"This is no joke," Nico warned. "There is only one way to stay anchored to your

mortal life. You have to . . ."

 

He glanced behind me and his eyes widened. I turned and found myself

face-to-face with a Greek warrior.

 

For a second I thought he was Ares, because this guy looked exactly like the god

of war — tall and buff, with a cruel scarred face and closely shaved black hair.

He wore a white tunic and bronze armor. He held a plumed war helm under his arm.

But his eyes were human — pale green like a shallow sea — and a bloody arrow

stuck out of his left calf, just above the ankle.

 

I stunk at Greek names, but even I knew the greatest warrior of all time, who

had died from a wounded heel.

 

'Achilles," I said.

 

The ghost nodded. "I warned the other one not to follow my path. Now I will warn

you."

 

"Luke? You spoke with Luke?"

 

"Do not do this," he said. "It will make you powerful. But it will also make you

weak. Your prowess in combat will be beyond any mortal's, but your weaknesses,