The Blackhope Enigma Read Online Free Page B

coming for them. But the signal was as dead as everything else here. Her eyes prickled as she pushed back frustrated tears.
    Sunni stuffed the phone down to the bottom of her backpack and glanced at the landscape outside the city. A few cattle stood in pastures edged by woods. In the distance were craggy hills.
    Suddenly she saw something small and dark scuttling along the road through the fields. It was wearing a red hat.

F or what seemed like the fortieth time, Blaise flipped over onto his left side and then onto his right. He was asleep, but only just. First he dreamed he was standing outside
The Mariner’s Return to Arcadia
, looking in. Then he was inside it, hunting for Sunni and Dean.
    His mouth was dry and sour when he finally dragged himself awake. He tiptoed to the kitchen and poured some juice for himself, then dropped the container with a thud.
    His father poked his head around the door. “Blaise? What’s up?”
    “Nothing, Dad,” replied Blaise, mopping the countertop. “Just can’t sleep.”
    “That’s not like you, buddy. You feeling sick or something?”
    “Or something, yeah.” He drained his juice and rinsed the glass.
    “Anything going on at school?” Mr. Doran stood in the doorway.
    “I’m fine.”
    His father gently caught his shoulder as Blaise pushed past him.
    “You know you can tell me anything,” he said.
    “I know, Dad,” said Blaise.
But not this time
. He padded down the hall and fell back into bed.
    He couldn’t get Sunni out of his head, her image translucent and fading, the sleepy look on her face.
Chiaroscuro, chiaroscuro
. Blaise’s mind spun around and around till dawn, when at last he drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.
    The next day, Braeside High School’s corridors hummed with discussions of Sunni’s and Dean’s disappearance. Boys shook their heads and girls hugged each other as teachers tried to herd them into classrooms.
    Blaise darted in and out of his friends’ conversations, agreeing with them that the disappearances were freaky and tough for their family. But when his friends asked each other when they had last seen Sunni, he kept quiet.
    That afternoon, Blaise sat in Mr. Bell’s art class, staring at the blank sheet of paper in front of him. This was the place he usually felt happiest, with its colorful jumble of artwork on the walls and relaxed atmosphere. But today he couldn’t wait to get away. Gazing at Sunni’s empty seat, he wondered where she was in the painting and whether she had found Dean.
Could they have escaped by now?
    Around him the other students whispered to each other, and as they worked, Blaise picked out the words “Sunni” and “Blackhope Tower” and “police investigation.” Feeling out of it from lack of sleep, he could only manage to draw a few scratchy lines before erasing them in disgust.
    At the end of the lesson Blaise dropped his scrunched-up drawing in the trash and waited by Mr. Bell’s desk until the other students had gone.
    “Is everything OK, Blaise?” said the art teacher. “You didn’t seem your usual self today. Are you worried about Sunni?”
    Blaise thrust his hands into his pockets. “Uh, yeah,” he said. “And I’m having some problems finding information on my artist for the project.”
    “Oh? That doesn’t sound too serious. Who are you researching?”
    “Fausto Corvo.”
    “Corvo? You too?” Lorimer Bell’s hand trembled as he ran it over his shaved head. “I do have a book about him, but I’m afraid I lent it to Sunni. Did you know she’s also doing Corvo?”
    “Yes, but we talked about it.”
    “I would tell you to share the book with her, but under the circumstances — well, you know that’s not possible.” Mr. Bell shook his head sadly. “There is a painting by Corvo at Blackhope Towe —”
    “I know. I’ve been there,” interrupted Blaise. “Do you know anything else about Corvo, Mr. Bell? Did you, like, ever hear anything unusual about him?”
    The art teacher