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The storm swallowed the hill in a swirling cone of black vapor.
Arion charged straight into it.
Hazel found herself at the summit, but it felt like a different dimension. The world lost its color. The walls of the storm encircled the hill in murky black. The sky churned grey. The crumbling ruins were bleached so white that they almost glowed. Even Arion had turned from caramel brown to a dark shade of ash.
In the eye of the tempest, the air was still. Hazel's skin tingled coolly, as if she had been rubbed with alcohol. In front of her, an arched gateway led through mossy walls into some sort of enclosure.
Hazel couldn't see much through the gloom, but she felt a presence within, as if she were a chunk of iron close to a large magnet. Its pull was irresistible, dragging her forward.
Yet she hesitated. She reined in Arion, and he clopped impatiently, the ground crackling under his hooves. Wherever he stepped, the grass, dirt and stones turned white like frost. Hazel remembered the Hubbard Glacier in Alaska — how the surface had cracked under their feet. She remembered the floor of that horrible cavern in Rome crumbling to dust, plunging Percy and Rory into Tartarus.
She hoped this black and white hilltop wouldn't dissolve under her, but she decided it was best to keep moving.
"Let's go, then, boy." Her voice sounded muffled, as if she were speaking into a pillow.
Arion trotted through the stone archway. Ruined walls bordered a square courtyard about the size of a tennis court. Three other gateways, one in the middle of each wall, led north, east and west. In the center of the yard, two cobblestone paths intersected, making a cross. Mist hung in the air — hazy shreds of white that coiled and undulated as if they were alive.
Not mist, Hazel realized. The Mist.
All her life, she had heard about the Mist — the supernatural veil that obscured the world of myth from the sight of mortals. It could deceive humans, even demigods, into seeing monsters as harmless animals, or gods as regular people.
Hazel had never thought of it as actual smoke, but as she watched it curling around Arion's legs, floating through the broken arches of the ruined courtyard, the hairs stood up on her arms. Somehow she knew — this white stuff was pure magic.
In the distance, a dog howled. Arion wasn't usually scared of anything, but he reared, huffing nervously.
"It's okay." Hazel stroked his neck. "We're in this together. I'm going to get down, all right?"
She slid off Arion's back. Instantly he turned and ran.
"Arion, wai—"
But he had already disappeared the way he had come.
