Chapter 199

Sarah POV

“S is definitely Scott,” Ted said, and we all knew enough by now not to question her. She didn’t like being questioned that way because, as I learned, she never said something that wasn’t backed up by a ridiculous amount of data, or meta-data, whichever was more important.

Most of us were in Zane’s study in person today: Travis and Alicia, Whitfield and Wilson, Ted and Melissa, and Zane and me. Delia, Shotz, and the Torrins were on their screens.

“I have to say I don’t quite know what to make of S’s posts even knowing it’s Scott,” Ted continued. “Sometimes, they’re cheering for Sarah, sometimes they’re snarking at other posters, and sometimes, well, they’re just sort of talking about nothing.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, easy in the knowledge other people were wondering the same.

“Well, here, S says, ‘I will open at the closed,’ which is a play on the line from Harry Potter, ‘I will open at the close,’ but what sort of play on words? It might just be a misquote. And over here, S talks about how tedious it is to wait for an Uber, but they don’t make any sort of point with it. It’s just tedious.”

“Sounds like he was trying to fit in with other posters,” Wilson said, and I noticed she was wearing one of her many power suits, black with little gray touches, and a large floral broach on her lapel. “But S hasn’t been doing a good job.”

“Explain, please,” Zane said.

She shrugged and put up her hands. “When you go online and start looking at comments, they seem quite random. Then after awhile, if you’re staying in the same fandom, you see groups of people who respond to each other. That seems to be about where S is.”

“What’s beyond that?” Zane asked.

“Well, threads come and go, but when you’ve got a dedicated place like Cavendish.com or Fark, or whatever, there’s an attitude, a shared position to the world. From what I’ve seen, S never taps into that, never really quite fits in, though it’s clear they want to.”

“Stop saying ‘they.’ It’s Scott. S is a he,” Delia said.

That seemed off for her. “Delia?” I asked. “Is something wrong?”

Delia scowled into the camera. “S has been all over my threads saying things about slaves, about humans, about wolves. S has seriously been pissing me off, if you want to know the truth. And now I find out S is Scott Cavendish. Do you know how many people I know hate his guts?”

She broke off then and looked contrite. “No offense.”

“What does that mean?” Zane asked, looking offended.

I held up a hand. “Let me play ambassador here.”

I looked at Delia. “S has been someone you’ve tolerated in your respect of internet conventions. You’ve wanted to ban him, have someone kill him, whatever.”

“Basically.”

“But you’ve put up with S because, for all you know, it’s some twelve-year-old kid posting shit they read somewhere else. That’s the thing about online posts. You don’t know who is really out there.”

Delia nodded.

“But,” and now I looked at Zane. “She knows now it was your half-brother Scott, an adult, a person who should be able to control themselves and someone who must now account for every lousy thing he said. Her comment of ‘no offense’ means she’s not trying to attack you. It’s a human way of saying, ‘I need to say this, but I’m not trying to start something.’”

Zane looked slightly mollified and nodded at Delia’s screen. “I think I understand.”

“Please understand,” Delia said. “This S has brought people I care about to tears. People have also been defending S’s right to say what they want.

“There have been theories about how S is gay or half-wolf or dormant or autistic or anything else you can think of. I mean, seriously, people have been arguing that S is some sort of prophet against people who think S is a guy living in his parents’ basement who plays videogames all day.”

She closed her eyes, took a breath, and opened them again. “All right, so, I wasn’t going to go into this, but if S is Scott, that means Scott has been closely monitored by you, and his access to your household has been limited, right?”

Zane nodded. “Very.”

“So, Scott couldn’t have seen the sketches for Chloe’s statue, which are incredible. So, where does that word come from? We’ve all, I think, been operating under the idea that S is someone inside your home, someone who sees you and your children all the time. So, if that’s not S, who is it?”

Everyone thought about that for a minute.

“There’s the photo of the poppy garden, knowledge of Chloe’s woodcarving and how impressed you were with it,” Alicia said, “and now—”

“What was that?” I asked.

Alicia blinked at me. “What?”

“You said it’s out there that we were impressed with Chloe’s carving? That just happened. Very few people knew about it.”

“How few?” Ted asked on her screen, and with the silence I could easily envision her fingers pointed over the keyboard, waiting.

“Sarah, I, Chloe, Grace,” Zane said. “Hans must have heard us. Melain, the afternoon upstairs maid. I can’t think of someone else.”

“Chloe and Grace have both been to school since then,” I said. “When they get home, I’ll ask whom they’ve told.”

“It is really that good?” Shotz asked, an unusual question for him, but it was that sort of day.

“It’s a masterpiece,” Zane said. “But remember that I am biased.”

“So am I,” I said before people could start their dutiful laughter. “But yes, it’s a masterpiece. After people see it, I doubt they’ll be leaving Chloe alone, and please remember that I’m not happy about that.”

After another beat, Ambassador Torrin said, “And this is another reason I want this alliance to remain in place.”

“What do you mean?” Zane asked.

“Orleans Territory is a haven of artists, which I’m sure you know, and a haven for those who don’t conform to wolf or human norms, which I hope you also know.”

“Of course.”

“Well, I’m tired of seeing talented people get chewed up and spit out by the establishment. As much as I should just talk about how we can use Operation Lieutenants to be about forwarding wolf unity, apologies to Melissa, I want it to do more than that. I want it to protect the vulnerable among us.”

“No argument from me,” Melissa said.

“It a Pack Alpha’s duty—no, wait,” Zane said in an uncharacteristic verbal hic-cup. “It’s a Pack Alpha’s pleasure to protect the artists and philosophers among us. Those who see new things often trigger the fears of others, however they may not want to.

“If this alliance we have created can protect those people who find themselves on the wrong side of social determinism,” Zane finished, “then I want to be a part of that.”

“I second,” Ambassador Torrin said.

“Is this really time to vote?” Shotz said.

“Why not?” I asked him.

“Well, it usually involves a lot more posturing.”

I laughed. “Shotz, I promise you, I felt the same way when I was with a pack of wolves making up their minds.”

“You did?” Zane demanded, looking at me.

I laughed.

“Anyhoo,” Ted said. “I’ve figured out the latest code they’re using to coordinate. I’m fairly sure they’re planning to torch the poppy garden again.”

“What?” I asked. “Why?”

Ted nodded. “Exactly.”

We all waited for her to continue. Finally, I asked, “And?”

“Oh, sorry, I meant that no one seems to know why. Also, some of the postings have been off.”

“People are straying from their scripts?” Wilson asked.

“Yes.” Ted typed a few seconds more. “Oh, and I’ve been following the money. Looks like Scott has been paying them.”

“Scott?” Zane asked. “How? He doesn’t have money, I mean, not that sort of money.”

Ted sent a wry look at her camera. “Oh, yes. He does.”