The Black Buccaneer - Chapter - 42

The waves crashed gently against the stone-strewn shore as the ship, Tempest, anchored by the coastline of southern France. The salty wind carried the scent of blooming wildflowers mixed with the crispness of the sea—familiar, calming. Captain Sirius Black—known to the world here as Jacques Lupine—stood at the helm in silence, eyes scanning the stretch of land that held one of his oldest European safehouses.

It had been weeks since Angelica vanished—weeks of fruitless searching, dead ends, and whispered sightings. Tortuga had offered nothing but rumors. Spain had turned up ghosts. And now… now he was chasing shadows in Europe.

Sirius disembarked alone.

The path leading up from the beach was hidden behind a cascade of wild vines and old stones, and only Sirius could pass through the magical wards unharmed. As he stepped across the invisible barrier, the warmth of old enchantments hummed around him like a familiar embrace.

The manor itself stood like a slumbering beast—imposing yet elegant, carved in old marble and enchanted wood. With a wave of his hand, the doors creaked open, revealing dustless halls lit by enchanted lanterns that flickered to life at his presence.

Inside his study, Sirius walked to the grand oak desk and sat with a heavy breath. With quill in hand and parchment unrolled, he wrote with focused purpose:


Angelica,

If you're alive—and I believe with every part of me that you are—this letter will find you.

I don't know what happened to you after the Sea Whisper fell, and I've searched every known coast to find your trail. But I also know you're strong, stubborn, and far too clever to die quietly.

If you're hurt, if you're lost, or if you're simply searching for your path—I will wait.

Come back to me. Wherever you are, I need to know you're safe.

– Henry


With practiced ease, Sirius tied the parchment to the leg of a magnificent grey owl perched quietly beside his desk. The owl blinked once, understanding its task. Sirius opened the window, and with a burst of wind, the owl soared into the endless blue sky.

Sirius stood by the window long after the owl vanished into the clouds.

“She’s alive,” he muttered to himself. “Otherwise, the owl wouldn’t fly.”

A deep breath left his lungs, heavier than he expected.

A soft knock sounded from the door behind him. One of his house-elves peeked through, holding a tray with wine and fresh bread.

“Would Master Jacques like to eat?” the creature asked gently.

Sirius turned and gave a small smile. “Yes… and tell the others not to disturb me tonight. I need to think.”

He took the wine in hand, walked to the balcony overlooking the sea, and stared into the horizon where wind met wave.

He didn’t know where Angelica was.

But the owl flew.

That was enough.

For now.


The mist rolled across the deck of the Queen Anne's Revenge, casting a cold veil over the horizon. Beneath a full moon, Angelica Rivera stood silently by the rail, her hands clutching the cold wood, eyes fixed on the undulating sea. The water shimmered with ghostly light, and the sails above her creaked against the wind. Somewhere behind her, the groan of the ship’s enchanted timbers and the hushed murmurs of her father’s crew echoed like distant voices from the grave.

She didn’t shiver. Not from the cold.

She missed Henry.

Every gust of wind reminded her of the nights they’d shared aboard the Sea Whisper. The way he held her during storms, the way his eyes flickered gold when they talked under lantern light. And now, with no way of knowing where he was or if he even believed she was alive, the silence between them weighed like an anchor on her chest.

“Still awake, girl?”

She turned at the deep, weathered voice behind her. Her father, Edward Teach, loomed in the doorway of the captain’s quarters, his tall frame wrapped in a black, embroidered coat. His beard, black as night, looked like twisted cords of rope in the moonlight. His eyes, sharp and unreadable, studied her for a moment before he stepped out onto the deck.

“I always found peace at sea,” he said, stepping beside her. “Even when the world hated me. The sea—she always welcomed me back.”

“I’m not sure she’s welcoming anymore,” Angelica replied quietly. “She’s taken more from me than she’s given.”

Teach raised a brow. “The man, you mean. This… Henry.”

Angelica didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.

“I know what it’s like,” he muttered. “To lose someone. To believe they’ve been stolen from you. That’s why I kept you safe all these years. Sent gold to that cursed convent. Watched from the shadows. I gave up everything, Angelica, so that you could live clean of the life I chose.”

“And now you drag me into it,” she said, turning to face him, her voice soft but not cold. Angelica frowned. “You said something about a treasure…”

Blackbeard reached into his coat and pulled out a carefully wrapped bundle. He unrolled it to reveal a weathered map, its parchment old and worn, covered in glyphs and drawings that pulsed with a soft blue glow under the moonlight.

“This,” he said, “is a map to the Sword of the Windcaller. A blade forged by a sorcerer-captian centuries ago. A man who sailed the oceans alone, commanding his ship with magic and wind. They say he created the sword to harness the power of the skies. Wind, wave, storm… all bent to his will.”

Angelica leaned in, eyes wide.

“With that sword,” Blackbeard continued, “one doesn’t need a fleet. One ship is enough. You control the wind, you control the sea. No navy, no rival, no storm can touch you.”

She looked up at him. “Why now? Why are you looking for it?”

Blackbeard’s eyes gleamed. “Because I’ve conquered every port. Burned my name into every kingdom’s nightmares. But I want to rule the sea itself. And with this sword, I can. I will.”

Angelica hesitated. “And what about me?”

He looked at her, and for the first time, she saw a softness in his face. “You’re my legacy. I want you by my side. You were born of the sea, raised by fire. Help me find the sword, Angelica. And together, we’ll rule the oceans.”

She said nothing for a while.

She missed Henry more than she could say. But this quest… it stirred something inside her too. Something old, something fierce.

“I’ll help you,” she said at last. “But when this is done, I get to decide where I go next.”

Blackbeard nodded. “Deal.”

Below them, the ship creaked as if answering the pact. The wind picked up, filling the sails as the Queen Anne's Revenge cut a path through the night—chasing a myth that could reshape the balance of power in all the seas.

Just as her father rolled the map back into its oilskin sheath, a strange flapping sound cut through the silence.

A dark shape soared through the night sky—fast, deliberate, and silent as a shadow.

Angelica looked up. “What in the world...?”

The owl—large and proud with piercing amber eyes—swooped low and landed neatly on the rail beside her. Its talons gripped the wood with practiced ease. Both Angelica and Edward stared, stunned, as the creature calmly raised one leg to reveal a small, tightly tied scroll secured with a thin red ribbon.

Angelica blinked. “Is that... a letter?”

Edward’s eyes narrowed sharply. “That’s no ordinary bird.”

With gentle fingers, Angelica untied the scroll. The owl tilted its head, watching her with intelligent eyes.

Unrolling the parchment, she began to read, her lips moving silently at first. But then her hands trembled slightly.

She smiled. Her heart surged with warmth.

“I can’t believe it…” she whispered. “Henry send me this.”

Blackbeard leaned closer, suspicious. “Let me see that.”

Angelica hesitated for a moment, then handed him the scroll. Edward scanned it quickly. His eyes lingered not on the words, but on the owl.

He muttered, “Only one kind sends messages this way…”

Angelica raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Edward didn’t look away from the owl. “A wizard.”

She blinked. “What? That’s ridiculous.”

He handed the scroll back. “I once met a sorcerer in the East Indies. Saved his ship from a cyclone. In return, he showed me... things. Powers you wouldn't believe. He sent letters with birds like this. An owl trained to fly anywhere, to find anyone—living.”

Angelica frowned, clutching the letter close to her chest. “Henry isn’t a wizard.”

Edward shrugged. “He might not show it. But he knows someone who is. Or he is one. Either way, you don’t keep company with a wizard and hide it without a reason.”

“Papa…” she said cautiously, “he never used magic. Never carried a wand. He’s just… clever. Educated.”

Edward’s expression darkened into something thoughtful. “And yet… He send you a letter, the middle of nowhere.”

He looked at the owl again with newfound interest. “Powerful allies. Wizards.”

Angelica sighed. “I don’t care if he’s a wizard or not. He’s Henry. He was looking for me.”

The owl gave a soft hoot. It hadn’t left its perch.

Angelica tilted her head. “Wait… it’s not leaving.”

Edward smirked. “It’s waiting for a reply.”

She turned without hesitation and rushed down into the captain’s quarters. On the old desk were ink, parchment, and a feathered quill. She didn’t even sit—just leaned over and wrote swiftly.

Henry,
I’m alive. I’m with my father. He found me… and I chose to stay. He’s on a quest, something he’s wanted for a long time, and I owe him this. But I’m safe. I promise. I’ll return to you. Please don’t come looking. I’ll find you when it’s done.
—Angelica.

She rolled the parchment and tied it with the same red ribbon. The owl accepted it without fuss, fluttered once, and then launched into the air with a graceful sweep of its wings.

They watched it disappear into the stars.

Edward folded his arms. “He’s clever. I’ll give him that.”

Angelica turned to her father. “When this quest is over… I want to take you to meet him. Properly.”

Edward nodded. “And I’ll be the one asking the questions. If this Henry Creed is to have my daughter, I want to know exactly what kind of man—or wizard—he is.”

Angelica laughed, but it was soft, pensive. The journey wasn’t over. But now, the sea felt a little less lonely.

Angelica stood at the bow of the The Queen Anne's Revenge, the ship of her father. The salty wind tousled her long, dark curls as she clutched the rail, staring at the distant horizon.

Behind her, on the main deck, laughter erupted—rough and crude, from a dozen hardened men who had served under Blackbeard for years. The scent of rum, sweat, and blood carried across the wind.

And somewhere on that deck, her father—her long-lost protector—was sharpening his blade.

Two hours ago, they’d sunk a merchant vessel.

No warning. No hail. No flag of parley.

Just cannon fire.

Angelica had stood on the quarterdeck, horrified, as men screamed from the other ship. Smoke curled into the sky. Bodies fell. And when she turned to her father in disbelief, he merely said:

“The sea is no place for the slow, little bird.”

Later, in the captain’s quarters, she confronted him.

Angelica is angry, “They didn’t fire on us. They didn’t even have weapons. They were hauling food and cloth.”

Blackbeard (leaning back in his chair, eyes dark beneath his tricorn) replied,“Then they had nothing worth stealing. What’s the loss?”

Angelica frowned, “You didn’t even board them. You didn’t ask. You just... killed them.”

He gave a shrug, as if it were the weather they were discussing.

“What kind of aim will my men have when it truly matters, if they don’t fire their cannons now and then?”

Angelica stared at him like he was a stranger. A part of her wished she could be a child again, clinging to the memory of the father she hoped he was. But that illusion had shattered like glass on rock.

“This isn’t practice. It’s slaughter.”

Blackbeard said nothing. His face didn’t change.

That night, Angelica stood again at the bow, watching the stars begin to emerge.

Her hands were stained with the black powder of the cannons. Her boots wet with sea spray—and blood.

She had not given the order. But she had not stopped it.

And that made her guilty.

She had captained a ship before—the Sea Whisperer—and though she’d defended herself, she’d never hunted. Never attacked. The men who sailed under her had respected her, not feared her.

Now… she heard whispers when she passed the crew. “Captain’s girl.” “Little Blackbeard.”

She couldn’t decide which was worse.

And what gnawed at her most was Henry.

Henry, with his quiet confidence and his curious eyes. A man who treated the world with reason and caution, not chaos and cruelty.

Henry, who had never told her what to do—but always inspired her to be better than she thought she could be.

How could she tell him?

How could she confess that she was now a pirate? That her hands were red? That she stood beside a man who burned ships for sport?

What if he looked at her not with love—but with disappointment?

What if he left?

She touched the gold ring he had given her. A token of his devotion. A promise that no matter what the world was, they would have each other.

“I’ll find you when it’s over,” she whispered. “But will I be someone you still want to find?”

Behind her, the crew sang a shanty about a sea god with a hundred mouths.

And Angelica, fiance of Henry Creed, closed her eyes and tried to remember who she used to be.