Coming in December 2008 from Signet:

Katie MacAlister returns to the world of

the Dark Ones with

Zen and the Art

of Vampires

Read on for a sneak peek!

Before I could mull over what I wanted to do next, a dark-haired woman plopped down in the chair across from me and shot a glare over her shoulder toward a very handsome blond man as he bumped her back while escorting two children wearing blue-and-white horns past us. ‘‘You look like I feel. Did you hear? The trip to the forest is off for tonight. And a good thing, too. I could do without being eaten alive by mosquitoes and God knows what other kind of insects there are around here. I don’t suppose you’ve seen Audrey? She disappeared right after she told me about the cancellation, and I didn’t have time to have a word with her about the serious lack of men on this tour.’’

‘‘Not since lunch, no,’’ I answered, digging out my disposable camera to snap a picture of the behorned kids as they waved flags madly. ‘‘I think she said something about checking on the accommodations in Amsterdam.’’

Denise, the fifth woman on the tour, and my least favorite of all the members, curled a scornful lip at my answer. ‘‘Bah. We don’t go there for three days. Not that I won’t be glad to get out of this country. I’ve just been in the most appalling bookshop there on the square. Ugh. Nothing there printed in the last hundred years. And the spiders! Who’d have thought that Iceland would have such big spiders? Positively tarantulas. Here, you! Diet Coke. Coca-Cola. You understand?’’ Denise grabbed a passing waitress and shook her arm. ‘‘Pia, you have a phrasebook—how do you say that I want a Diet Coke?’’

The waitress gave her a long-suffering look. ‘‘I speak English. We do not have Coke. I will bring you a Pepsi.’’

‘‘Whatever, just so it’s cold.’’ Denise released the waitress and used my napkin to mop at the sweat that made her face sparkle in the bright afternoon sunshine. ‘‘Sorry I just sat down without asking you, but we big girls have to stick together. You weren’t waiting for anyone, were you?’’

Sharp, washed-out hazel eyes peered at me from beneath overplucked eyebrows, a gloating glint indicating that an answer in the affirmative would surprise her greatly. I adopted a polite smile and shook my head, my teeth grinding at both her gloating expression and the big-girl comment.

‘‘Didn’t think so,’’ she answered with sour pleasure. ‘‘Women like us never get the guys. It’s always the ones who put out who end up having all the fun. That Magda. Did you hear her last night? She was at it all night long. I asked Audrey to change my room, but she says the hotel is full and they can’t. Honestly, why on earth did I spend two grand on a single’s tour of romantic Europe if the only men on the trip are old, perverted, or gay, and I have to spend every friggin’ night listening to Magda get her jollies. Oh, Raymond! Harder! Harder, my stallion of love!’’ she all but yelled in an obscene parody of Magda’s Spanish-inflected voice.

‘‘Shhh,’’ I cautioned, frowning at the startled looks we received from people seated around us. ‘‘Others can hear you.’’

‘‘So what?’’ She shrugged. ‘‘They can’t understand us, and even if they could, I’m not saying anything that isn’t true. Have you ever seen such a motley collection of men as the ones on this tour? Audrey sure has some sort of a scam, and we’re the suckers who fell for it. Romantic Europe, my ass.’’

I’d lived with Denise’s negativity and overall nastiness for three days now, and was sorely tempted to tell her just what I thought, but I reminded myself that we had another eighteen days together, and it wouldn’t actually kill me to turn the other cheek. Instead I indulged in a fantasy wherein she was left behind on a remote fjord.

‘‘Have you dated much lately?’’ she asked, obviously sharpening her claws for another attack.

I smiled and threw in a couple of hungry wolves prowling along the edge of the fjord. ‘‘I live outside of Seattle in a small town in the mountains. There aren’t a lot of people there to begin with, so it’s kind of hard to meet guys. That’s why I decided to go on this tour, to open my horizons.’’

‘‘At least you’re not opening your legs for everything with a penis, like some people I could mention,’’ she said with another waspish look toward Magda. ‘‘I think we’ve been had, though. The men on the tour are useless, and as for these Icelanders . . . they may be descended from Vikings, like Audrey says, but I don’t see any of them panting over us. Mind you, if you said the words ‘green card’ to them, that would change things fast enough, but that’s not going to happen.’’

‘‘We’ve only had three days so far—’’ I started to object, but I was cut short when she slammed her glass down on the little table.

‘‘You don’t get it, do you? Pia, look at yourself! You’re what, forty? Forty-five?’’

‘‘Thirty-nine. I won’t be forty for another ten months,’’ I said defensively, trying to keep a grip on my temper.

‘‘Face it,’’ Denise said, grabbing my arm as she leaned forward across the table. ‘‘Women like us get the shaft our whole lives. You may think that there is a man out there for you, a Mr. Wonderful who will be everything you want, but there isn’t. Look around you, Pia. Look at who has all the handsome men—it’s the pretty ones, the skinny ones, the ones who don’t give a fuck about anything but getting what they want. They’ve got no morals and don’t care who knows it.’’

‘‘I don’t buy that,’’ I said, jerking my arm out of her grip. ‘‘I know a lot of nice women who get men. Sometimes it just takes a while; that’s all.’’

‘‘Let’s cut the crap, shall we, and get real. We’re the last pick on the volleyball team, Pia. We get the leftovers. I can tell you don’t like to admit it, so I’ll prove it to you.’’ She scooted around in her chair, waving a hand toward the stage. ‘‘That guy, that one there—the blond guy with the receding hairline. You think he’d like you? Or how about that one, the man with the beard. He looks like an accountant. Maybe he’d go for you.’’