it. You should be with Julia, not stuck at home.

I agree, obviously. But who are we to question Master Aro, eh?

Patiently waiting for work, Hazel prowled her home streets. She enjoyed the wild raves that sprang up around the city, like defiant weeds, and the stink of human rebellion made Hazel deliciously nostalgic. Meanwhile, Mikey had taken to this new grunge music like he had been waiting for it his whole life.

Hazel adjusted her long, bleached wig in the mirror. Maybe this decade won't be so tedious, after all.

Someone was rapping on her front door. Anticipating a package from Julia, Hazel spun around to answer it.

A surprised Frenchman stood on her doorstep, partially hidden from the sun. "Zut." Antoine Jean's eyes lit up, which caused his elaborate moustache to spread further across his face. "I did not believe I would find you again so easily, Hazel."

"Ooh, la, la, Antoine." Hazel pretended to swoon against the doorframe. "Your accent makes anything erotic."

Even now, her mentor's past was a mystery to her. His proud bearing and predilection for tight trousers suggested he came from a time where a man's calves were expected to be admired.

Antoine was also a blissfully married man, but Hazel could still enjoy the view.

"Aha!" Leaping forward, Antoine warmly embraced her. His facial hair tickled Hazel's cheeks as he kissed them. "This hair! It's different. I like it. So much more feminine."

"Get off!" Hazel laughed, dodging Antoine's attempt to tug at her wig. "You rascal, it's been too long. What brings you so far from home? Where's Sabine?"

"Ma moité is here, keeping Anna company," Antoine used the endearing French term for "other half." He bowed as Hazel let him in, dutifully sitting on the sofa at her insistence. "Ah, I did not know you had guests." Antoine chuckled.

Puzzled, Hazel followed his gaze to her mannequin heads above her fireplace. "Very funny. So, who is Anna, Antoine? Perchance, is she single?"

"Ah, Hazel…" Antoine clasped his hands together. It was a gesture reminiscent of Aro on the off chance he felt apologetic. "Our Master is not happy with me."

"What?" Hazel landed beside Antoine on the sofa. "Nah, I don't believe you, swee'eart. You're his best recruiter. You found us!"

By accident, Michael remarked, somewhat reluctantly.

Julia agreed although she was less hesitant. Nothing but chance, and your carelessness, Hazel, she sneered, mimicking the way Antoine dropped the first letter of her name.

Hazel tried not to scowl. Shut up, both of you.

Antoine was smiling at her. "La, what treasures you are." Then his moustache drooped. "But Aro is impatient for who I found, long before the three of you."

"Oh?" Hazel propped her head on her hand and waited.

"I found Anna before the Great War. Naturellement, I saw what she would become, but she was too young. I planned to wait." Antoine sighed wistfully.

Hazel itched at her wig. "That special, eh?"

"More than I can say to you. But Anna was to be forced to marry a barbarian who treated his horse better than his women," Antoine spat.

Hazel nodded slowly. She said, "Then I hoped you treated him in kind."

"I did not even savour his blood," Antoine hissed in his mother tongue, moustache bristling. "Alors. Forgive me, but I must smoke."

"A terrible habit, mon ami," Hazel smirked. "But it is one I will gladly join you in."

Dragging her ashtray closer on the coffee table, Hazel was reminded of the crack at the bottom of the dish. She would have to find a new one soon.

The pair smoked together in silence for a time. Antoine's choice was a smaller, more delicate cigar. The smell made Hazel ache for her father.

"So, what happened next, swee'eart?"

Antoine blew a cloud of smoke, frowning. "There were difficulties. My associate was – how do you say – fascinated by Anna. However, he did not want Anna to fulfil the destiny I had seen."

Hazel flicked ash into her tray. "I've often pondered over your ability. These destinies you see – are they set in stone, so to speak, or can they change?"

Antoine ruminated for a moment, chewing at his moustache with his bottom teeth. "They come and go, some brighter than others, yes?"

"Okay." Hazel sniffed. "And what of Anna's destiny, hm?"

Antoine sighed. "After all that has happened, I do not know if it will come to pass. She is hurt by guilt, and her powers are too strong."

Hazel blew smoke nonchalantly. "So, train her."

"Ah, we have tried, Sabine and I." Tossing his magnificent head in frustration, Antoine pushed the remains of his cigarillo into the tray. "Alors, I must say our powers are too precious to lose," he added ruefully.

Hazel raised her eyebrows. "Because she is that fantastical?"

"Yes." Antoine sighed. "Forgive me. It is not your burden, cherie. Where are your brother and sister? Are they here?"

"No." Hazel frowned, stubbing out her cigarette. "Does our Master not update you at all, swee'eart?"

"La…" Antoine looked almost weary now. "I have tried, but letters can be read by other eyes, you know. Tell me, is your Julia well?"

Define "well," Julia said bitterly.

Hazel had to shrug, even though it shamed her. "Our Masters demand much from us."

Antoine nodded sympathetically. "But Chelsea can help, yes?"

"No." Hazel breathed through her nose. She smiled blithely when her old friend looked surprised. "Believe me, we tried, Antoine. Julia was having none of it, calling it coercive control. She's lucky to meet with our Master so rarely." Hazel shivered with the alternative.

"Ah." Antoine's lips pursed, his expression darkening. Then just when Hazel thought he was going to argue, he said, "I must agree with Julia, cherie."

It was Hazel's turn to be surprised. "Shit, Antoine, that's dangerous to admit. You're our Master's favourite, right?"

Antoine smiled wanly. "Oui, before I promised our Master –"

"Anna," Hazel said with a dramatic flourish. "To what end?"

But Antoine's mouth closed. He looked at Hazel for what felt like a long time. "You need a holiday, non?"

"Oh. Well, possibly." Hazel let disappointment colour her voice. True to form, Antoine would not speak more of his personal problems to her.

"Aha," he smiled, suddenly animated. His eyes sparkled. "Prague is marvellous for tourists, cherie."

Sounds fun, Michael said.

Sounds like a distraction, Julia snorted, and Hazel had to concur.

Still, she considered it. "It'll be a first for me." Hazel extinguished her cigarette. "Why not, eh?"

"Bon." Satisfied, Antoine rubbed his hands together. "Je regrette, I must go. Sabine will worry, and Anna…" With a sigh, Antoine got to his feet and dusted down his trousers. "I'm sorry, cherie. May I ask you a strange question?"

"Oh, you know me, swee'eart," Hazel grinned, although she was sad to see him go so soon. "The stranger, the better."

Antoine nibbled his moustache. "Anna, she is sensitive," he said quietly. "Should I send her to Aro or concede it is a hopeless fantasy?"

"Swee'eart, you make the girl sound like a parcel." Hazel tsked. "Is Anna willing to go?"

Antoine amused her by shuffling his feet like a naughty schoolboy. "She knows nothing of my plan," he confessed. "I feared what it would do to her."

"There's your answer then." Hazel stood up. "Do whatever you have to do to make Anna comfortable before giving her the news. She needs a friend, most likely."

Antoine's shoulders slumped. "Yes, cherie. But I do not know where to begin."

"Who says you have to do anything? Anna must have a brain, the appropriate social skills…" She trailed off at Antoine's glum expression. "No?"

"It is more than that, Hazel," he said thoughtfully. "The friend will need to understand Anna. She is complicated."

"Hah! How like you to demean a woman so politely. Perhaps it's you who needs to understand her first." Hazel shook her head condescendingly as Antoine sighed. "I could go with you, say hello?"

"No," Antoine said sharply. He winced. "Forgive me, Hazel, but I really must go."

"Oh, Antoine, no. I'm sorry, swee'eart. I didn't mean to upset you." Hazel let him hug her, kissing both her cheeks.

"You haven't, cherie," Antoine said, squeezing her shoulders. "But Sabine worries."

"Well, tell her I said hello, and her husband's a right bastard for not visiting me sooner." Hazel punched her mentor's arm, and they laughed together for a moment.

Wonder where he'll go? Julia asked.

It would have been nice to see him properly, Michael said sadly, as Hazel followed Antoine to the door.

"It was good to see you, cherie," Antoine smiled, moustache wilting. "When we meet again, you must tell me of your adventures in Prague."

"I'd like that," Hazel said. "Don't be a stranger, swee'eart."

"Never." Antoine's eyes twinkled roguishly. "Bon chance, Hazel."

It was the last time she ever saw her old friend.

8th January 1992

Hazel lit a cigarette, saluting the sun as it sank into the Vltava. She hadn't planned on spending the first evening of her impromptu holiday on a tranquil river cruise, but it helped to get her bearings.

Her guidebook suggested taking a stroll along Charles Bridge – well, Hazel was no expert, but it was definitely a bridge. Imposing statues stood in uniform lines on both sides, providing many places to hide and spy in.

The back of Hazel's neck prickled as she walked. Stopping to light another cigarette, her muscles tensed, but no one approached. Disappointed, Hazel wandered into Old Town Square, idly surveying its grand architecture.

All the while, she contemplated her stalker. The scent was not clear, though its sweet edge confirmed what Hazel suspected. I am not alone here.

Even if they could sneak up on her, Julia and Mikey were still on their respective missions far from here. As Julia suffered in the Egyptian heat, Michael climbed a snow-capped mountain for a safer view of the Denali coven.

On the boundary of Old Town Square, Hazel found a church that looked spectacularly out of place. Her dear old mum would have sighed and lamented loudly about how a place of worship could fall to such disrepair.

With shattered windows and a collapsing spired roof, St. Vladislav Church cried out vandalism and neglect. Nevertheless, people moved in and out of the dilapidated building without fear or caution. The incredible beauty of these people and their distinct lack of heartbeat told Hazel enough.

She grinned. Antoine, you rascal.

Yet the longer Hazel looked, the more her vision swam. Finally, she crushed her cigarette with her boot and spun around to grab the man behind her.

He hadn't washed in months, maybe longer. Under matted hair, his skin had a ghoulish pallor in the Old Town Square lights. Hazel blinked, and there it was again, the blurring of her vision.

Oh, I get it. Our sister's going blind, Mikey attempted to joke.

Or it's a glamour, Julia said stonily. Maybe the church and the man are not what they appear.

Ooh. I prefer that idea, Mikey said.

"What is this place?" she asked in terrible Czech. "Can you tell me what this place is, sir?"

The man looked surprised to be addressed as such, not to mention being accosted by such a fierce woman.

Hazel tightened her grip on him. "Do you speak English?"

The man nodded quickly. His hair kept moving like undulating tentacles as if it couldn't decide on its length. "Please, let me go."

"The fuck are you following me for?" Hazel hissed, shaking him.

"You – You need somewhere to stay," the man gasped. His eyes flicked towards the church. "I can help you if you let go!"

Hazel loosened her grip, though only a fraction. He appeared to wear a crusty leather coat, but it felt strangely liquid, like silk. "No funny business, got it?"

"Yes, yes. I get it," the man exhaled. "You have never been here before. I see it in your eyes."

As his skin rippled, Hazel bounced on the balls of her feet. "Your face. Stop whatever it's doing; you're giving me a headache."

"I'm sorry," the man said with a shrug. "I cannot help it. Follow me, please. The hotel is here."

He pointed to the church.

"I said no funny business," Hazel growled.

The man's eyes crinkled as he smiled. "My name is Radko, lady. If I tell you the truth, you will not believe it."

Hazel scowled. "Assumptions will get you nowhere, swee'eart."

Radko was still smiling. "I have given you my name. It is good manners to tell me yours."

"Hazel." She gestured ahead of her, eyeballing the large cracks in the church's marble floor. "Alright. After you, Radko."

The church was incredibly crowded, despite the roof almost caving in. White statues knelt in the pews like ghostly worshippers. It struck Hazel as fantastically macabre, especially as Radko was whistling a cheerful, meandering tune.

"Beautiful, is it?"

"It probably was once, hm. What happened here?" Hazel whispered, even as her eyes rebelled. She rubbed them impatiently. "Why is this place falling apart?"

Think, Julia said because Radko's mouth was clearly fighting a laugh.

Hazel sighed. "Let me guess, none of this is real. The whole thing is a glamour, isn't it?"

Now, Radko guffawed, making him look young and almost lovely. "Yes. Yes, it is." The people around him smiled, in on the joke, as Radko raised his voice and called, "Iona. This one isn't fooled by your tricks."

An ethereal voice answered in Czech. "Well, what a pity," a woman mused. "Be patient, please…"

The world warped and changed around them. Most of the people loitering about stayed still. Others took brass-studded armchairs that materialised where the pews had once been or stood at a small bar with plush red carpet.

The blank white statues that had intrigued Hazel had come to life. A towering inferno of a man stepped out of his pew with three beautiful women. They quickly assembled themselves behind four reception desks. The smallest of the three appraised Hazel eagerly from the centre pod.

Leaning towards one of her colleagues, the little woman said, "What is it, Dana? A boy or a girl?"

"Hush, Christabel. Be professional," Dana whispered. She wore a blue power suit with one of the sleeves pinned up where her elbow should have been. It made her look ferocious and worth talking to.

Meanwhile, Christabel spoke to Hazel with a voice better suited for shrill bird impressions. "Welcome to the Hotel Bohemia. My name is Christabel; how may I help you today?" The receptionist's smile was as warm as a rotting corpse, with bleak desires to match.

"What kind of hotel is this?" Hazel could hazard a guess but wanted the sale's pitch.

Christabel opened her pink-lipstick mouth, but a soft, low voice answered. "It is special for people like us."

The third woman's name badge read Iona. Her long face was luminous with joy, golden hair tumbling past her shoulders. She smiled, and Hazel found herself a little flustered. It was genuine with a hint of a secret just for her.

"We have not seen your face before. You are new," Iona observed.

"Well, I suppose you want me to rent a room," Hazel exhaled as Mikey and Julia exchanged a knowing look.

Booking herself in for the week, Hazel tried not to steal looks at Iona beneath her lashes. But every time, bright red eyes gazed at her, and Hazel's excitement was hot, sweet electricity.

It was fun to fail, sometimes.

Uh, oh, Mikey said unhelpfully.

"If you want," Iona cooed. "As a welcoming gift, you get the Guest's Special Treatment, free of charge."

"Oh? What's that, then?"

Iona's smile was slow and coy. "My glamour does more than disguise the hotel. Here's your key."

Taking it, Hazel caught the silver wink of a ring on the Iona's finger as she passed it over. "Thank you," Hazel croaked, heart crashing to her feet.

Behind them, the tall man with an auburn beard murmured to Radko in rapid Czech. "Where did you find him, Radko?"

"Outside, Marek," Radko said with a shrug. "And with respect, I think he's a she."

"Are you certain?"

Hazel didn't understand them. However, they tried not to look at her, giving her a clue to whom they talked about.

The bearded man – Marek – glanced sheepishly away when he saw Hazel watching. His nose was too large for his face, mismatched by a weak chin, and his enthusiasm was hilariously insincere. "We hope you enjoy your stay at our hotel."

"Thank you…Marek. I plan to." Hazel gently squeezed the key in her fist. The number 25 dangled from a bright green ribbon, and she was quietly delighted when Iona volunteered to show her to her room.

Marek tugged his ponytail, fixing Iona with a pointed look. "Don't take long. We have a busy night ahead of us."

Iona smiled calmly. "I know this. I made the bookings." She slipped out from behind the reception desk, brushing Marek's arm as if to reassure him. "I'll be right back."

"Yes," Marek said, visibly relaxing, sinking down into his seat. Hazel had known the same goofy look in dim memories, hazy with cannabis smoke.

Her husband, she sighed. Of course.

Iona led the way up the vast staircase, following the curve to meet a balcony stretched across the first floor. The carpet was thick, red enough to make Hazel's mouth water.

"You come from England," Iona said over her shoulder. "I know this because you stoop. You English people hate these strange, foreign places. You shrink yourselves so we won't notice, but we do."

Hazel laughed. "And here I thought I was too tall."

"Hm." Iona turned away. "My Marek is frightened by you."

"Is he, now?" Hazel didn't know what else to say. She had visited many hotels as a Volturi envoy; none of the staff had ever been so familiar with their customers.

It quickly became clear Iona's behaviour wasn't exclusive to newcomers. Vampires of various creeds and colours roamed the corridors, and Iona smiled at them all, exchanging brief pleasantries with any who approached her.

"You seem popular," Hazel said.

"Yes," Iona said without hesitation. "I offer them what they need, and I will do the same for you."

"Thanks…Iona."

Stop it, Julia warned as Hazel smirked. You saw the ring. She's taken.

Besides, Michael added. She's straight.

But even in Hazel's head, he didn't sound sure.

To be continued...