Chapter 8: In which Malcolm comes to his senses (Part 1/3)

As it turned out, getting nearly crushed to death came with some annoying side effects.

A thick haze fogged up Malcolm's thoughts and had him asking the gods for any guidance in dealing with two students by the names of Logan and Vivian, who had decided they didn't have to take his class seriously simply because, like a growing list of other instructors, Malcolm still refused to give out grades.

Next it was Sophie, who had come to him with yet another puzzle in revamping her study plan. She'd recently opted for more ecology, calculus, and battle strategy over the rest of the summer in order to squeeze in literature and medicine in the fall, and this time, he wasn't actually sure if he could help her slot the pieces together.

Then Zeke, who pretty much always approached Annabeth first in the rare times he really needed something, had sought him for answers. How true was it that single-parent households fared worse than two-parent households? And how much did having a neurodivergent kid affect a parent's ability to find a partner? Malcolm had known exactly what to say—but somehow he hadn't, given the word vomit that came out of his mouth. It didn't help that his dyslexia had suddenly flared into an untamable beast.

Alicia, bless her, gave him some sort of reprieve, even if she'd tearily plodded through the Cabin Six doorway and into his arms after a tutoring session with Chiron. A weeping Alicia came with a simple cure: a dose of robotics.

It had been over a week since he'd stepped foot in Bunker Nine. He'd been busy with that tapestry for Rhode all of last week, and now it felt almost like a betrayal. Any such feeling was totally uncalled for, naturally, but it seemed harder that day to not revive that tired question he'd already put to bed years ago.

Of course it meant nothing that Leo chose to sit an inch away from him. Or held his arm. Or touched his back. Or leaned on his shoulders. Or that Leo winked at him said he was looking fine as hell today. He was the one who'd sat right next to Leo's favorite spot. And there were certainly a host of other things he'd instigated and let slide over the years that had gotten Leo more casually touchy and jokily flirty towards him over anyone else. Well… anyone else besides the women Leo dated. Which was another good reminder. Besides, Malcolm didn't think so little of his friend so as to assume any of that was done consciously. Leo knew after all. So, Malcolm let it be fun. All the compliments and backup plans had always come with a wink anyway. Literally and metaphorically. (… Right?)

Without having completely worked out half those answers by Sunday night, the weekend of cloudiness persisted into Monday, making Malcolm second-, third-, and fourth-guess the work he'd so proudly wrapped up in a bow that month: his calculations for the monthly city budget, his approval of Pravir's Schoolwide Enrichment Model policy, and his new idea to help jumpstart Jake's energy company, Vio Life.

Marcella had been holding the fort on that last bit. To increase support for Jake and Co.'s biogas project, she and her team had executed a brilliant outreach strategy that had more or less satisfied City Council's expectations across the board.

More satyrs than they'd realized had come to appreciate their commitment to turning Long Island's industrial and municipal waste—but not so much forest residues—into fuel. A greater number—but about as many demigods as expected—had bought into the idea of using co-products of the fuel to make or sell materials for buildings and roads.

But the city's outreach had done them few favors with dryads. A vocal group led by a woman named Karyai had convinced a bunch of other wood nymphs to see through City Council's ploy to tame the controversy by replacing all mentions of "biomethane" with terms like "biogas" or "renewable gas". The group of dryads also took issue with how a project subsidized by the city could eventually just lead everyone to keep up their wasteful practices and deforestation.

It was a lot already to have approved a pipeline. But with this new idea Malcolm had…

He'd reviewed his pocket notebook to check his sanity. He'd skimmed through papers he'd already read before, consulted Galene's textbook for advice, and taken a fifteen-minute walk on the beach as Galene's words followed him with each step.

Invisible yet lingering, her commands floated in his periphery: Don't simply ask, 'What works?' Instead, ask, 'How does the world work?'

That was what he was doing, right? Playing assumption dumption until he found an optimal solution? Perhaps even a Pareto improvement?

The haziness hardly relinquished its grasp on him, so he went to the woods for answers.

Shaded from the glare of the dizzying sun, Marcella invited him to her tree, and he sat criss-cross applesauce on a padded patch of woodland grass, just like old times. It was about time certain habits changed, however. So when Marcella served him some sliced nectarines, Malcolm brought out some roasted chickpeas he'd snagged from the camp dining room.

When he finally asked for her thoughts on nixing the grants and contributions for Vio Life to instead buy equity in the company, Marcella assured to him after his torrent of verbal hiccups and faltering qualifiers that, yes, she would support that plan, and, no, he wasn't being dumb. Which just made Malcolm feel a bit dumber, though considerably less incompetent.

Alas, his lucidity didn't last for long.

Reaching City Hall, he immediately felt his head spin at the sight of Bae and Chiara with some stats staff in a conference room. But no, Malcolm reminded himself. That was just Harpocrates's tricks. Anyone would feel sick if they tried, even subconsciously, to read lips through the glass.

In the common area of the first floor, Malcolm had passed by a dozen or so regulars heads down and knee deep in work. The lucky bastards who didn't have ADHD. At least he didn't feel bad about saying hi. Per usual, a chorus of hellos and a collection of smiles followed, making him feel like he was finally settling into himself.

With a bouncier step, Malcolm headed up the stairs to his office on the fifth floor, ready to tackle the rest of the day.

On the third flight of stairs, he nearly ran into Hubert Gauthier, the son of Hygieia who provided him and Chiara with admin assistance.

"Malcolm! Oh my gods, oh my gods!" Hubert appeared nearly out of breath.

"Are you okay?" Malcolm said. "What's up?"

"Oh my gods." With frantic eyes, Hubert shook his head as he walked the way he'd come, falling in step with Malcolm. "So, Kyklos is in a shitstorm. Word is, Pheme cheated on Adrestia with some rando Idahoan, and now Purgo's up in smokes, and mortals in Suffolk are gonna get sick if we don't cough up the difference this week."

Malcolm stopped in his tracks. "What?"

After two tries and two more flights, he finally wrapped his head around the situation. It seemed New Athens's monopolistic supplier of godly waste management was hiking up its prices because some god who'd caught her girlfriend sleeping with a lady in Boise had blasted the only manufacturer of the filtering systems that kept nectar and ambrosia from infecting mortals.

It was as bonkers as his mind suggested—which was actually rather comforting. Malcolm felt less bewildered than Hubert looked and, as he later found, even less than Pravir had been. Surely that accounted for something.

Being able to assure everyone that the city still had spare funding was itself an assurance to himself. It finally seemed like the muddle in his head had fully dissipated.

Just to be sure, he bugged Will for a quick checkup, and—without sharing any scandalous details like the somewhat bad patient he chose to be—received confirmation that he looked a-okay.

Bright and early on Tuesday, Marcella and Jake quietly announced the equity stake that New Athens would take in Vio Life.

Doubling down on the project in such a fashion would actually have mollified many opposers. People wanted more oversight of Vio Life? Well, equity technically meant more city control over the company's operations. They'd wanted fairness? Equity meant profits to fund dryad-oriented initiatives and businesses. In tandem, Jake announced that Vio Life would use 0.5% of its revenues to fund the same things. All in all, the project seemed a worthwhile addition to diversify the city's renewables portfolio.

But word must've spread before breakfast, because by 8:30, a little gathering had formed outside City Hall.

No city employees wanted to munch on their snacks in the summer air today. Dozens had crowded in the break room on level two, and dozens upon dozens more congregated in the common areas of the floor, giving Malcolm a chance to meet some of the new hires.

By now, he'd perfected his icebreaker questions. (Apparently, even after he would first thank them for having joined the team, "What exactly do you do here?" was too aggressive-sounding an opener for some.) It was like an obligation, but he had to admit it felt like an accomplishment to be able to know everyone's names—like solving a puzzle.

With a clap of his hands and a pair of air punches, Bae entered the break room. "First protest! Woo! Who wants a smoothie?" he said, volunteering to play bartender.

Pravir was the first to take up the offer. "It's a pretty bad showing for a protest, if you ask me," he said, glancing outside at the chanting group of about ten. "They're here early, though. I'll give them that."

The few who were there were apparently still enough to make several employees say they were experiencing scopophobia and even claustrophobia. It was a bit dramatic.

People were looking at Malcolm, as if expecting him to do something or say something. But right now, he just wanted to make himself useful in other ways. So as chatter and drinks flowed around him, he opted to collect trash and load the dishes.

Once Malcolm realized he'd taken two mugs too soon from two of the city's newest employees, he stopped stealing people's dishes and just stood next to Chiara and Ainsleigh while nursing an iced lemon tea. He ignored the occasional looks, which came even from Ainsleigh, and watched Bae wrestle with the coffee machine gifted from the Hephaestus cabin that employees had named Josephine (Josie for short).

He really didn't see what the problem was. The protestors were simply exercising their rights, and there was bound to be something like this at some point.

"They'll go away if you talk to them," Marcella told him from across the room as she nibbled on pasteli. "If it's just you, I think."

"Whatever happened to 'I think they'd hate you for just saying 'pipeline'?" said Malcolm.

As their fellow employees hooted with laughter, Marcella grinned at the memory.

"I might have been wrong actually," she said. "Everyone's seen the trash shipment footage. They also saw me propose the idea, so they might not take it out on you. But I also think they would lack the confidence to tell a son of Athena that he is wrong."

Immediately, a part of Malcolm felt sick. The other part filled him to the brim with mortification.

"I don't want that."

He instantly found relief behind tart sips of his iced tea.

"For the most part," Chiara said gently, "I don't think you really have a say in that."

"It's easy to talk to you, though," said Ainsleigh.

Said the person who unnecessarily looked to him for approval.

Well. Said the person who looked like she found it difficult to speak to him.

"Look," he loudly declared to the room, "I'm always open to dissent. That's your responsibility, and I'm totally cool with it. Just ask Pravir."

Snorts and shrieks of laughter abounded. Even Pravir huffed with a smile as he rolled his eyes.

Marcella said he could tell the protesters they were respected and tell them they were wrong.

("Based on current knowledge. Our knowledge. What we call knowledge," Rayel caveated.)

If Malcolm really had to meet the protestors—his colleagues insisted on it for various reasons—he wanted an excuse to go out there.

"No, you can just go," Bae said.

Malcolm tried not to squirm. "I don't wanna… provoke them."

"We're not showing up in numbers. It'll be fine," Chiara said.

Pravir's typical hell-bent eyes had deadened as they stared into space. "Dude, you're making this so much more painfully awkward than it needs to be."

"Okay, fine," he said. "But I'm not going to prove anything. I can just… clarify perspectives they might not understand."

"How is that any different?" chuckled an employee named Justin, one of the members of the statistics department.

"It is!" said Rayel.

So. Off Malcolm went. Alone.

Outside City Hall, six dryads had rooted themselves into the grass, accompanied by three satyrs and a few demigods Malcolm had seen in one of Chiron's classes.

Their chanting petered out upon his arrival, and each of the five at the front lobbed their own accusations at him.

"You want to reduce energy emissions by using perhaps the worst greenhouse gas as energy. How does that make sense?" said a dryad named Juniper.

"Renewable natural gas may be renewable," said another wood nymph, "but 'renewable' doesn't mean 'zero emissions'. Do you know that?"

A satyr jumped in. "By working with fossil gas companies, you're just delaying the energy transition."

"New Athens is helping polluters greenwash their business," added one of the demigods. "Did you even consider that?"

Huh. Marcella was wrong. They weren't intimidated; they thought he was dumb now. Was there really a chance he had with the people who called Marcella a traitor?

"And then there are the methane leaks!" said Karyai, the evident leader of the posse, as she stared him down. "And City Council keeps saying they're not an issue, but we all know that's a complete lie."

It's hardly a—

"No, it is a concern," Malcolm said, "and we're mitigating that risk. But it is a huge concern of ours. Which is why we—"

"So you understand," Karyai said, "that we're not okay with those threats? Because we did not consent to that, and if there's a leak near our homes…" She shook her head.

"It would be horrible," Malcolm agreed. "That's why we've put in place a range of safety measures and potential punishments on the company in question. We're doing everything we can to prevent that from happening."

She raised her brows. "Except not actually eliminating the risk."

"It would be nice if we didn't have to deal with that risk," he said, "but we did a lot of analysis—a lot—and this happened to be the most immediate and effective way to deal with the waste issue and to reduce Long Island's emissions."

No one was questioning him right now. Perhaps Marcella was right after all.

A non-insignificant part of him actually liked it, liked their speechlessness, liked the almost lost expressions on their faces, and he was going to feed that desire, knowing that the more he talked, the truer she would be.

But at the last fraction of a second, the sickness from earlier rose up like bile.

Screw Marcella's test. She didn't know the Cabin Six Code, and he had his own test anyway.

"We know of all those issues you brought up," Malcolm told them. "We were twisting and turning about them for months. And we found that we can't match the environmental impact we're making through this project if we weren't building a pipeline and producing biomethane. This isn't even cutting into our electrification plans. It's a last resort for fossil fuel substitutions. The problem is, we can't openly work with many mortals, nor can we force them to phase out fossil fuels. But we can easily inject their gas grid with a renewable gas. With biomethane. Until we find another solution, this is what we've got."

With a sigh, Karyai finally unstiffened. "Look, Malcolm, we know you want to make an impact. But this project isn't harmless. The city can't just overlook how we're affected and ruin our community."

We're not. Your NIMBYism though…

"Especially when dryads stand the most to lose here," she said. "So, at the very, very, very least, any risk and any damage should be offset with reasonable compensation."

The others yeah-ed and nodded vigorously.

"Totally," Malcolm said. "Yeah, we put that in the plan. The new plan. Today's plan. Did you read the press release?"

Nothing.

Shit, he really should've phrased it better.

"It might've come out when you were on your way here," Malcolm said. "But we were planning it for a while."

As he provided a quick explanation, he remembered he'd heard the comms team debating whether to add that feature in the headline, until someone had said it would have seemed like they were buying the dryads or trying to get good press off them. So that bit had instead been hidden several paragraphs near the end. Perhaps that had been a bad idea.

Karyai eventually spoke. "I don't think we were consulted on that."

"Surprise?" he said, offering a smile.

The fear of added bureaucracy and costs held him back from promising final checks with anyone prior to future announcements.

"It's what you hinted at previously, though," he said, "so you kind of were? And a lot of it's from Vio Life, so it's not all taxpayer money."

"It should've been there from the start," Juniper piped in. "I don't think we needed to have fought so hard for this."

You didn't want us to give nearly this much money to the company, let alone own any bit of it.

"Yeah," he said. "I'm sorry the whole setup didn't come to us sooner. This current plan is riskier to the city, but certainly fairer than the previous plans."

"We'll look at the press release," Karyai said.

One by one, the grove of dryads uprooted themselves to leave, with their fellow satyrs and demigods following suit.

"Yeah," Malcolm said. "Thanks for coming and for the whole…" He gestured vaguely. "For all the engagement throughout the process. And, uh, feel free to come back anytime."

Like this was an invite. Though there certainly was a party inside.

"We probably will," said Karyai drily.

Mission accomplished.

Marcella had to tell him so, but Malcolm took his own win.

As the protest fest wrapped up, he retreated into his office to try to think his way through another looming crisis.

Drew, of course, was still making daily requests for an after-lunch meetup to discuss the financial pressures faced by her business, Yokubō. Time and time again, he had sidestepped her invitations with excuses that he had to babysit Alicia.

Thankfully, Marcella had been handling Drew with grace. Some grace. With each meeting, she had changed into dresses that were ever increasingly out-of-fashion, gleeful to describe Drew's ire during her one-on-ones with Malcolm.

Though he got a kick out of it each time, it was eating at him endlessly to dawdle on the issue. Percy wanted action. People like 632-year-old Penelope needed safety. Other sea people like eight-year-old Felipe deserved their homes and their pets. Drew wanted answers. And her employees needed stability, even if Drew had apparently already promised that Yokubō would be staying in town.

What to do? What to do?

'Don't stick yourself,' Galene had advised him.

Yeah, well, slapping on a tax or whatever and calling it a day wasn't a good response to how the world worked. The problems Yokubō posed were still a solution to everything worse out there. Shouldn't Drew actually have been rewardedfor that?

Ugh.

It felt like a cop out, but Marcella and her team would have to figure it out. Hopefully, Percy wouldn't mind a year's deadline.

In that time, the city could have given him something to help run Ásylo. Anything. Maybe some cash to fund clean-ups and education?

Oof. What a bad look to offload the solutions to him and the kids. There was no way Rayel, Marcella, or Pravir would cosign that.

Malcolm cringed with the knowledge that, purely for the sake of avoiding a PR disaster, Percy likely wouldn't get anything at all.

Considering that every other city councilor had approved the biogas project and the purchase of equity, Malcolm didn't think they had a right to take issue with the decision. But as if the Fates were conspiring against him, his colleagues had begun hounding him for funding by the time lunch rolled around.

Chiara had likely done it to guilt trip him. (Just last week, he'd said they didn't have enough money for a randomized control trial she wanted to run. It would've cost less than how much more the city had shelled out to buy a stake over giving subsidies.)

Pravir had likely done it to be trolly. (According to his email, some New Athenians needed mentoring to master social interaction. Malcolm had rolled his eyes and trashed the email immediately. Sure, the program had been for underprivileged, at-risk youth, but the request would come back to his desk when it wasn't half a year in advance.)

Others had likely been simply excited for their wishlists to be granted. (Clarisse wanted more members on the security team, Brett wanted a new piece of tech to track CP distributors, Will wanted more public health campaigns, Rayel wanted more internal DEI initiatives, etc., etc., etc..)

As if they all hadn't heard about the Idaho fiasco yesterday.

The good news was Malcolm's memory had served him well; there really was spare funding to pay for that mess.

The answer was pointed out to him in his office, on the laptop of Adila Darwish, the daughter of Nemesis whom he'd recently chosen to be his right hand on budgetary matters.

"I found this," she said, making him wince as her sparkly nail poked her screen. "There's no other option, is there?"

"What do you think?" he replied.

Adila thought for a moment. "I think no one's going to like it."

Malcolm nodded, relieved once more that he'd made the right choice.

"You're sitting in on the council meeting," he said. "Do you wanna present it to them?"

Adila opened her mouth and then bit her lip.

"You're not gonna take the fall," he assured.

At that, Adila broke into a laugh. "No, I know. That'd be you," she said. "Could I just sit in this time? It's in half an hour and I really don't feel prepared enough to do it well."

He considered insisting that she knew everything he knew, saying she could just explain it and not think about "presenting" it, telling her it was really no big deal and she'd be fine, but ultimately backed down. She still had time to fill his shoes.

Twenty minutes later, he met her on the first floor as she slid her arms into the sleeves of her blazer.

"You know these meetings are pretty informal, right?" he said as they walked into the conference room together. "But good on you for making the effort."

"Yeah," she said. "I just thought… You know…"

As he set up the projector, Adila stepped into his space to say, "Actually, I was thinking… I think I can give it a go."

Malcolm turned to her, a grin spreading across his face. "You got this."

Smiling back, Adila positioned her hair behind her ears and her shoulders and straightened her blazer. She sat beside him, posture as stiff as Marcella's while the others filed in.

Around them, Will was flipping through the page corners of his book, Chiara was drumming her newly painted nails on the table, Bae was shaking his leg, Chiron was stroking his beard, Ainsleigh was fidgeting with her hair, Maaza was clicking her pen, and others were filing in. All the while, Adila took audible, expansive breaths.

Malcolm didn't know if it'd be better to distract her or let her be. He ended up going with his own preference: the latter. It was okay. She'd be fine.

Once everyone had settled around the circular table, he looked once more at Adila, who nodded at his own questioning nod, and kicked off the meeting.

"We got a bunch of requests today," he said. "We all want more money. I know. Right now, given our cash flow issue, the priority is dealing with the waste management file. Adila's gonna walk you through all the spare money we have this week."

She managed to let out a chuckle as she projected their funding spreadsheet onto the wall.

"There's only one option," she explained to the others. "We have to use this."

On the spreadsheet, she highlighted a row corresponding to a million-dollar donation they'd received from Aphrodite a while back.

"It's not tied to anything," Adila said. "The notes for program preferences say 'garden, etc.', but we don't need 'garden, etc.' yet."

"No."

The comment came from Pravir, who shot Adila and Malcolm a disgusted look from across the table.

"This has got to be—" Pravir scoffed. "This reeks of Malcolm's judgment. This has to be the dumbest…"

"We do not need to resort to insults, child," said Chiron, when a stunned Adila still hadn't uttered a response.

Malcolm leaned on the back of his chair and feigned unconcern. "It's not payback of any kind, if that's what you're thinking," he said, glancing lazily at Pravir. "You're really not that important."

"None of this is personal," said Pravir.

"No, of course not."

"Boys," said Chiron, hushing the snickers and mutterings of the council. "Adila?"

Adila iterated her point: "This is our only solution."

Despite usually staying on the sidelines, Chiron jumped in. "I must say… If we are ever asked what the money was spent on—and I assure you, we will be—how are we planning to manage that?"

Adila turned to Malcolm with panicked eyes.

"We can say this was pooled," Malcolm said, already faltering as he said it.

For once, Chiara directed her head tilt at him. "Say that funding from an Olympian was pooled?" she said. "When in other instances they have their names attached to our projects?"

And this, Malcolm thought, was why they should've just lumped together all the money from the start, instead of attributing the donations to specific initiatives. This was a mess.

But nooo. Chiron had insisted that the direct links encouraged giving. It was worth it, he had argued, to have to spend extra effort to align the stories City Council made to residents and the gods—or to have to find ways around any misalignments—if it meant New Athens could get more funding, as well as more grants instead of loans.

So now, the councilors had to make sure not to offend the gods. Equally, they had to make sure not to lie to the residents or invoke upon the residents any unconscious biases that might have influenced the councilors to make undemocratic decisions. No thanks to Chiron's system. It made Malcolm want to tear his hair out.

There would have been other ethical issues to wrestle with if the city lacked funding, Chiron had also pointed out those months ago. Alternatively, there wouldn't have been any ethical conundrums Malcolm would have the privilege to groan about if there hadn't been enough money in the first place.

The gods liked 'ownership'. To know and to brag that they contributed to something. And to be fair, the Council was still managing the city on its own terms. Seemingly. Maybe there already had been some instance in which a god's involvement had influenced the Council to misallocate some funds. No one could prove it wasn't true.

So yeah, perhaps it was about time they'd changed this silly system. Malcolm was sure it'd blow up later. He hated being beholden to it, and who knew how future councilors would handle this issue?

"Malcolm, even you know your mother wouldn't really be okay with 'miscellaneous'," Bae said, dragging him away from his thoughts.

Athena was actually getting assigned the most miscellaneous projects and expenses, but Malcolm didn't feel a need to argue the point, seeing as it was her name that was slapped on all over the city.

"So it's not unreasonable," Pravir said, "that my mother won't like it. Neither will she like having to fund this. Look, let's just rearrange the funds, so her name doesn't need to be associated with…"—He scrunched his nose—"waste management."

Malcolm just sighed and let Adila take the reins.

"We can't do that," she said. "Everything else we have right now is already tied to something. Those gods were already promised that."

And, okay, it was partially on the two of them and the rest of the finance team for working ahead of schedule.

Adila went on. "Option B is to explain to residents why we'll be taking on debt when we already have the money and when we can't pay back the debt anytime soon."

"Ooh, get this. We can get a loan, then repay it next week," Pravir said, receiving "ah"s, nods, and shrugs from several councilors.

Malcolm tried not to get offended that they thought he, nor the entire finance department, wouldn't have considered that.

"That's Option C," Adila said. "But it also poses its own problems. Imagine announcing that a god's money was used to pay off a debt. Even if that doesn't get the gods to start thinking we're in trouble, it's not impactful or interesting or simple to say, 'Oh, thank you. You just repaid the debt we had for a week. From what? Oh, random things.' Or 'Oh, we can't tell you.' Because Aphrodite isn't the only god who wouldn't want to claim this waste management stuff. We'll end up with the same problem anyway.

"Now, Athena wouldn't mind footing these expenses, but we don't have any funds from her right now. And she certainly wouldn't appreciate us moving around money like shell companies just to hide the fact that we'd use money we have for something we want. We already have a right to do that, and I would hope we have the backbone for more transparency. As everyone around here seems to have promised to New Athenians."

At that, Adila took a seat.

As Malcolm nodded at her with a smile, he realized she was shaking.

Good job, he mouthed.

Behind pressed lips, she restrained her smile and proceeded to chug her water.

Amid a silence, save for a loud sigh from Pravir, assistance finally came in the form of Will.

"They're right," Will said. "This is actually necessary. Sooner or later, we'll have the same problem. We might as well set a precedent now when it's a necessary situation."

Maaza concurred. "And we can still thank Aphrodite for donating to the city. But it is not up to her to decide where any of that goes. Everybody knows that, including the gods."

"Whether they counted on it happening is a different matter," Malcolm said, "but, respectfully, we don't take donations to fulfill the gods' wishes. They donate because they believe in what we want to do. There's also less leeway when she's not a patron god."

Chiron sighed with a twinkle in his eye. "You're making my job very difficult, you know."

Ditto, he thought, but returned Chiron's smile. "That's why you chose to do it." .

"And that's why," Chiron said, clearly refraining from another sigh, "I will advise you that the city will need to give something up if you want to use her donation for this."

Resting her chin on her hand, Rayel trained her eyes on the centaur. "Chiron, who are you representing here?"

A clopping noise cut through the air as Chiron shifted on his hooves. "You know I am loyal," he said, frowning. "But I am being realistic. She may have already promised the donation, but if New Athens wants more funds from her and a productive long-term relationship with her—one beyond the length of all your lives, mind you—the city will need to keep her happy."

What was it Athena would suggest?

Malcolm thought about how much easier it was to work with Athena, who accepted his decisions with no issue. Who hadn't needed to be placated or lied to when New Athens had begun looking at Poseidon as its second patron god. Who would—upon just one offhanded ask on Annabeth's birthday—just offer to invest in their upcoming—

"We don't need to give something up," Malcolm said. "We could offer Aphrodite first dibs on our transportation bonds."

He was met with a combination of bulging and narrowed eyes, a "heh?", a "come again?", and Pravir's "this guy".

"She'd want transportation bonds," Malcolm said, ignoring Pravir's facepalm. "Preserving the value of her money—or even giving her a real return—so we can make the city look pretty in her name? So dirty air and bad vibes don't reek into her brand new altar? So there'd be more foot traffic around her place of worship? What's not to love?"

"Besides the obvious?" Will said. "This is, like, two strikes."

"Or three," Bae said. "Remember, Ares is trying to sell his cars to New Athenians? She'll definitely know about that."

Rayel fixed her piercing eyes onto Bae. "So?"

Bae shrugged. "If she doesn't take offense, Ares will."

"What's it to her?" Rayel said.

"Oh, come on," Bae said. "Just because it shouldn't… Just trying to be careful here."

"Ares isn't gonna wanna to mess up a city patroned by Athena and Poseidon," Malcolm pointed out. "That'd be stupid. He has more brains than that. Does he?" He turned to Chiron, who had already put on his be-careful face.

Beside Chiron, Chiara whirled her finger in the air. "It's already soundproof, Chiron. He wouldn't have heard."

"That aside, Venus—" Pravir began before waving his hand in correction. "Aphrodite could buy the bonds anyway."

"Athena wanted to cover the majority of it," Malcolm said. "We didn't need another big investor. But if we rejig it a bit, it could suit Aphrodite's tastes more. So we'd have the waste management money from her current donation, newtransportation money, and Athena's money—from next week—for another investment."

Reluctantly, the others went along and began by rebranding the transit investments as "beautification bonds". They included expenses for street plants, park trails, and whatever else they could that would convince the goddess her investment would almost purely be in aesthetics.

As convincingly as they could, the councilors described the new waste costs as an extension of the beautification program. Aphrodite's donation, they said, would be used to destroy any "funkiness" (Aphrodite apparently despised the word "funky") and to instill in the city a sensorily splendorous experience. At Ainsleigh's suggestion, they threw in actual fragrant flowers as part of the expenses.

Pushing themselves a little more to please Aphrodite, they brainstormed some more and rewrote every mention of "waste management" as "visual- and olfactory-targeted therapy".

It would look stupid as fuck to the New Athenians, but the councilors all doubted anyone would notice. Residents didn't keep up with waste management issues.

Though the whole scheme offered Athena less payback, Malcolm knew her logic made sure she would understand.

He remembered that evening on Olympus when he had sought her approval and aid for his grand idea. How he'd begun to sweat as the elevator of the Empire State Building lifted him to the 600th floor. How he'd willed his shaky hands to stay put as he said, 'Hi, Mom' and asked if she had time to chat. How he'd slowly found his footing and got on a roll as he made his case, telling her about how long he'd thought about this project and about all the time and effort he'd already put into it. And all the while, Athena had simply listened with her hands folded in her lap and the faintest smile on her face before she said, 'I know.'

So, if anything, Malcolm thought, as sureness, ease, and clarity returned to him at long last, she would be proud.

Chiron was to leave in the evening for another round of fundraising, so he asked Malcolm to visit the Big House at 3 for a quick chat—a request typically reserved for the shit-stirrers. Perhaps Malcolm actually was one now.

Decidedly promising himself to hold his ground, he accepted the invite and joined Chiron in the Big House for tea.

On the deck of the third floor, he found Chiron by one of the several tables taking in the view of the vast woods, Long Island Sound, and the rest of Camp Half-Blood.

Nose tickled by herbal tea and summer breeze, Malcolm squeezed past some lawn chairs on his way to Chiron and watched a group of shrieky campers slacklining in the basketball court as a nearby bunch set up tonight's DNC watch party.

"Right on time," Chiron smiled. "The tea should be ready right now." He gestured to their usual table. "How is Alicia?"

"She's all right. Happier these days," Malcolm said, taking a seat.

Weirdly, Chiron gave him that suspicious look that he often wore when he let newbies plan atrociously dumb capture the flag games.

Refusing to explain, Chiron simply filled their two cups.

It was dittany, Malcolm found. His cup of tea, not Chiron's preferred malotira.

Perhaps it was some sort of apology?

Chiron let him stew for a while before finally saying, "I need your assistance."

"We're already using your system—" Malcolm complained, stopping as Chiron put up a hand.

"This concerns Alicia."

"Oh? Is this about the guardianship? I thought you sorted the issue in Texas?"

"It's been sorted. I am her guardian now," Chiron assured. "No. Alicia… has become very creative." He paused to mirror Malcolm's smile. "So creative, in fact, that she will invent her own assignments during my classes. Perhaps it was because I was fundraising when she'd arrived—"

"Thank you," Malcolm cut in. He still didn't know where this was going, however.

"Of course. Perhaps it is because I wasn't there that she is less compliant to my directions than most demigods I've mentored."

Malcolm's brows scrunched. "Seriously? She doesn't listen to you?" A laugh began to bubble out of him.

"You have no trouble with her, I suppose?" Chiron said.

Malcolm laughed harder. "No."

"Ah. Why do you suppose that is?" Chiron said, before sipping his tea.

Fidgeting with his own teacup, Malcolm tried to think of a time he'd done something Alicia didn't want, and there reallywasn't a time— Oh.

He glanced at Chiron, who now wore a slight smile. "Am I really…?" Malcolm asked him.

Yeah, he answered when Chiron refused to.

Malcolm winced. "Oops?"

"It's uncomfortable for you," Chiron said. "You don't want to make her upset."

Malcolm didn't want to respond to that. It wasn't even a question anyway.

Once he stopped hiding behind his sips of tea, he went with the easiest of his questions. "What exactly does she do in your class?"

"When I assign something," Chiron said, "she will say she wants to do it later and then she'll draw schematics she's working on with Leo. I'll try to relate her interests to the task at hand…" he trailed off with a sigh. "And that sometimes works. Even so, it can't always be that way. It may be summer. She may have lost her father. And she deserves patience and kindness. But it won't be kind to her if we let this happen for too long."

'If you let this happen,' Malcolm heard.

It was fair and it was truthful, he supposed. And he really couldn't take much offense, because what was he supposed to know of parenting, really? All he had were, like, a year's worth of observations he'd just collected that he hadn't even known he should've studied, and memories that were too distant and biased to analyze from the other perspective.

That didn't, however, mean he'd had nothing to go with. And it really wasn't a proper excuse. He could've known enough. It had been right under his nose. He'd seen Alicia's reluctance to read books, to run laps, to write almost anything.

"She's… kind of a perfectionist," Malcolm realized aloud. "Like Sophie. But the opposite of Sophie."

Chiron nodded and rewarded him with a refill. "They respond very differently when presented challenges. Alicia doesn't want to try what she's afraid she will fail at."

"While Sophie throws herself into everything."

"Not unlike someone else I know," Chiron said. "Does he remember?"

The wormy sensation in Malcolm's chest made it easiest for him to just say, "Remember what?"

Chiron fought a smile and lowered his voice almost in a whisper. "Malcolm, your lies have always been more obvious than those of the Stolls when they have implicating evidence in their very hands."

Although Malcolm took the liberty of ignoring the comment, Chiron was too patient. Too seeing all the damn time.

Malcolm looked away for momentary reprieve, running his tongue over his teeth. When he was ready, he returned Chiron's unrelenting gaze. "The thing about being careful of what you do? Of what you commit yourself to?"

Chiron wasn't nodding yet.

"Because we have limited resources like time and mental capacity. So we should optimize how we spend them," Malcolm concluded definitively.

Chiron smiled in his knowing way. "Because," he said as Malcolm already braced himself, "you are the kind of person who would be good at anything. You are Athena's child after all. Alicia is, too, and she deserves the guidance that will land her in that same predicament."

AN: I finally got to put Chiron in here for real! I've been waiting to do that. But writing a wise character is always a challenge. So I kind of threw in stuff a prof had said to me lol. We had our differences and I still try not to resent that she gave me a less than stellar grade for a few assignments lmao. But what she said to me after the course was over is still the biggest compliment and the most thought-provoking advice I've ever been given, and it's stuck with me for years. It was something she'd been told by her own prof, and I thought it'd be nice to keep passing along that compliment/advice. So... be careful of what you do, folks. I don't know you, but you may very well be the type of people who would be good at anything. :)

See you soon! Hoping to wrap up Part 2 next weekend!