The Son of Neptune by Rick Riordan Page B

before. He’d fought plenty of them himself on his journey from Vancouver. But he’d never seen gorgons. He’d never seen a goddess in person. And the way Percy had controlled the Little Tiber—wow. Frank wished he had powers like that.
    He could still feel the gorgons’ claws pressing into his arms and smell their snaky breath—like dead mice and poison. If not for Percy, those grotesque hags would have carried him away. He’d be a pile of bones in the back of a Bargain Mart by now.
    After the incident at the river, Reyna had sent Frank to the armory, which had given him way too much time to think.
    While he polished swords, he remembered Juno, warning them to unleash Death.
    Unfortunately Frank had a pretty good idea of what the goddess meant. He had tried to hide his shock when Juno had appeared, but she looked exactly like his grandmother had described—right down to the goatskin cape.
    She chose your path years ago, Grandmother had told him. And it will not be easy.
    Frank glanced at his bow in the corner of the armory. He’d feel better if Apollo would claim him as a son. Frank had been sure his godly parent would speak up on his sixteenth birthday, which had passed two weeks ago.
    Sixteen was an important milestone for Romans. It had been Frank’s first birthday at camp. But nothing had happened. Now Frank hoped he would be claimed on the Feast of Fortuna, though from what Juno had said, they’d be in a battle for their lives on that day.
    His father had to be Apollo. Archery was the only thing Frank was good at. Years ago, his mother had told him that their family name, Zhang , meant “master of bows” in Chinese. That must have been a hint about his dad.
    Frank put down his polishing rags. He looked at the ceiling. “Please, Apollo, if you’re my dad, tell me. I want to be an archer like you.”
    “No, you don’t,” a voice grumbled.
    Frank jumped out of his seat. Vitellius, the Fifth Cohort’s Lar, was shimmering behind him . His full name was Gaius Vitellius Reticulus, but the other cohorts called him Vitellius the Ridiculous.
    “Hazel Levesque sent me to check on you,” Vitellius said, hiking up his sword belt. “Good thing, too. Look at the state of this armor!”
    Vitellius wasn’t one to talk. His toga was baggy, his tunic barely fit over his belly, and his scabbard fell off his belt every three seconds, but Frank didn’t bother pointing that out.
    “As for archers,” the ghost said, “they’re wimps! Back in my day, archery was a job for barbarians. A good Roman should be in the fray, gutting his enemy with spear and sword like a civilized man! That’s how we did it in the Punic Wars. Roman up, boy!”
    Frank sighed. “I thought you were in Caesar’s army.”
    “I was!”
    “Vitellius, Caesar was hundreds of years after the Punic Wars. You couldn’t have been alive that long.”
    “Questioning my honor?” Vitellius looked so mad, his purple aura glowed. He drew his ghostly gladius and yelled, “Take that!”
    He ran the sword, which was about as deadly as a laser pointer, through Frank’s chest a few times.
    “Ouch,” Frank said, just to be nice.
    Vitellius looked satisfied and put his sword away. “Perhaps you’ll think twice about doubting your elders next time! Now…it was your sixteenth birthday recently, wasn’t it?”
    Frank nodded. He wasn’t sure how Vitellius knew this, since Frank hadn’t told anyone except Hazel, but ghosts had ways of finding out secrets. Eavesdropping while invisible was probably one of them.
    “So that’s why you’re such a grumpy gladiator,” the Lar said. “Understandable. The sixteenth birthday is your day of manhood! Your godly parent should have claimed you, no doubt about it, even if with only a small omen. Perhaps he thought you were younger. You look younger, you know, with that pudgy baby face.”“Thanks for reminding me,” Frank muttered.
    “Yes, I remember my sixteenth,” Vitellius said happily. “Wonderful omen!