Cara's Choice
Part Three
By Andrew Warwick

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This file is free to be distributed, but can not be changed, reproduced or sold in any form, and all content is Copyright © 2009 by Andrew Warwick.

This story is part of the Pure Escapism collection, further stories, as well as regular updates, of which can be found at 

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In which Cara makes her first Choice.

The old clock ticked its quiet tocks as Cara sat silently in her chair, brow furrowed with thoughtful concentration.  The three men in the office were also wordless, watching her, waiting for her to reply.
Which way to go?  It was a troubling thought and one not easy to make Cara realised, not with so little information.  This new, unexpected world she found herself in was a frightening one, but to forget that it had ever even existed?  She did not know yet if that was what she wanted.
Alongside her, Nomad lent forward and picked up a book that sat on Edward's antique desk, flicking through it.  Edward himself sat back in his chair, watching her with his pale eyes, his face giving away no hints to his thoughts or emotions.  Max had turned his back and was once more staring out the windows at the city below and sea beyond.
"This choice," she asked, voice tentative as she spoke up, "Do I have to make it now?"
Edward gave her a reassuring smile.  "No, no, of course not.  Take as long as you feel you need.  Not that that will make it any easier I fear."
"Did it take you long?" she asked and was somewhat surprised by Edward's reaction.  He looked taken back, first frowning and then shaking his head.
"Me?  I was given no choice in the matter," he admitted.  "It was made for me, but that is a matter for another day."
"If I were to forget all this," Cara went, waving a hand around, "Would I be safe?  Could they still come for me?"
"We would take precautions, as best we could," Edward reassured her, "But as with anything there is no real guarantee."
"You are no longer Marked," Max added, turning from his study of the city to face her again.  "That helps, but we have no idea if Thomas told any of the others about you."
Cara sighed, shaking her head slowly.  "And what if I choose to remember?  Would that make any difference?  And what would I do, how could I go on as if everything was normal, knowing all that I now know?"
"We can teach you a few things," Edward told her, tapping the tips of his long fingers together before his face.  "Ways to defend yourself.  Places of safety, people who can help.  That kind of thing.  As for what you would do?"  He gave her a smile tinged with amusement.  "I own a vast business empire.  I am certain we could find someplace commensurate to your talents.  What did you do before?"
"Before?"  That life, her past life, seemed in some ways almost a dream, back before Pete had died.  "I worked a registry in a shop," she reluctantly admitted.  Compared to the company she was in, it seemed a minor job.  "I did have delusions of being an artist, though I am not sure I was very good at it, and it wasn't going to pay the bills."
Max broke out into a laugh as Cara finished speaking, though it was quickly cut short when Cara shot a glare at him.  Was he mocking her dreams?  He held up his hands in apology.  "Sorry Cara.  I wasn't laughing at you, just at a crazy random coincidence."
Edward slowly turned his chair to look back at Max, raising a brow.  "The Gallery?"
"Aye, The Gallery."
The Gallery was not unknown to Cara; all artists, regardless of talent knew of it.  Located in the more salubrious parts of the city, it was the most prestigious art gallery in the city and needed no other name beyond The Gallery.  Only a privileged few were afforded the opportunity to display in it, and any artists would have given anything, and, according to wild rumours, possibly had, to get that opportunity, for once in you were set for life.
It also had another side, with rumours of strange events about it abounding, a haunt of ghosts, of ill fortune, even of disappearances.  The relevance of The Gallery to the current situation escaped Cara though.
"What about The Gallery?"
"I own the place," Edward told her after turning back around.  "The last person who managed it for me has recently departed.  Left that is, not died," he added with a smile.  "I have heard the stories too.  As it is, I now find myself in need of someone to take over the position."
Cara looked at him in shock, mouth half open and eyes widening.  Did he truly mean her?  "You want me to do that?"  It came out almost like a squeak.  A job like that, it was everything she had dreamed of, and more.  Her thoughts were spinning as she sank back into the softness of the chair, trying to compose herself.
"That was the general idea, yes.  I can't ask these two.  Max wouldn’t know good art it if jumped up and hit him, which isn't all together unheard of, and Nomad's interests lie elsewhere."
"I wouldn't know what to do, even where to start."  Those weren't the words she had wanted to say, but they had been the first words to escape.
"I am sure we can find someone to help you out at first, show you around," Edward replied with a wry smile.  "There is an apartment above the shop and studios as well, which you can use if you wish."
"You would do this for me?"
"Eccentric, like I said," Nomad chipped in, not looking up from the book he was browsing.
Edward's smile broadened.  "I prefer philanthropist.  Ah, you found it, good," he said to Nomad.  "Thought you might like that bit of light reading."
"Mister Cavanaugh, how can I ever thank you?" Cara asked.
Edward waved it away.  "Think nothing of it Miss Bailey."  He stopped, looking a bit more thoughtful as he stared at Cara.  "You have made your choice then?"
"Yes," Cara blurted out.  "Yes."
"You make this choice freely?"  There was an earnest seriousness about Edward now, all trace of earlier levity and humour gone.  Even Nomad had lowered the book he had been reading, watching on solemnly. 
"I do."
He nodded, slowly rising to his feet, hands leaning on the desk.  His eyes were stern, face set in sombre tones.  "Then, for better or for worse, it is done.  It is done."

***********

Of Ophelia and the Fae.

Edward leant back in his chair, looking thoughtfully at the door Cara had left through.  "So, what do you think?"
Nomad closed the book he had been reading and set it down on the table.  "She is young," he replied, scratching at his beard idly.  "Bright, but a bit emotional.  She lets that control her actions, not her mind."
"Her boyfriend died a year ago.  She has the right to be a bit emotional."
"A year long depression, letting her life fall apart in the meantime?  That is not normal."
Edward tapped at his lips slowly before shaking his head.  "Perhaps.  Perhaps not.  The question is can she be trained?"
Nomad tilted his head to one side as he pondered the question, before shrugging his shoulders.  "Honestly?  I do not know.  She has the talent that is for sure.  Whether she can use it, what with the baggage she is carrying?"  He gave another shrug and a sigh.  "I do not know."
Edward nodded at that.  "See what you can do.  Don't press her though.  Give her time to adjust."  He smiled wryly.  "She has a lot of new things to adjust to after all."
Nomad slowly raised an eyebrow.  "I thought it was you that said we were running on a tight schedule here."
"You learn patience as you grow older."
Nomad gave a derisive snort.  "Patience isn’t your strong suit, Ed."  He pushed himself up from his chair.  "I'll see what I can manage though."

Cara emerged from out of Edward's office, walking almost in a daze, her mind swamped with wildly resonating thoughts.  Things had progressed so rapidly and all unexpected, from being homeless and with nothing, to a job and apartment.  Of course, it had taken an attack by a vampire to bring it about.
Edward's personal assistant, Miss Everson, was in the outer room, talking with the petite blonde woman that Cara had met earlier; Ophelia.
Max had shut the door behind them and Ophelia looked over, giving a sympathetic smile.
"Bit of a shock, dear?  It always is.  It looks like you could do with a nice cup of herbal tea to set you arights."
Cara nodded, almost in a stupor, allowing Ophelia to help her over to couch and to seat her down upon it.  "Miss E, see if you can't rustle up a cup of tea for the poor dear."  Ophelia looked over to Max.  "Once that is done, Max will help you out to your new place, won't you?"  The man gave a brief nod.
Cara looked up at Ophelia, evidently puzzled.  "How did you know?  About the apartment I mean."
Ophelia laughed quietly.  "I'm a good judge of character.  Besides which, Master Cavanaugh prepares for all eventualities in advance.  I was here for that."  She looked to Max, then back to Cara, an almost sly smile touching her face.  "Have you thought about what I said earlier?"
"Ophelia," Max cut in with almost a growl.  "That won't work."
"What won't?" Ophelia asked all innocently.
Max sighed and shook his head.  "You will have to forgive Ophelia, Cara.  She is a matchmaker."
"You can't blame one for trying."
Max snorted.  "I thought you'd given up on me.  Besides which, Cara held off enthrallment from a bloodsucker.  Your tricks won't get through."
Cara gave Ophelia an askance look.  "Tricks?"
Max replied with a wolfish grin.  "Ophelia here is no ordinary matchmaker.  She is of the Fae and can mix you up just like cupid could."
"Except I don't use arrows."
"A Fae?" Cara half gasped.  "As in a fairy?"
Ophelia's face screwed up in obvious distaste at Cara's words.  "Please, not that term."
"What?  Is there something wrong?"
"They don't like it," Max explained to the confused Cara.  "Makes them sound somewhat twee, and they don't like that.  They are a cruel, cruel people," he added, grinning, "And I think they feel that that name trivialises them."
Ophelia rolled her eyes skywards.  "He thinks he is a funny man," she said to Cara, patting the girl on the arm.  "And all I do is try and help him out.  On second thoughts, you are too good for him dear."
"She feels my bachelorhood is an affront to her skills.  It is better to let things run their natural course than interfere, I find though."
"My sons never complained," Ophelia pointed out.
"That was because you set them up with young starlets."
"Is that what you want, Max?"
"No," Max replied firmly.  "That is not what I said."
Ophelia signed and stood up, then smiled.  "Ah, Miss E, it is arranged?  Good, good.  Max, if I can have a word?"
Taking Max aside, Ophelia spoke quietly, her expressions decidedly serious.  "Max, I need you to spend the night with Cara."
"What?"  Max looked somewhat shocked by the suggestion.
"You aren't my ideal choice but I have to make do with what is at hand."
"That’s an awful vote of confidence, Ophelia."
"I'm being serious here, Max.  The poor wee thing has been through some turmoils in the last twenty four hours and shock will undoubtedly set in at some stage.  We need to keep her mind off it."  She poked a finger into Max's chest.  "I know you are hampered by a natural deficiency in fun, but I need you to make an effort of it.  You are not to leave her side, not even if the world is ending.  Do I make myself clear here?"
"Whatever you say, Ophelia."
Ophelia nodded, before her normal smile returned to her face.  Turning back to Cara, she addressed her.  "Now, once you've had your drink, Max can be a good boy for once and see you to your new place." 

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Of apartments, studios and dinner.

Cara meandered aimlessly through the apartment that was situated above The Gallery.  It was small and compact, but cosy.  From outside the floor above The Gallery it had seemed much larger that it did when viewed from within.
A reverse Tardis, she joked to herself.  Bigger on the outside than on the inside.
There was a bedroom, a spare room, a combined bathroom and laundry, a kitchen and a lounge room, all the necessities.
Max, who had driven her out here, now stood silent, leaning against a wall with his arms folded, watching her as she explored.
"I will need to get some furnishings," Cara finally said after finishing her exploring.
"We can get Ophelia to help," Max replied. "She is good at that kind of thing."
"And you are not?" Cara asked with a teasing grin.
Max shook his head, face screwed up somewhat.  "Not my area," he told Cara.  "Probably best if you didn't see the inside of my place."  Cara could believe that, given the look of him, from his scruffy seemingly uncombed hair to the creased and rumpled shirt he wore under an old, faded jacket.  "Shall we look at the rest of the apartment?"
"There is more?  Where?  Through a magic wardrobe?"
Max gave her the slightly infuriating grin of one who knows a secret and was overly impressed by it.  "This way."  He led Cara to a door she had seen earlier in the bathroom-laundry, a door that lead out onto a small balcony that overlooked the alley behind The Gallery.  The alleyway was unusually clean, but, Cara reminded herself, this was a more respectable neighbourhood that she was used to.  Potted plants grew along the balcony, while at the far end was a second door, a door that didn't lead back into the apartment.  There were also a set of stairs leading up from the alleyway to the balcony there.  Max walked down to the door and unlocked it.  Opening it, he gestured for Cara to enter.
Inside was a studio, a veritable Aladdin's cave of wonders.  There were easels and benches, piles of canvas and paper, chalks and charcoals by the bucket, armies of paints of a multitude of hues and types, battalions of brushes, even a potter's wheel, and more other art supplies than Cara could take in at first glance.  Numerous paintings were hung around the room, in various stages of completion, and there were pottery and sculptures and wood carvings as well.
"There are your studios," Max told her as she gazed around the room wide-eyed.  Cara was lost for words; the room was beyond a dream.  She wandered about for minutes without speaking, opening cupboards, inspecting supplies and even artwork which was far beyond her own admittedly meagre attempts.
"Who does all this belong to?" she finally asked.
"Hrm?"  Max had found an old newspaper that had been lying on one of the benches and had been reading it while he waited for Cara to complete her inspection.  He looked up from it.  "Oh, various people.  There will be strange people coming in and out at unusual hours, which is why the studio isn't directly attached to the flat.  I must warn you though that some of them are decidedly odd."
"Odd?  In what way?"  A small, delicate statue caught her eye as she spoke, of a faun playing pipes, while tiny winged fairies fluttered around him.  It was exquisite, and amazingly lifelike.
Max shot a wry grin her way.  "You'll see."
"That is hardly helpful."
"Don't want to ruin the surprise for you."
"I have met artists before," Cara responded a bit harshly, goaded a little by the annoyance factor of his responses.  "I know how bizarre they can be at times."
"Not like this you haven't."  Cara decided not to press the issue any further.  It was obvious he though it was funny and he wasn't going to tell her, no matter what she said.  She found it unlikely though that, despite his warnings, those who used the studio could be any weirder than other artists she had met.  While it was often said that inspiration and insanity were often closely related, she found it hard to believe that whoever produced the works of art in this room could be all that unusual.
"What now?" Cara asked, having one final look around the room.
"Now?  Now I give you the keys and let you settle yourself in."
"I mean with training, meeting people, that kind of thing."
"He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket and gave a half-shrug.  "Slow down.  Get settled in and then we can worry about that.  No point in overloading you with too much too soon."
"What if they come for me here?"  Cara had seen no obvious signs of security, not in the flat or studio, only in The Gallery below.
"They won't," Max reassured her.  "This place is well guarded."
"I saw nothing."
"It is not your usual security," he told her with a faint grin.  "But it is there nonetheless.  The system downstairs is pretty much only for show."
"You will have to tell me about it."
"Someday.  Now, though, we should celebrate."
"Celebrate?"
Max nodded.  "Your new apartment.  Your new job.  Normally a cause for celebration.  I know this nice little Indian restaurant nearby, if you are interested.  Unless you have other plans."
"I would like that."
He threw Cara the keys to the apartment and studio.  "Good.  Welcome to your new life, Miss Bailey."

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In which a warning is given.

They walked in silence from The Gallery, a silence Cara found awkward.  Much of the last year had been spent in a regrettable silence, yet now she felt a yearning to talk once more, but Max appeared to not be the type who would engage in such conversations.  The silence demanded words to fill the uneasy vacuum, but Cara was uncertain as to what to say to break it.  She would have been the first to admit that once she would have had no problems with talking about anything and everything but now, the urge upon her, she found that the last year of self-imposed solitude had affected that ability.
Max seemed not to mind, or perhaps even notice, apparently deep in thought.  His brow was furrowed and head down, watching the pavement, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his coat.
It wasn't true silence, Cara admitted to herself.  The noises of the city still buzzed about in the background; people walking past them, cars on the streets, a dog barking in the distance.  Only at the bark of the dog did Max show any response, lifting his head to listen to the sound before returning to his thoughtful study of the pavement before him.
Another set of footsteps came up behind them, just another passer-by Cara at first thought until a voice spoke.
"Hello Max."  Max came out of his reverie so fast that it surprised Cara.  Max span, left hand grabbing for the throat of the man behind him while his right hand came up, not clenched in a fist which Cara found odd, but spread almost like he was about to claw the man's face.
"Now Max, is that any way to treat an old friend," the grabbed man said, seemingly indifferent to Max's grip on him.  "You seem a mite jumpy this night."  Max loosened his grip on the man with a faint grunt, lowering his right hand.  The man was a bit shorter than the average, no taller than Cara herself, and was slightly built with dusky skin.  Dark of hair and eye, he wore a neatly trimmed goatee.
"Khalid," Max replied, almost in a growl, "What brings you back?"
Khalid delicately removed Max's hand from his throat before straightening up his shirt, rumpled by Max's grip.  "Bit of this, bit of that," he answered evasively.  "Business."  He turned towards Cara and gave her a dazzling smile.  "And who is this delightful rose?  I did not know you were seeing anyone."
"This is Cara Bailey," Max told Khalid, scowling as he did.  "She works for Mister Cavanaugh."  He said that pointedly, almost as a warning.
Khalid offered a hand to Cara.  "It is a pleasure to have made your acquaintance."  
There was another almost-growl from Max.  "What is it you want, Khalid.  You didn’t seek me out for my company."
Khalid sighed as he released Cara's hand and shook his head.  "Always to business, never to pleasure with you, Max.  You are a dull man.  I have news, information.  Valuable information."
"And, of course, you wish to sell it," Max noted dryly.
"But of course.  I am a business man after all."
"And you came to me?"  Max's tone was sceptical at best.
"Yes, yes," Khalid replied with a broad, easy-going smile.  "I come to my good friend Max first."
"Not interested," Max told him bluntly.
"But it is good information.  The best," Khalid protested.
"Then I am certain you will have no problems finding someone willing to pay for it."
Khalid threw his hands into the air in mock indignation.  "Why do I even try?  You are a very suspicious man, Max, but this, this you will be sorry for missing.  You speak with your Mister Cavanaugh.  Ask him if the Three Crystal Moons mean anything to him."  He gave Cara another smile.  "I will see you again, my delightful rose, yes?"
Cara watched him walk off then turned to face Max, who was brooding deeply.
"Don't trust him," Max warned her.
"Why is that?" she asked, curious as to the obvious dislike Max had for Khalid.
"He may be charming, polite, well-spoken, but he is also notoriously mercenary.  He will sell his information to anyone.  Our side, their side and anyone else willing to pay."
"Which sides are these?"
Max responded with a wry smile.  "There are certain factions I suppose you could call them within our underground world.  Some good, some very bad and others maintaining a contrary neutrality.  Khalid operates amongst them all."
"What is he?  A…?"  She couldn’t complete the question.  There had been some similarities between the way Khalid had acted and the way Thomas had behaved the previous day, but only some.
"A bloodsucker?  No, he is human, more or less.  He is an information broker.  Enough of him though.  Let's eat.  I'm starving."  

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