Opal's Wish: Book Four of The Crystal Warriors Series by Maree Anderson Page A

his hand that Danbur do the same with the box of foodstuffs. “Make yourself at home,” he instructed as he investigate the contents of the box.
    Danbur eyed the bench closest the doorway. Ideally he should have his back to the wall and the door in full view, but such precautions seemed ridiculous when the inhabitants of this world apparently walked around unarmed. He sensed no threat from this man and he was curious about the cooking device. He settled on the bench.
    Max had unpacked a range of vegetables and fruits. He grunted again. “Fresh stuff’s always in short supply. Mickey’ll be in heaven when she cops an eyeful of this lot.”
    “Mickey will be
where
when she does
what
?”
    The question came from a short person who headed straight for the cook pots. Her hair had been cut short and stuck out from her skull in strange, stiff little spikes… and it was bright blue. Danbur squeezed his eyes shut, but when he opened them again her hair was still the hue of a midday desert sky. And she was definitely female, for the ample curves beneath her baggy gray pants and equally baggy shirt were evident. Not to mention that no male Danbur had yet encountered would stoop to donning fluffy blue footwear.
    “What’cha doing up?” Max demanded. “I got this one. Go back to bed.” He strode over to take possession of the wooden spoon the woman was about to use to stir the contents of one of the cook pots. When she attempted to snatch it back he held it over his head, moustaches twitching when she bounced up and down, trying to reclaim the spoon.
    The woman gave up her efforts and scowled at him. “Couldn’t sleep. Too much on my mind.”
    “Know the feeling.” Max pressed a quick kiss to her forehead. “Peter sent over a heap of fruit and veg. And clothes.”
    “That man’s a saint.”
    “That man’s doing penance for something.”
    “Perhaps. But so long as penance involves regular donations of fresh foodstuffs I don’t much care.”
    Max patted her on the rear. “Go sit. I’ll feed our latest inmate and then ya can help me get him settled.”
    The woman wandered over to the table and sat opposite Danbur. She wasn’t quite as good as Max at schooling her expression for her eyebrows peaked as she absorbed his attire. “Mickey,” she said at last, sticking out a hand.
    “Danbur.” He grasped her hand and gently pumped it up and down before releasing it. And then he waited for the curiosity gleaming in her dark brown eyes to resolve into questions he didn’t know whether he should answer.
    “When was the last time you ate, Danbur?”
    Unexpected, but innocuous enough that he could give a truthful answer. “I remember not,” he said.
    “Hurry up with that stew, Max,” she called, without taking her gaze from Danbur’s face. “Where does it hurt?”
    Danbur stared back at her, unblinking. “Nowhere.”
    “Bull. Shit.”
    His jaw sagged.
    She cocked an eyebrow that had been pierced with a tiny silver ring—a match to the numerous tiny rings marching up the lobes of both ears. “Not used to women swearing, huh? Too bad. Get used to it. Now, where does it hurt? Don’t make me come over there and have to figure it out for myself.”
    “She’ll do it, too.” Max approached the table bearing a plate of stew in one hand and eating implements in the other. He plunked them down in front of Danbur before heading for one of the strange devices that had been placed by the wall. This one was shaped like a large rectangular box with rounded edges.
    Max yanked on the silver handle and opened a hinged door. He bent, head and torso disappearing from view as he reached into the depths of the box. “Seen her reduce a grown man to tears with her prodding and poking,” he said, his voice echoing strangely.
    He emerged, clutching a bottle of amber liquid. He grabbed a tumbler with a pattern of interlinking red squares around the rim from a shelf, and set his burdens on the table. And then he took a seat beside