Opal's Wish: Book Four of The Crystal Warriors Series (30 page)

She took his hand, wincing in anticipation of having her own crushed in his large paw. But his answering squeeze was gentle, and she felt shame flush her cheeks. She, of all people, had no right to judge him on his appearance.

“Understand ya need a ride. Ya coming?”

She nodded again and hurried after him as he strode toward the parking lot beside the restaurant.

His mode of transport was another surprise. A white van. Old, sure, but lovingly cared for. He obviously took pride in it. He stowed the pizzas in the backseat, and waited for her to buckle the seatbelt before starting the engine. “Got one last stop to make before heading home. That okay with you?”

“Sure.”

When he didn’t seem inclined to bother with idle chit-chat, Opal forced herself to relax.

Max eventually pulled up in front of one of the local high schools. “Be five minutes,” he said as he climbed from the van, leaving the bunch of keys swinging from the ignition.

She watched him veer toward the field beside the school and head for a dozen or so people performing what looked like a slow, controlled dance with large wooden sticks. She leaned forward, squinting through the windshield. All men. Some form of martial art, at a guess.

As Max neared, a trio of men detached themselves from the group and walked over to meet him.

Hang on. Was that—?

Her stomach started up a trapeze act of swoops and dips. Danbur. She would recognize him anywhere. She flopped against the seatback, brain scurrying for what to say, how to act. How to suppress her reaction to him when he got in the van. Because it was obvious Max was here to pick Danbur up and take him back to the shelter. This encounter was going to happen whether she was ready for it or not.

She was practically vibrating with anxiety by the time the group reached the van. So when Max opened the rear door and his passengers climbed inside, she was too tense to utter a single word.

“Everyone, this is Opal,” Max said. “Opal, this is Danbur, Owen and Bob.” He punctuated each name with chin-jerk in each man’s general direction—not that Opal was capable of noticing anyone but Danbur right now. She didn’t dare look at him for fear she would reveal too much, but she could feel his presence seeping into the pores of her skin, infusing her veins, lungs and heart until he filled her up and all she could sense was him.

She must have uttered some sort of noise that Max took for a response because he said, “Danbur was practicing sword katas in the yard with a
bokken
he got from Peter. Impressed a few of the guys so much they wanted in on the act. If ya’ve seen the size of our yard, ya’ll know why I sent ’em here.”

Max was watching her, obviously waiting for a response. “R-R-Right,” she mumbled. And luckily nothing more in the way of conversation was expected of her throughout the journey.

Max pulled into driveway of the shelter and directed the men to unload assorted cartons of stuff from the back of the van. Opal sat inside, taking a minute to pull her shredded composure back around her. And then she opened the passenger-side door and climbed from the seat.

“Go on in,” Max called. “And if ya could take the pizzas in that’d be real helpful. Take a right off the hallway. Mickey’s in the kitchen with Yara. They’re waiting on ya.”

Opal grabbed the pizza boxes. Somehow she resisted sneaking so much as a glance over her shoulder to check if Danbur was watching as she walked up the path and entered the shelter.

In the kitchen she found two women sitting at a huge wooden table, a plate of cookies between them. Cookies fresh from the oven going by the chocolaty aroma perfuming the room. Her stomach grumbled a reminder that her last meal had been a snack bar wolfed down far too many hours ago.

“You must be Opal.” The older of the two women gestured for her to set the pizza boxes on the table. “I’m Mickey. Sit down and take a load off.”

Mickey sported short, spiky, electric blue hair. Opal suffered a twinge of envy. Not only would she never be able to pull off a look like that, the contract she’d signed had a clause about running any major alterations to her appearance past Magda first. Somehow she didn’t think she’d get away with blue hair. Not to mention tattoos and piercings were probably a no-go. Ah, the joys of an industry where your superficial appearance was key.

Opal stepped awkwardly over the bench seat and settled her butt onto the surprisingly comfortable wooden surface. Apparently so many butts had been planted on this bench over the years that depressions had formed in the wood.

Mickey pushed the plate of cookies toward her. “Choc-chunk. Try one.”

“They’re to die for,” the younger woman said, smiling. “I’m Yara.”

Opal selected a cookie and took a dainty nibble, conscious of the watchful gazes of the two women. She could feel her eyes widening. Best. Cookie. Ever. She crammed a larger bite into her mouth.

“Told you,” Yara said. “Now please, keep that plate away from me before I eat another one.”

“No problem if you did,” Mickey said.

“Having a fourth would be plain greedy.” Yara’s expression was mournful and Opal could completely understand why.

“I’ll wrap some to take home to your family. And for you, too, Opal. Tea or coffee?”

“Tea, please,” Yara said and Opal nodded agreement.

“You two get to know each other,” Mickey said. “I need to get these sorted and into the freezer. PJ has been more than generous this time.” She shuffled from the bench, grabbed the pizzas, and headed deeper into the spacious kitchen.

Faced with the kind of situation she did her best to avoid, Opal finished off her cookie. But it was a vain attempt to delay the inevitable… unless she could conduct this interview via text message.

She eyed Yara beneath her lashes as she dusted cookie crumbs from her fingers. Yara looked older than her nineteen years. And despite her easy smile when she caught Opal observing her, there was an air of weariness about her—the kind you often saw in young people forced to grow up too soon. The world hadn’t completely beaten her down, however. Her nails were clipped ultra-short and the chapped skin of her hands showed she was no stranger to hard work, but she’d still taken time to apply a swipe of raspberry pink gloss to her lips, and a hint of eyeliner that emphasized her deep brown eyes.

Opal admired that. She’d stopped bothering with cosmetics years ago. She shifted in her seat and wondered how to start.

Yara was brave enough to speak up first, which increased Opal’s respect for her even more. “Your neighbor… Peter?”

Opal nodded.

“He told me you have a fulltime house cleaning round and need someone to take it over temporarily.”

“Th-Th-That’s r-r-right.” Opal massaged the tense muscles at the nape of her neck and tried to relax. God. This was going to be excruciating.

To her credit, Yara’s only reaction was a slow blink. “He mentioned there was a chance it might become permanent—that I might end up taking over your clients.”

Opal nodded again. And wondered what else Peter had seen fit to divulge… only to mentally chide herself for being mean-spirited. She couldn’t fault him for hoping to ease what he had to have known would be a stressful interview.

“Don’t worry,” Yara said, her gaze turning earnest and her lips flattening into a thin, serious line. “He didn’t reveal why you need me to fill in for you. Or why you might need to take up the reins again. And it’s none of my business anyway. I need a job. And from what Peter’s told me, I believe the hours you work would be perfect for me. Ditto with the area being on a major bus route.” She exhaled a long, shaky breath. “I’ll work hard. I’m reliable—truthfully I can’t afford to be anything else. I’ll look after your clients as though they were my own, Opal. And if whatever you’re doing turns out to be temporary, I hope I’ll have impressed you enough that you would consider taking me on and increasing your client base.”

Speech over, Yara grabbed a floppy tote from the floor by her feet and rifled through it, extracting a cardboard folder. “My references,” she said.

Opal chewed her lip as she read through the letters. Impressive. She really liked this girl. She felt her lips curving into a smile, and when Yara responded in kind, it felt good. Right. “G-G-Got some p-p-paper?” she asked.

Yara snagged a notebook from her tote and rummaged for a pencil. She passed them over and watched silently while Opal started to sketch. A choked sound was followed by a hesitant question. “Are you drawing me a map? With your clients’ houses?”

Opal glanced up. “Yes.”

“Does this mean—?” Yara couldn’t finish. Her hand fluttered at her throat, like she couldn’t believe what was happening.

“Yes.”

“I’ve got the job?”

Opal scribbled what she couldn’t manage to say aloud on a blank page:
You’ve got the job. Same rate as I charge. Any tips are yours. Need to show you the route & introduce you to my clients etc. If you work with me next week we’ll split my earnings, then you can take over. OK with you?

She held the page up for Yara to read.

“Oh my God,” Yara said. “Oh my God!” And she leaped from her seat to hug Opal so tightly that Opal could barely breathe.

“Did you hear that, Mickey?” Yara released Opal to stand there, hugging herself and bouncing on her toes with delight. “I got the job!”

“I heard it,” Mickey said, shooting a fond glance at the excited girl. “Good going, Yara.” She bought over a tray of tea things and set it on the table before leveling her gaze at Opal. “You won’t regret this decision, Opal. Yara’s a great kid. She’ll work her butt off for you and she won’t let you down.”

Yara collapsed onto her seat and blotted her face with the hem of her cheerful floral print blouse.

Mickey patted her shoulder and poured her a mug of tea. Almost as an afterthought, she added two sugars. “Here. Drink up. If it’s too sweet, too bad.”

“What’d I miss?” Max sauntered into the room and headed straight for Mickey to drop a kiss on her upturned cheek.

“Good news,” Mickey said.

“I got the job!” Yara reached for her mug and cradled it in her palms. “I start Monday.”

“That’s fantastic, sweetheart.” Max beamed at her and then switched his focus to Opal, who couldn’t help basking in his approval.

She bent her head to concentrate on finishing the map, and labeled each box with a street number. Finally, she dug out her mobile phone and neatly listed all her clients’ names, addresses and contact numbers, along with their allocated hours and days. When she’d finished, she passed the notebook to Yara.

Yara set aside her tea to scan the information. She closed the notebook and clutched it to her chest like it was the most precious object in the world. “You don’t know how much this means to me,” she whispered.

Opal spotted Max and Mickey exchanging glances, and thought she had a very good idea what this job meant to Yara. She smiled gently to show she understood, and had just raised her own mug to her lips when another person strode into the kitchen.

“Excuse me for interrupting,” he said.

Danbur.

A shirtless Danbur.

He was swoon-worthy at the best of times, but now, when his torso glistened with sweat? The sight of him turned her giddy as a schoolgirl.

She wasn’t the only one. Yara goggled at him and patted her chest like she needed to calm her heart. Mickey sighed. Gustily. And Opal’s mind projected a “Hands off, he’s mine!” type of warning that for an awful few seconds she believed she might have screeched out loud. She quickly ducked her head to hide her expression.

“I have finished the task you set, Max,” he said. “It went quickly with Bob and Owen’s help.”

“Good news that Bob pitched in,” Mickey said. “He must be having a good day.”

“The discipline the sword kata requires helps quiet the mind. That is most beneficial for Bob, I think.”

Max grunted. “I’ve noticed an improvement the past coupl’a days. He’s not so manic and he’s eating regular again. If ya could encourage him to keep on with the katas we’d ’preciate it.”

“I will do my best. Is there anything else you would have me do this afternoon? Pieter needs my assistance but I can stay a little longer.”

“There’s one thing I could use a bit of help with.” Max headed for the door and Danbur followed him out.

“Wow,” Opal heard Yara say. “Now I understand what girls mean when they talk about certain guys being guaranteed panty-droppers. I swear I had to check mine were still where they were supposed to be.”

“Yara!” Mickey sounded scandalized. And then she said, “Me, too,” and the two of them dissolved into giggles.

Opal couldn’t blame them for drooling over Danbur. But she could—and did—blame
him
for acting like she was invisible. The upside was that she now had confirmation the sex really had meant nothing to him. And she knew exactly where she stood.

Yeah. Who was she trying to kid? It hurt like a fist to the gut. God. It hurt so much that she could hardly bear it. Even so there was a part of her that was fiercely glad for a night she would never forget. Just like she would never forget
him
. But now it was time for her to stop looking backward, living in the past. It was time to move on and embrace the future.

~~~

Danbur finished assisting Max with the chores and headed for the showers. When he entered the bathroom, the two men present broke off a lewd conversation involving past bed-partners. Danbur said nothing. His disgust spoke louder than mere words in this instance. One of the men gulped and fumbled with his shirt buttons. The other scrubbed a towel through his hair. Both decided they had other places to be. In a hurry.

Danbur turned the shower jet to full cold, stripped, and stepped beneath the spray. The chill water needled his scalp, his face, his skin. And after a while the cold seemed to penetrate through to his very bones until his whole body throbbed and ached.

But this pain was easy to ignore. The pain he endured whenever he traveled any great distance from Sera, less so, but he was used to physical hardship. And until recently he’d believed nothing could match the trauma of the centuries he’d spent trapped in his namesake crystal. But he’d been wrong. Even that nightmare of an existence paled in comparison to the raw agony of seeing Opal sitting in the kitchen—wanting to go to her, touch her, beg her forgiveness, and knowing that for her sake he could not. He still didn’t know how he’d gathered the strength to act as though she meant nothing to him, as though she didn’t matter….