Zen and the Art of Vampires

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Authors: Katie MacAlister
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“What council?”
    Kristoff’s face could have been made of granite, so cold was it and the accompanying gaze he cast toward me. “I thought you weren’t speaking to us.”
    â€œI have decided in the interests of avoiding an international incident that I will keep the lines of communication open. What council?”
    â€œThe Moravian Council,” Alec said, hitting the gas and sending us shooting down a bumpy street, making a tight U-turn to head back into the heart of town. “Don’t worry, Pia; if you’re truly what you say you are, you have nothing to fear from the council.”
    I sat back, grasping the seat belts, unwilling to strap myself in just in case I needed to make a fast getaway. “Just out of morbid curiosity, what exactly is this Moravian Council? And what would happen if I wasn’t telling the truth?”
    â€œYou will be taken before the council to answer for the seventy-three deaths your people have caused over the last three years,” Kristoff answered in a deep, lyrical voice that would have sent shivers of delight up my back if he hadn’t clearly been repulsed by me, and obviously under the delusion that I was someone bad.
    â€œMy people?” I asked, running my mind over my immediate family members. “They run an apple orchard in eastern Washington. I don’t think they’ve conducted any mass executions in, oh, geez, years and years. Although with my brother, you never can tell. He’s a Microsoft yuppie.”
    My humor, sarcastic as it was, was not wasted on Alec. He chuckled and flashed me a quick grin in the mirror before returning his eyes to the road as we approached the square.
    Kristoff grunted and looked out the window.
    I figured it would take Alec forever to find a parking spot, but he solved the issue by simply parking sideways across a sidewalk. “That is the bookstore?” he asked, pointing to the end of the street, where it opened into the pedestrians-only square.
    I nodded.
    â€œLet me see the books,” Alec said, opening the door for me and offering his hand to help me out of the car.
    I was simultaneously charmed by the gesture and pleased by the warmth in his eyes. “I’m afraid I only have one of them. I dumped the other one when Mattias started after me.”
    â€œMattias?” Alec asked, examining the book I held out for him. He riffled the pages but found nothing.
    â€œThe sacristan,” Kristoff informed him. He turned a hard gaze on me. “Why, exactly, were you running from him?”
    I was flummoxed for a moment when Alec tucked my hand in the crook of his arm, covering my fingers with his free hand as he led me down the street. It was a surprisingly intimate gesture, one that gave me more pleasure than I wanted to admit.
    Part of me, the vindictive, evil part that I really liked to pretend didn’t exist, wished that Denise would walk past us at that moment. I wouldn’t gloat, I wouldn’t preen, I’d simply smile and allow my two incredibly handsome escorts to accompany me.
    Fortunately for my ego, she wasn’t present in the crowd that now pulsed and bobbed in that odd throbbing fashion large groups of people packed into a small space have when they attempt to dance. The music hit us with the force of a brick wall, and it wasn’t until we slipped around to the back of the row of buildings lining that side of the square that I could make myself heard above the noise.
    â€œNo answer?” Kristoff said, stopping at a metal door bearing a faded plaque with the name of the shop. One of his chocolatey brown eyebrows rose in mock surprise. I had the worst urge to yank it back down.
    â€œI’m not avoiding the question. I just didn’t want to bellow it out in front of everyone,” I said with dignity. “I was running from him because he was just as mistaken as you two—he thought I was this Zorya person, and wanted to marry

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