Sneak Peek! THE VEIL OF SECRETS

It’s COVER REVEAL DAY! So as our gift to you, we’re offering you free early access to chapter 1 of THE VEIL OF SECRETS, the new paranormal thriller by Betsey Kulakowski and JB Caine. What you see below is the beginning of Chapter 1.

When you reach the end of this segment, click the link, and you’ll be directed to the end of Chapter 1 (on JB’s blog).

Want to know when the next adventure is coming out? Please feel free to subscribe to our newsletters while you’re visiting our sites! You’ll find links at the bottom of our blog pages where you can input your email.

Like what you see? PREORDER NOW! Available July 7, 2025 — but you can preorder your copy TODAY and be the first to uncover the secrets waiting on the other side…

The Veil of Secrets - Kindle edition by Caine, JB, Kulakowski, Betsey. Mystery, Thriller & Suspense Kindle eBooks @ Amazon.com.

CHAPTER 1: A STUDY IN CHARCOAL AND BLOOD

Niall Roth stumbled out of the Sevenoaks Station and ducked into a shop doorway to make sure he hadn’t been followed. There was a chill in the November air, and he was grateful for it. The early dusk and bustling crowds gave him cover. He watched the London Road exit for a couple of minutes, and once satisfied, he crossed over to Hitchen Hatch Lane and tried to look inconspicuous despite the bloody lip and emerging bruise along his left cheek. The other injuries were hidden by his coat, and he pulled it tight around him.

If he could just get to Wrens’ place, he could claim Sanctuary. Even with the semi-bad blood between them, Beatrice couldn’t deny him shelter, and he could nurse his injuries and get his prize into safer hands.

An elderly couple walking a froufrou white dog (complete with a Union Jack bow between its ears) gave him a sideways glance as he passed them on the sidewalk, and he was fairly certain he heard the woman mutter the word pub as soon as they thought they were out of earshot. He smirked, glad that they’d supplied their own explanation for his appearance and wishing that he’d gotten his arse kicked over a pint rather than at the hands of the Covenant’s thugs.

Beatrice’s house came into view, and there were lights on in the sitting room. He imagined her sitting by the fireplace reading one of her dusty old books. The thought warmed him, but the feeling passed quickly when he considered that her husband Simon might well add another bruise to his face if he was the one to open the door.

Niall hazarded another glance behind him, and seeing no one, he made his way across the cobbled drive. He ducked behind the safety of a hedge that partially obscured the door. Then he rang the bell and waited, nervous at the reception he might get. His mission's success would override any personal vendettas, he decided, so when he heard footsteps approaching, he let his shoulders relax. The latch clicked and the door swung inward.

“Sanctu …” he began, but stopped when he saw the young woman studying him from the doorway.

“Can I help you? If you’re peddling anything, we aren’t interested.” Her sandy blond hair was draped over her shoulder in a messy braid, and she crossed her arms over her chest as he fumbled for a response. She was the perfect picture of Beatrice in her younger days, but with an edge to her that Beatrice had never had, at least not while he’d known her. One of her daughters, then, certainly.

“I … I’m looking for Beatrice and Simon Wren,” he stammered.

“They’re on holiday in Spain. You’d know that if you’d phoned first. What’s this about?” She narrowed her eyes at him, panic sinking in as his escape plan began to crumble.

“I … uh, I’m a friend of theirs from … work, and …” One would think he’d be better at making up cover stories by now.

There was a spark of recognition in the woman’s eyes and then a glare. “What were you saying when I opened the door?”

He hesitated a moment, but her possible knowledge of the Order was his only chance. “S-sanctuary.”

“Come inside, then, quickly.” She ushered him in and locked the door. His breath whooshed out in relief as he stood in the foyer. “This is highly irregular,” she chided him. “But I’ll help if I can. Who are you?” She indicated for him to sit on a leather loveseat in the tiny study just inside the door.

“I’m Niall Roth. I’ve been on a mission.” He couldn’t think of anything else to add since he wasn’t sure how much Simon and Beatrice had told their children. Three of them, he remembered now. It had been so long.

“My name’s Eliza,” the woman said. “Stay here and I’ll get some ice for your face.” She turned abruptly and headed down the hallway toward the kitchen. “ESME!” she yelled up the stairs. “Esme, get down here!”

In the kitchen, Eliza fumbled with the plastic bag’s seal, silently cursing the fact that these convenient zipper seals were rarely convenient at all. After a moment’s struggle, she managed to pull the sides apart so she could fill the bag with ice. She grabbed a clean tea towel from the drawer, making sure it wasn’t one of the monogrammed ones, just in case she couldn’t get the blood stains out later.

Esme hadn’t emerged, of course. No doubt she was painting something and was far away in her imagination, unaware that Eliza had even summoned her. “Esme!” she called up the stairs again, but to no avail. She returned to the man in the study, who had opened his coat and was pressing tenderly on his ribs.

“I might need a bit more ice,” he smiled wanly. He looked to be about 60, if she had to guess. A little old for a field agent, maybe, but not unheard of. Her parents had just retired from field work a few years ago, and she suspected that they still took on low-risk missions from time to time.

“What happened to you, Niall? Shouldn’t we get you to hospital?” She handed him the ice and he placed it gingerly on his swollen lip.

“Priorities, dear girl.” He attempted to smile, but winced instead. “Are you … of the Order?”

“I know of the Aegis Order, of course, but I work with the research and development side rather than Aegis Secundus. I don’t have much inclination toward field work. I’m a physicist.”

Niall’s brows twitched. “Ah, I see. Well, I think the first business we should attend to is to reach out to the Order so I can … report on my mission.”

Eliza suspected that meant that he had an artifact in his possession which he needed to turn over to the Order for protection. “How dangerous is the artifact?” she asked.

Startled by her directness, he paused, assessing her. Surely a daughter of the Wrens was trustworthy. “Potentially quite dangerous if someone managed to weaponize it,” he answered.

“So we need to get you to London, then,” she decided. “Let me find my sister. I can’t take off without letting her know what’s happening. Then we’ll get you to the Chapter House.”

Niall nodded, his shoulders unknotting. He’d really dodged danger this time. Probably he should retire and leave this stuff to the young ones. Field work wasn’t as fun as it used to be.

Esme pinched the charcoal between her fingers as she pictured her mother’s face. She often sketched Mother, and she’d recently seen a photo of her parents on their wedding day. It was an over-the-shoulder shot of her father, but the look on her mother’s face was one she’d never seen before. The pure adoration of the young and hopeful, Esme thought, their whole lives ahead of them.

Mother and Father still loved each other, of course, but this face … this young woman had existed before Esme had been born. She wondered if this bride still lived somewhere inside of Beatrice.

She drew the familiar curve of her mother’s face as meditation music flowed through her earbuds. That first line was always her favorite.

Her mother was the most beautiful woman in the world.

She lifted the charcoal to draw the hairline when the feeling seized her. She gasped as her vision became obscured by phantasmic black cloth. She could feel the charcoal’s downward motion, increasingly frenetic and sharp. A sense of despair filled her and whispering voices moaned in her ears, drowning out the gentle tones of the music. Her left hand clutched the sketchpad and her right moved of its own volition, even as tears coursed down her cheeks.

Esme was overwhelmed with emotions that did not belong to her. The agony of it poured through her into the art her blinded hand was creating. Then, as suddenly as it began, the wave passed, and the charcoal slipped from her fingers. She began trembling, sliding from the chair in the moonlit garden, collapsing in a heap on the lawn.

FOR THE REST OF THE CHAPTER, CLICK THIS LINK:

Click Me