Opal's Wish: Book Four of The Crystal Warriors Series (19 page)

“I will meet Sera at the bus stop, and help her with any homework,” Peter said before Opal could speak. “And I was planning on cooking macaroni and cheese—perhaps Sera would like to be my
sous-chef
? Of course it is imperative that one’s sous-chef samples the dish. Extensively.”

Opal closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “It’s Sera’s f-f-favorite.”

“A marvelous coincidence,” the old man said. “She can stay for dinner if she likes. And you agree, of course.”

“I w-w-won’t be th-th-that late—”

“Take your time. Help your friend—she needs you. Aloe vera is excellent for minor burns, by the way.”

He rang off, leaving Opal blinking and staring at the phone. Spooky. What was he, psychic or something? She replaced the phone in its cradle and snatched oven mitts from the countertop. She carefully removed the dish of blackened chicken from the oven and set it on a trivet on the counter. Taking a breath to brace herself, she turned to Annie and summoned a smile. “I’m staying,” she said.

Annie smiled and blotted her tear-smeared face with her apron, which only served to transfer some of whatever she’d spilled on her apron to her face. She looked a mess, but at least now she was smiling, too.

Opal removed the mitts and handed her a dishtowel. “You’ve a l-l-little s-s-something on your f-f-face.”

“Thanks.”

Annie wiped her face, and ventured over to investigate the mess Opal had removed from the oven. She prodded it with a knife. “Shit. Talk about nuked.” She donned the discarded oven mitts, carried the dish to the trash can and tossed everything—dish included—inside. She pinned big, hopeful eyes on Opal’s face. “They’re due at six. I think I screwed up the dessert, too. The mousse didn’t thicken properly. And I haven’t even started on the, uh, starters. I planned on cooking everything in advance and reheating stuff. I guess that was a pretty dumb plan, huh?”

Opal squeezed Annie’s arm. And decided not to mention that reheating oven fried chicken probably wasn’t the best idea in the world. “It w-w-wuh—“ She closed her eyes and swallowed to relax her vocal chords. “G-G-Good p-p-plan.”

“Except I suck at this whole cooking thing.”

“T-T-Takes p-p-practice.” If not for this damned stutter she’d have regaled Annie with tales of her own cooking disasters when she first left home. But sharing such confidences was beyond her right now, and time was ticking.

She investigated the contents of the huge refrigerator and checked the pantry. Hmmm. Conrad must do a lot of the cooking because both were well stocked with far more than just basic ingredients, and the freezer section had a selection of prime meat cuts. That gave her plenty of possibilities to work with, but when it came to Annie, simple would be best.

“Any ideas?” Annie asked, sniffing and blotting her eyes with the backs of her wrists. “Because I’m leaning toward ringing the nearest fancy restaurant and offering my body to the chef if he’ll cook me a three-course meal for four, and have it delivered before my husband gets home.”

Explaining her idea to Annie would take too long. Opal scooped up the notepad sitting beside the phone and scribbled down her proposed menu.

Snacks: hummus, platter of crackers & raw veges.

Main: peppered steaks, boiled baby potatoes w. herb & olive dressing, green leaf salad.

She glanced up at Annie. “M-M-Mousse tasted g-g-good?”

Annie nodded. “Yeah. It’s delish. But runny. The recipe said to beat until it started to thicken but I was at it for a whole quarter hour and that sucker wasn’t getting any thicker.”

Opal chewed the end of the pen and then scribbled,
Dessert: If mousse sets, serve w. chocolate shavings, whipped cream on the side. If not “chocolate sauce” over vanilla ice cream.
She handed the notepad to Annie.

Annie scanned the menu. A relieved smile split her face. “Genius!” And then to Opal’s consternation the smile faded.

“Wh-Wh-What’s wrong?”

“I know it’d be easier and heaps quicker to do it all yourself while I watch, but can you, like, show me how to do everything? So I can tell Conrad I cooked it all without it being a total lie?”

Opal knew what it was like to want desperately to please a man. But Conrad was a far different man than Rick, so Annie’s desire was harmless enough. And presenting a home-cooked meal to Conrad and his guests would help Annie’s self-esteem. “Sure,” she said. “L-L-Let’s start with c-c-cleaning up a b-b-bit.”

Annie screwed up her nose—just like Sera did when told she had to tidy her room.

A wry laugh burst from Opal’s lips. Once a pampered princess, always a pampered princess. “B-b-bags dry the d-d-dishes,” she said, reaching for Annie’s fancy wooden dish-rack.

~~~

The distinctive wheeze of a laboring engine pushed Pieter pushed to his feet. He brushed down the seat of his pants and his heart gave an odd little leap at the prospect of spending a few hours with Sera. It’d been too long time since he’d had the pleasure of a child’s company.

He herded the memories of another bright, brave little girl who’d lived and died in ages past into a mental box and locked them away. Now was not the time to mourn his losses.

The bus pulled up beside the curb and the doors hissed open. Two boys emerged, trading insults and pushing and shoving in their haste to be first off the bus, as boys were wont to do. Instead of continuing their journey they dawdled, yanking fistfuls of grass from the verge and tossing them into the air.

From the corner of his eye Pieter observed their play. It might appear to be innocent fun but he didn’t believe the charade for an instant. The boys’ attention was too focused on the bus doors. They were waiting. For someone who was obviously reluctant to exit the bus.

Pieter spotted Sera negotiating the aisle. The driver spoke to her as she passed, and she bobbed her head in reply. Pieter’s suspicions were fully confirmed when her gaze darted to the boys and she stiffened and hunched her shoulders, as though preparing to endure something unpleasant.

“There you are at last, Sera,” he called.

Her wide-eyed gaze snapped to his. A somewhat anxious smile lit her face, as though his presence was a comfort but she still believed there was cause to worry. “Hi, Mr. Stone,” she said.

“Your mother’s been delayed at work,” Pieter told her. “It’s a glorious day, so I thought I would meet you and we could walk home together.”

“I’d like that.” Sera caught her bottom lip between her teeth and approached him with the jerky, measured steps of someone forcing themselves not to break into a run. Pieter read her surface thoughts and learned that these boys often lay in wait, hoping to tease Sera on the odd occasion her mother was late. He draped an arm about her shoulders and squeezed gently.

The bigger of the two boys muttered something. The smaller shook his head and slunk off down the street. After a moment the bigger boy followed his friend.

Pieter felt tension in Sera’s small body finally drain away. Little thugs, he thought. Too often boys grew up believing that ill-treating those weaker than themselves made them men. He murmured a fitting punishment for the two bullies, and with a flick of his fingers, sent the spells chasing after them. An large, inflamed pustule on the tip of each boy’s nose would greet them upon waking tomorrow morning. Being ridiculed by their classmates should take their focus off Sera for the next few days.

He set a leisurely pace down the path, pointing out various plants and flowers and intrepid birds that disdained to be scared off by the two passing humans. But despite his gentle coaxing, by the time they had reached his house Sera hadn’t spoken another word. “Is there something bothering you, little Sera?” he asked, knowing full well there was.

“I accident’ly broke the wishing crystal,” she whispered.

“I know you did.” He steered her to his small front porch and took her schoolbag from her shoulders. Folding himself into the wooden rocking chair, he patted his knee—an invitation she accepted after some thought. When she’d made herself comfortable in his lap, he rocked the chair gently.

“You meant for Mommy to free Dan.” Sera gazed straight ahead.

Pieter saw no reason to lie. “That’s right.”

“I’ve made a big mess of everything, haven’t I?”

“Perhaps not. Perhaps it was meant to happen this way, else you would not have had the power to call Danbur from his crystal. Who can say for certain?” The words, meant to comfort, rang so falsely in his ears it was all he could do not to cringe.

Sera twisted to peer up at him. “What’s gonna happen to Dan now?”

How could he burden this innocent child with the truth? That the man she’d formed a special bond with, the man who’d helped her through two serious asthma attacks and would, Pieter knew, lay down his life for hers, was condemned to return to his crystal in three more weeks…. And might not survive a second term of imprisonment with his mind intact. Not all the men Pieter had cursed possessed the mental fortitude of Malach, the troop’s second in command.

“I do not know,” he finally said. And comforted himself that it was not exactly a lie. It might appear there was little hope for Danbur, but the future was not set in stone. Not if Pieter could help it.

Sera met his gaze, her face so solemn that Pieter’s heart twisted anew. “Whatever happens to Danbur, you are not to blame, Sera. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Her nod came readily enough but he suspected she hadn’t finished making him feel small and powerless, crushed by guilt at the pain he had inadvertently caused those now ensnared in Saiytada’s web. He waited, calmly, betraying no sign of his inner turmoil.

“Do you know where Dan is now?” she asked.

Pieter couldn’t bring himself to speak so he nodded.

“Can you take me to see him? Please?”

He couldn’t deny her, this innocent child who’d unwittingly destroyed all his careful plans and, through no fault of her own, stolen a man’s chance at redemption and condemned him to hell. And nor could he deny Danbur the temporary relief from pain that closer proximity to Sera would bring. Again he nodded. He even dredged up a smile. “Let us first grab some milk and cookies, and then I’ll call a taxi—it’ll be quicker than walking.”

Her green eyes gleamed with stubborn determination. “Please call the taxi now,” she told him. “I need to see Dan. I don’t want to wait.”

A chill of presentiment clawed Pieter’s spine. There were so many reasons why this was a bad idea.

Pieter handed over the fare and intercepted a disapproving glimmer in the taxi driver’s eye. There would be less chance of the man making a fuss, or mentioning this incident to anyone, if his concerns were addressed—meaning far less chance Pieter would be forced to tamper with yet another person’s memories. Oftentimes an ounce of prevention was worth the most precious crystal known to mankind.

“We’re visiting a friend who’s fallen on hard times,” Pieter said. “The little one has been worrying herself sick about him, and I finally decided it best to bring her here—so she can see for herself he’s well provided for.” The key to soothing someone’s worries with the minimum of effort was to be as truthful as possible.

The driver fingered his chin and swiveled awkwardly in his seat to address Sera. “Your friend won’t do better’n here if he needs a bit of help, lovey,” he said. “The folks who run this shelter are good people.”

Pieter nodded gravely. “They certainly are. Come, Sera. Let’s go and find Mickey and Max. They’ll know where Dan’s gotten to.” He ushered Sera from the vehicle and up the path toward the spacious home that had become a refuge for a number of men who had lost everything. Much like Max before Mickey’s love had turned him around.

He pressed the door buzzer, and it occurred to him he should have rung to warn the couple of his visit—and convince them it was necessary. Too late now. He would have to make the best of it… and trust that Mickey wouldn’t chew him out for bringing an impressionable child to such a place. The couple tolerated no nonsense from the shelter’s denizens, but that didn’t prevent the occasional incident. Losing all hope made men unpredictable.

Max opened the door. A welcoming grin lit his face when he saw Pieter. The grin wavered when he noticed Sera. But before Max could speak Sera said, “I need to see Dan.” Almost as an afterthought she added, “Please.”

Max tugged the end of his moustache and, being an excellent student of how to quickly put people at ease, squatted to Sera’s level. “Might not be such a good idea right now, little lady. He’s not feeling too good.”

“I know,” Sera said. “But he’ll feel heaps better once I hug him, I promise.”

Pieter tried not to reveal his disquiet as something he’d suspected was confirmed absolutely. Sera could sense Danbur’s pain… and understood she could ease it. This was not good at all. He cursed Saiytada anew, even though he suspected the goddess would be as horrified as he to learn the child was attuned to her crystal warrior’s suffering. Saiytada was many unpleasant things, but a torturer of innocent children was not among them.

He abruptly realized Max had straightened and was waggling his eyebrows, trying to catch his eye. He inclined his head toward Max to indicate he was paying attention.

“Mickey’s real worried ’bout Danbur.” Max scowled and tugged his moustache. “But that man’s stubborn as they come. Says we can call that doc who dropped him off if we want, but no way can we force him to talk to the guy. If we push it he’s outta here. Mickey’s backed off—for now, anyway. But if this little lady can convince Danbur to see a doc I’d be mighty grateful.”

Sera tugged on Max’s sleeve.

Max glanced down at the little girl. “I’ve been real rude,” he said. “Name’s Max. Pleased ta meetcha.” He extended his huge hand.

“I’m Seraphine, but my friends can call me Sera.” Sera shook his hand.

Max dropped her a wink. “And what a sweet little angel y’are, too.”

Sera refused to be charmed. “Dan’s my friend and he’s sick and a doctor can’t help him.” She squared her shoulders and thrust out her lower lip, meeting Max’s gaze squarely. “But I can.”

Pieter assumed his best poker-face as Max’s gaze flicked to him and bored deep, trying to read truths better left buried.