Of Greeks And Romans (Leo Valdez x Reader)

LII

Frank

Frank took the quickest possible shower. put on the clothes Hazel had set out—an olive-green shirt with beige cargo pants, really?—then grabbed his spare bow and quiver and bounded up the attic stairs.

The attic was full of weapons. His family had collected enough ancient armaments to supply an army. Shields, spears, and quivers of arrows hung along one wall—almost as many as in the Camp Jupiter armory. At the back window, a scorpion crossbow was mounted and loaded, ready for action. At the front window stood something that looked like a machine gun with a cluster of barrels.

“Rocket launcher?” he wondered aloud.

“Nope, nope,” said a voice from the corner. “Potatoes. Ella doesn’t like potatoes.”

The harpy had made a nest for herself between two old steamer trunks. She was sitting in a pile of Chinese scrolls, reading seven or eight at once.

“Ella,” Frank said, “where are the others?”

“Roof.” She glanced upward, then returned to her reading, alternately picking at her feathers and turning pages. “Roof. Ogre-watching. Ella doesn’t like ogres. Potatoes.”

“Potatoes?” Frank didn’t understand until he swiveled the machine gun around. Its eight barrels were loaded with spuds. At the base of the gun, a basket was filled with more edible ammunition.

He looked out the window—the same window his mom had watched him from when he had met the bear. Down in the yard, the ogres were milling around, shoving each other, occasionally yelling at the house, and throwing bronze cannonballs that exploded in midair.

“They have cannonballs,” Frank said. “And we have a potato gun.”

“Starch,” Ella said thoughtfully. “Starch is bad for ogres.”

The house shook from another explosion. Frank needed to reach the roof and see how Percy and Hazel were doing, but he felt bad leaving Ella alone.

He knelt next to her, careful not to get too close. “Ella, it’s not safe here with the ogres. We’re going to be flying to Alaska soon. Will you come with us?”
Ella twitched uncomfortably. “Alaska. Six hundred twenty-six thousand, four hundred twenty-five square miles.

State mammal: the moose.”
Suddenly she switched to Latin, which Frank could just barely follow thanks to his classes at Camp Jupiter:

“To the north, beyond the gods, lies the legion’s crown. Falling from ice, the son of Neptune shall drown—” She stopped and scratched her disheveled red hair. “Hmm. Burned. The rest is burned.”

Frank could hardly breathe. “Ella, was…was that a prophecy? Where did you read that?”

“Moose,” Ella said, savoring the word. “Moose. Moose. Moose.”

The house shook again. Dust rained down from the rafters. Outside, an ogre bellowed, “Frank Zhang! Show yourself!”

“Nope,” Ella said. “Frank shouldn’t. Nope.”

“Just…stay here, okay?” Frank said. “I’ve got to go help Hazel and Percy.”
He pulled down the ladder to the roof.

“Morning,” Percy said grimly. “Beautiful day, huh?” He wore the same clothes as the day before—jeans, his purple T-shirt, and Polartec jacket—but they’d obviously been freshly washed. He held his sword in one hand and a garden hose in the other. Why there was a garden hose on the roof, Frank wasn’t sure, but every time the giants sent up a cannonball, Percy summoned a high-powered blast of water and detonated the sphere in midair. Then Frank remembered—his family was descended from Poseidon, too. Grandmother had said their house had been attacked before. Maybe they had put a hose up here for just that reason.