The Coming | The House of Voices #2

Twenty Three - Discomfort

Discomfort

Parish:

October insisted on staying outside in the garden until Ace was done with her clients and refused to let Parish and Spade fuss over her. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” she assured them, taking the hand Parish offered and allowing him to help her to her feet. “Just got the wind knocked out of me. That’s all,”

“Are you certain?” Spade asked worriedly, chewing on the inside of his bottom lip nervously. “The client can wait if you’re hurt. Ace should take a look at you.”

“I’m fine, really. Just a little wobbly. A glass of water should fix that,” she told him, starting to walk towards the very squished looking Dogwood that sat by the edge of the fence, right next to the carport that Spade had parked his insanely beautiful BMW. Right next to Ace’s equally beautiful Honda. Parish didn’t know which of the two Spellcasters he was more jealous of.

While Spade retreated into the kitchen to get October a glass of water, Parish helped her hobble over to the foot of the tree where she flopped down tiredly. She brought her knees up to her chin and wearily dropped her head onto them, wincing. Concerned, Parish put a gentle hand on her shoulder and squeezed in soothing gesture. “Does it hurt?” He asked.

“A little bit just here,” she straightened up and touched a spot on her ribs with her index finger. “But don’t tell Spade. I can hold on until Ace is done with her client.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. It’s not that bad, really,” She said, hazel eyes reassuring. “I’ve had worse.”

Parish didn’t doubt that.

Suddenly remembering the wounds he’d cleaned back in Abercoster’s, he snuck a glance at her wrists. What used to be red, irritated and ragged scratch marks were now thin lines in her porcelain skin that would fade away in a few days time. She’d been a mess that day when he’d bumped into her just as she’d exited the bathroom where she’d been crying and hurting herself, trying to fight the Voices off. He remembered the way she’d looked at him as he’d cleaned her wounds… as if no one had ever done something like that for her. He knew how she felt. No one had ever looked at his self-inflicted wounds with anything but horror and disgust before either.

“What?” She demanded, catching him looking at her wrists.

“They’re healed,” he said, his hand automatically flying to the back of his neck. “The scratches,” he explained, noticing her confused look. “They’re healed.”

“Oh.” She looked down at her arm and examined the skin at her wrist. “I’d completely forgotten about those. Yeah, I guess they are healed.” Parish didn’t fail to notice the slight flush to her cheeks when she looked up to smile at him. Grinning she teased, “You’re a true healer.”

Parish laughed, dropping to sit beside her. “Don’t tell Ace that,” he said. “Don’t want her to think she’s got competition.”

“Not much competition, really. She’s got magic spells and fancy salve. You’ve got band aids.”

Parish waved a dismissive hand in her face. “Don’t underestimate my healing hands,” he told her wiggling his fingers. “Besides, those band aids helped you, didn’t they?”

She laughed, sounding completely happy. “Yeah, I guess they did,” she said, shaking her head a little.

Parish nodded his head primly by way of answer, causing October to laugh again. He smiled. She didn’t laugh as much as she should. It was a nice change after seeing her so serious and concerned about him and worried about how the Voices were going to hurt him and her other friends. The idea reminded him of what she’d told Ace the night before, about how the nightmares the Voices had shown October of him were the worst.