Novel & Cerita Captain Charles Vane Black Sails

"Sit. Drink?" "No thanks," I replied, dropping into the seat. My legs still felt shaky from the night with Kade, but I kept my face straight. "What is this about? We got a game tomorrow." Vance leaned back, smiling like we were old pals. "Straight to business. I like that about you, Evan. Most captains kiss ass first. But you? You carry that whole team on your back. Must be exhausting." I shrugged. "Part of the job. You called me here for a reason. Spit it out."

I tried again, louder. “Hey. I’m Lena Hale from the Northcrest Daily. I need to set up an interview with you for a feature.” Cole finally slowed down and glided over. He stopped right in front of me, still on the ice while I stood on the rubber mats. Up close he was even taller than I thought. His eyes were this crazy light blue, almost gray. Cold. He looked at me like I was wasting his time. I waited. He said nothing. “Good communication skills for a captain,” I said, unable to keep the sarcasm out.

Vance reached down, picked up a heavy iron marker representing his own elite personal guard—the Black-Iron Hussars—and slammed it down onto the map directly at the mouth of the Whispering Coves. "Renard!" Vance roared toward the doorway. "Sir!" the captain appeared instantly, his breath coming in short gasps. "Take two hundred of the iron-clads and every barrel of unrefined oil we have left in the reserve. We aren't going to meet them on the beach. We are going to let them climb halfway up those cliffs, and then we are going to burn the very rocks beneath their fingers. Move!" As the officers scattered to execute his commands, Vance reached into his tunic and pulled out a small, tarnished si

The war room in Blackwater Port was not a room of polished stone and ancient maps, but the Admiral's private cabin aboard his flagship, *The Sea Serpent*. The air was thick with the scent of tar, salt, and the faint, sweet smell of the rum Thorne poured into two heavy pewter mugs. The ship rocked gently at its moorings, a constant, reassuring reminder of the power that slept at their fingertips.

I grabbed Elle from the waves and swam toward the back of the dome. We climbed onto a small ledge just as the white dome began to groan. The virus was spreading through the ship’s systems. "Vance! Get the boat moving!" I yelled. But Vance wasn't looking at the boat. He was looking at the sky. A fleet of black jets was screaming toward us from the north. And they weren't firing at Silas. They were firing at us. "The Board is cleaning the house!" Vance shouted. "They're going to sink everything!"

screens began to turn black. "Hello, Father," the boy’s voice whispered through the intercom. "Thank you for reopening the line of credit. I’ve been waiting in the 'Deleted Items' for a long time." The Mid-Point: The Siege of the Spire In New York, the "Re-Formatting" of the black ships hit a catastrophic snag. The ships that were turning into libraries suddenly halted, their hulls sprouting obsidian thorns. The iridescent light of Hope Thorne-Vance began to flicker as a bronze-colored signal began to broadcast from the Basement in the Suburbs.

That cruel, demonesque smirk. It spoke louder and clearer than any word could ever say. He was going to find me and when he does... I clenched my eyes shut as my thoughts clouded. Through the haze of it, I could only see one thing on the canvas of my mind. My greys intermingled with black and then I was thrown into an odyssey of darkness. A maze of questions that didn't have answers. Madeline's form that awash the canvas scarlet and beside that Marienne's beautiful Turquoise eyes that held hatred for me.

Her voice cracked—barely more than a broken whisper carried away on the wind. The headlights blinded her. The world spun violently. Her knees gave way, and the road rushed up to meet her. She collapsed in a crumpled heap on the cold asphalt, consciousness slipping away like sand through her fingers, the faint sound of screeching brakes echoing in her ears as darkness claimed her.

To his horror the writhing waters about her feet were slowly turning black, a pool of India ink that was spreading at a rate of knots. The men on the ship were now moaning in terror. The sky was becoming so dark there was no definition, just an ebony infinity, space with no stars. And in the fading light, the men could see things moving in the shadows, things that were difficult to define, their form as undulating as the ocean about them. The captain watched the ocean turn to black sackcloth and then the world was as shadow. He stepped back from the side of the ship and lost his footing. He landed on his backside and his Bible went spinning into the darkness.