The Girl With Green Scales: A Gen M Novel

Chapter 24: Special delivery

The next day, I wake to someone gently shaking my shoulders.

"Good morning, Ms. Whisper," an electronic female voice greets me.

I pull back, holding a thick duvet to my chest as I gaze into an unmoving plastic mask with a cheery kabuki face painted on it. For a moment, I don't know where I am. I take in the canopy bed, the crystal door leading to the closet, and the hologram of Tourmaline's favorite pop star, Shimmerinia.

I'm in Jupitar City!

I recognize the woman's kabuki mask from the small room behind the pantry. Is this woman the screamer from the iron casket? Where her mouth would be is a circular speaker, and overtop her ears are square microphones. She wears a black unitard around her shapely form.

Sunlight floods in through floor-to-ceiling windows, and one of the artificial flyers with a worn grin and cartoonish eyes streaks by.

"I was told to be all smiles," the servant says, indicating her mask, "so here I am!"

Her electronic voice is overly cheery but lacks the seductive babyish quality that Mairī Lin favored. I miss that girl.

"Hello," I say. A crick in my neck and the ache in my back make me wince. My misaligned face throbs. The medical robe I arrived in is on the floor. I'm naked under the covers. I found the adjoining washroom last night, blissfully indulged in a hot shower, crawled into bed, and passed out.

"You can call me Thelp—everyone does," the servant says.

Everything she says comes out with a too-happy modulated twang. She could be sobbing behind the mask, and I suspect it would come out as laughter. "Demoiselle gave me the name Thelp," the servant explains. "She was showing off to the other ministers' spouses. She kept saying 'The Help will get us drinks.' 'The Help will clean that up.' 'The Help, The Help, The Help,'" she giggles gaily. "Well, Demoiselle was having her fair share of the drinky-drinky, and she started slurring her speech. 'The Help' became 'Thelp.' 'Thelp, we need another round of sweet-tinis! Thelp, we have a spill, fetch the mop! Thelp, Madame Frisson is vomiting in the foyer! The spouses couldn't stop laughing, and I've been Thelp ever since."

"That's quite the story," I say. It tells me a lot.

"You'll have to eat quickly," Thelp says, handing me a bowl of nutrient pills and a steaming mug of herbal tea.

"Yum," I say, placing three of the capsules in my mouth.

"Sarcasm alert!" Thelp thrills.

"The tea should help with the physical pain," she says with mirth—like my disfigurement is a big joke. "I grow and harvest the ingredients myself in the green bay. Our little secret." I'm not sure why that would be a secret, but her tea works quickly, soothing my throbbing pain into a tolerable ache.

I finish "breakfast," and she holds a sumptuous white robe for me.

I abandon modesty, wince as I push myself onto my feet, and slide my arms into the thick, soft fabric. It feels wonderful. The hem tickles the tops of my knees.

"It's a bit short," Thelp laughs gaily. "It was made for the other girl. Come! Let's get you washed and dressed."

I shower in the room of marble, glass, and chrome I discovered last night, using perfumed liquid soaps that are utterly unlike the harsh bars in the boroughs or even EverMight. The water pressure is perfect and steady, much like the water's warmth—no veering from searing hot to freezing cold without warning. The heat soaks into my clenched muscles. You've done it Lilianne. You've arrived!