steps a dozen feet away, watching her with an undecipherable expression. An intense one, though.
“She’s working very hard to ignore him,” Connor said.
“She’s probably in the zone,” I said. And knew that both were probably true.
When they saw us approach, Alexei stood, and Lulu slipped the book into the back pocket of her jeans.
“Light enough to draw?” Connor asked.
“Streetlight,” she said and came to me. “You okay?”
“I am. You have any trouble?”
“No. You?”
I’d texted her at Washington House, let her know what had happened at the loft. “No. They either didn’t guess we’d gone there, or weren’t fast enough to follow us here.”
“Where is ‘here’ exactly?” Lulu asked.
“An experience,” Connor said and opened the door.
The smell of sautéing meat rolled out like a wave, all but dousing us with deliciousness. “Welcome to Taco Hole.”
“Oh, mama,” Lulu murmured. “I have come home.”
We walked inside to squeaky floors covered in thin, grimy carpet. A long bar stretched across the wall opposite the door, every leather-and-brass bucket chair occupied. A couple dozen round tables filled the rest of the space, and restaurant staff were in matching yellow T-shirts and shorts.
It was . . . a supernatural dive bar.
Shifters in their NAC leathers at the counter, fairies at a high top, River nymphs in their tiny dresses toasting each other in a low banquette.
“How is this possible?” I asked, amazed and curious and still hungry.
“It’s neutral territory,” Connor said, using hand signals to order drinks from the man behind the bar after we’d taken seats at a small table.
“I can’t believe I’ve never been here before,” I said.
“Look around again, Elisa,” Lulu said.
I lifted my brows at her, but did. And realized that, for all the magical diversity, I was the only vampire in the room.
“No vampires allowed?” I asked, glancing back at Connor. And wondering if I was going to have to fight someone for a damned burrito.
“Vampires allowed,” he said and poured something red from a small carafe on the table into a little bowl. “But vampires not encouraged—most don’t like the setting. Not quite fancy enough for the average vamp.”
That was a damn shame, although I couldn’t say I was surprised, having grown up in, let’s be honest, a vampire mansion. It occurred to me that since we were surrounded by Sups, at least one of us might be uncomfortable with that. I glanced at Lulu.
“You okay being here?” I asked quietly.
“This is for food,” she said, snagging a tortilla chip from a communal bowl. “Sanctuary means no Sup drama.”
“Correct,” Connor said and passed the little bowl to me, then did the same with the others.
“Salsa?” Lulu asked, eyeing it warily.
“Hot sauce,” Alexei said. “Be careful with it.”
“And it’s Alexei saying that,” Connor said. “So be careful.” Then he pointed to an old-fashioned menu over the bar, with little plastic letters that clipped into slots. Options were limited. Burrito. Taco. Torta. Tamale. Menudo. I glanced around at the other tables, curious about the bestseller, and found a lot of people hunched over plates, and very devoted to their food.
A woman came over, her skin the palest shade of green, her hair and eyes dark. She put down four bottles. Dark liquid, no labels.
“House root beer,” Connor said. “It’s exceptional.”
“Know whatcha want?” the waitress asked. Sup she may have been, but her accent was one hundred percent Wisconsin.
“Special,” Alexei said. “Burn me up.”
“Same,” Connor said, then looked at me, brows lifted.
“Oh, do I get to order for myself?” I asked with a smile.
“Only if you hurry up,” he said, smile teasing.
“Special,” I said. “I don’t want the full burn.”
She snorted. “How much?”
“Light slap?” I asked, and she nodded, scribbled.
“Lightweight,” Alexei muttered.
“No,” I said, unashamed, “I just like to taste my food. It’s not a competition.”
“Burn me up,” Lulu told the waitress, eschewing the bowl of hot sauce and pouring it from the bottle directly onto a chip. She crunched in, and her eyes watered immediately. And she smiled like a woman deeply satisfied.
“So you do have some good qualities,” Alexei said. “Good to know.”
She presented her middle finger, prepared another chip.
I munched one without sauce, looked around. The sheer diversity of bodies was amazing; I’d never seen so many different types of Sups gathered in one place.
“Thanks for bringing me here,” I told Connor. “I’d have hated to miss out on this.”
“You’re very welcome.”
The waitress brought a round tray of shot glasses filled to the brim with cloudy green liquid. She managed to slap them on the table single-handedly without spilling a