Veil of Dust (Crimson Crowns #4)

Prologue – Vespera

I sit alone at the usual table. The crack running through the center splits the wood like it was dropped once and never fixed right.

The surface is rough, the varnish worn off.

Stains soak through the grain—wine, blood, maybe coffee or grease from someone’s hands.

I never cover it up. It doesn’t bother me.

The tarot deck sits in front of me, laid out in a curve.

The cards catch a little of the flickering overhead light.

My rings reflect dull flashes when I shift, the little markings on them catching in the dark.

There’s a warmth under my skin that shows up sometimes—like a stirring I can’t quite name.

Aunt Sylvie used to call it “the stir.” The cards don’t usually react unless they’re ready.

Tonight, though, they feel unsettled. Like something’s pushing from underneath.

Sweat gathers behind my knees and along my spine.

The candles are burning down, wax spilling and hardening into random shapes.

The incense curls out from a metal dish that’s gone dark with use.

At first, the smell is okay—sweet, even.

Then it shifts. Licorice, floral notes, something faintly sour beneath it.

Sylvie used the same blend. I didn’t change it.

The jukebox wheezes out jazz from the corner: Leon’s track, “Drown in Blue.” The sax drags across the notes like it’s tired of playing them. I’ve heard this one so many times it’s worn into my memory. But tonight it grates. Every off-key dip scratches at my nerves.

I move my hand toward the deck.

Outside, the Quarter is pretending to sleep.

No footsteps. No voices. Just the occasional creak of a window shifting in its frame.

The streetlight across the alley flickers, dims, then flares again like it can’t make up its mind.

The river’s humming under it all. Heavy.

It’s always loud at night, even when you think it’s quiet.

This city waits for silence to tell you what you don’t want to hear.

I learned to protect myself long before I opened these doors—years of krav maga classes under the French Quarter lights, sparring in alleyways when kindness wasn’t an option.

I run my fingertips across the top row of cards. A jolt hits—tiny, like touching a doorknob after walking on carpet.

First draw.

The card sticks a little before coming loose. The edges are worn down. I flip it over.

The Tower.

Lightning strikes through a building, and bricks fall, sending smoke everywhere. A crown is knocked off the top. It’s a card about things breaking, fast and without warning.

I stop breathing for a second.

My pulse jumps.

Second draw.

This one comes out easier, like it wants to be seen.

The Devil.

A man stands in the dark, partly hidden. Chains hang off him. He’s smiling, not with his mouth, but the kind of smile that settles into your stomach wrong. You don’t get stuck because of him. You stay because you’re scared to leave.

I feel sweat gathering on my palms. I rub them against my jeans.

Third draw.

This card almost slides out on its own.

The Lovers.

Two people, close together. A blade goes through both of them, then blood. And still—they’re holding on.

My throat tightens. It’s not sadness; it’s recognition. These aren’t just symbols.

They’re real.

The image flashes up without warning.

The alley. Wet stone, not from rain. Leon’s body twisted on the ground, his shirt soaked.

Blood running toward the drain like it had somewhere to be.

I didn’t move. Not because I didn’t know how to help, but because I already knew it wouldn’t matter.

The cards showed me the same ones days ago.

I assumed they meant something else. I tried to be clever about it.

I wasn’t.

My eyes stay locked on the Lovers card. The blade still looks sharp, fresh.

“No,” I say under my breath.

The music cuts off, and the incense hisses. A drop of wax falls between the Devil and the Tower. It spreads out into a red smear.

“He didn’t know what was coming,” I say, quiet. My voice sounds rough, like I haven’t used it in hours. “I did.”

The truth stings a little as it leaves my mouth.

“I’m not letting that happen again.”

I curl my fingers under the edge of the table. My nails dig into the wood. It hurts just enough to keep me grounded.

These cards—right now, they don’t feel helpful. They feel like they’re watching me.

The smoke from the incense swirls tighter, looping upward. It almost takes shape. For a second, I think I see something in it.

Then, it breaks apart.

My eyes go back to the table.

The Tower. The Devil. The Lovers.

Destruction. Control. Clinging to something, even when it hurts.

Sylvie said that, sometimes, the cards gave warnings. Sometimes, answers. Sometimes, something else entirely.

This feels like all of it.

I reach again, slower.

This time, the cards bite back. Heat stings the tips of my fingers, like touching something alive. I pull away fast.

The wind shifts outside, and the candle flames lean inward. Then, a sound begins—low, not mechanical. It’s not in my ears; it’s in my chest. That vibration you feel when you know someone’s behind you, even if you haven’t turned around yet.

The floor creaks.

The shadows stretch longer.

I move my hand toward the cards again, but they stay still. The message is already clear.

I exhale, didn’t even realize I was holding my breath.

I gather the cards gently and sort them into three piles. Then, I slide them into the old velvet pouch Sylvie gave me. The edges are worn, but the stitching still shines—deep red thread, looped in shapes that don’t mean anything to most people.

I tie it tight.

The room stays quiet.

The wind dies down.

But something still lingers, like a thread tied around my chest. A steady pull.

I stand. My stool scrapes against the floor. I leave the pouch on the table.

Behind the bar, I grab the bottle I’ve been saving: rye whiskey. Nothing special, but it does the job. I unscrew the top, skip the glass.

One drink.

Then another.

It burns a little going down and spreads warmth across my chest.

Doesn’t really help.

I walk to the window and pop the latch. The storm isn’t here yet, but it’s close. The sky looks swollen and greenish. I can smell it: ozone, dirt, and that sour smell that shows up just before everything breaks loose.

I plant both hands on the windowsill and stare out.

Nothing’s moving.

But I know better.

The city’s not asleep.

It’s watching, just like the cards did.

Just like the smoke did.

Just like he did.

The wind slams through the door like it’s got something to say: thick, humid, angry. It rushes in hard enough to rattle the walls. One of the candles flickers, then goes out with a hiss, like even it knows it shouldn’t stay lit.

Then, he walks in.

I don’t know his name yet, but the cards do.

My stomach tightens.

The deck under my hand feels alive, like it has its own pulse.

He moves like he owns the space. Tall. Still. The kind of still that shifts everything around him. His coat’s dark and heavy, wet at the shoulders. It’s not raining yet, but the storm’s right behind him.

He stops just inside the doorway. The wind eases off, like it’s waiting to see what he’ll do.

His eyes sweep the room: calm, cold, measuring. Then, they find me—and stay there.

He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s a practiced kind of smile, the kind you use when you want something.

My bar doesn’t belong to anyone. Not regulars. Not strangers. But something about the space feels different now…smaller. Off. Like it’s reacting to him before I can.

“Nice place,” he says. His voice is smooth, confident. Like he knows I’ll listen before I decide to. “We need to talk.”

I stand still.

My hand tightens around the tarot pouch.

It’s still warm.

The reading hasn’t faded.

Who are you?

No. That’s not the question.

I already know what he is. Not his name. Not his background. Just what he means.

The Devil.

Not the one from the deck.

The real kind. The kind Sylvie warned me about. She said he wouldn’t knock. He’d just walk in and start changing everything like it was already his.

I swallow hard. My throat’s dry, and my pulse jumps against my collarbone.

Tiziano Valtieri.

I don’t know how I know the name. I just do. It hits like it’s always been there, waiting to be said out loud.

He’s the one, the storm I felt building earlier. The way the cards burned in my hand. That draw. That pressure. It was about him.

And I’m not ready.

He steps farther in. His boots hit the wood with a steady rhythm—not rushed, not loud. Just final. I sit up straighter. My stool screeches as I push back.

The candlelight wavers.

My deck slips off the table.

Cards spill across the floor. There’s no time for ritual. No spreads. Just instinct. My whole body tenses, but not to run. Not to attack.

To stay in control.

Leon’s locket swings against my chest, cool and solid. It’s a reminder of everything I couldn’t change. Everything I lost.

Tiziano watches me. That faint smile still plays on his lips, like he knows how this is going to end, and I’m the last to catch up.

“Business,” he says. He tilts his head. His voice drops—low, calm, like someone telling you a secret you’re not allowed to repeat. “You’ll like it.”

He says it like I’ve already agreed.

I don’t look away.

My eyes lock on his, gray on hazel. I don’t blink. I won’t. If I do, I give him something I don’t want to give.

Time slows.

The silence stretches.

“You don’t get to come in here and act like you run the place.”

My voice is steady, clear. I mean every word.

His smile twitches. It’s not wider, just sharper.

He steps closer—slow and deliberate. It’s not a threat; it’s a fact, the kind you can’t argue with. The candlelight hits his coat and deepens its darkness. He doesn’t fill the room; he bends it.

But I don’t move back.

He stops just short of reaching distance.

Close enough that I can feel how wrong he is.

Close enough that the cards on the table shiver like they’re reacting to him, too.

Outside, thunder rolls, low and long. The bar door creaks behind him again, as if the building itself is questioning whether it made a mistake letting him in.

Something is shifting. I can feel it. It’s as if everything around us is part of the same web, pulling tighter.

The cards were right.

He’s the Devi, but not the kind that offers something easy.

The kind that forces you to decide who you are.

I take one step back.

Toward what comes next.

And deep down, under the fear and the weight of everything I’ve lost—something’s clear.

He might be the thing that ends me.

Or the thing I use to start over.

By dawn, the storm finally broke. Rain pounded the windows in sheets, and the alley outside ran glossy with runoff. Lightning rattled the shutters, and even when the clouds passed, the air smelled of wet asphalt and fresh upheaval.

These readings aren’t just warnings; they’re my blueprint for escape. I need enough cash to buy a new name and a one-way ticket out of New Orleans, far from Caldera’s reach. Survival alone isn’t enough; I’ve got to outrun this city and the debts I never asked for.