A/N: This one took longer than expected. I apologize to my two readers for not getting this up last week. Please forgive me. Anyway, is anyone else going to go to any of FOB's concerts this year? Hopefully I am, but cross your fingers for me. My editor, K. J., I thank again for her help.

"The city is at war,

Ignore me if you see me,

'Cause I just don't give a shit"

-"The City is at War", Cobra Starship

. . . . . . . . . . .

Truthfully, Quinn had never been good at paying attention when she was tired, but the young man in the fancy clothes on her front porch managed to convey the fact that his 'king' (that's the impression she got, anyway) would like to talk to her and the rest of the household. As drowsy as the blue-haired teen was, she thought nothing of inviting him in to sit while she tried (emphasis on tried) to get the others out of bed. If she was the only one who heard the doorbell, as loud as it was, there were a limited number of ways she could get them out of bed.

Yawning and shuffling, Quinn climbed the dark stairwell upstairs like a zombie, her eyes blinking slowly as she pushed open the guys' bedroom door. Braeden was sprawled over his sheets, obviously too warm to curl up underneath the coverings. Donnie, while not putting a quilt on his bed, had his thin sheets pulled up snuggly around his neck. The breathing of the two boys was almost silent, but deep. They were clearly very comfortable in the world of dreams, but Quinn had had trouble ever leaving that realm, even when she was awake. As it was, she shook Braeden's shoulder, watching his calm features twist in sleepiness as he tried to bat her off.

His arm flailing was easy to dodge, and it only made Quinn more determined. How dare he just keep on sleeping when she had had to get up even before him and answer the door? Again she shook his shoulder, her long fingers curled around his bicep as if it was a banister she was swinging off of. Braeden's brown eyes opened slightly. When he saw the outline of Quinn in the light of the stars, he moaned.

"It's too early…." He turned to face the wall, leaving Quinn staring at the back of his spiky blond head. Setting her mouth, she tugged him back over with some difficulty.

"Caaaatttt….." Her voice was almost more pleading than his. "There's someone downstairs who wants to talk to us."

"Tell him to come back later." Braeden's mumbled words barely made it past his pillow.

"I don't think he will. Come oooonnnnn….." Quinn pulled again, but this time made it past her mark. She leapt back as the older boy fell out of bed and hit the floor with a thump that shook the whole house. It definitely woke up Donnie, who sat up so quickly he bumped his head on the ceiling.

"Ow!" Donnie rubbed his skull as he looked down in confusion on the scene below him: His brother on the floor and slowly stirring, with Quinn standing next to him with her arms crossed. She was no longer tired – she was annoyed. They needed to get up.

"Guy downstairs. Wants to talk. You'd better be down in sixty seconds. I'm going to go get Di." Quinn stomped out in a flurry of blue matted hair and thick glasses. The tow brothers looked at each other.

"We could just go back to sleep…" Braeden mused.

"Yes, we could…." Donnie agreed.

"But then Q would murder us in our sleep."

"Getting up is sounding better and better." Donnie grabbed his glasses from the bedpost and hopped down.

. . . . . . . . . . .

Once they were all assembled in the living room, the gentleman (Quinn didn't want to call him that; it made him sound old. But he seriously looked like something out of a Jane Austen novel! Not that she minded, but she'd never liked romantic comedies) arose with a flourish and said in a cordial voice, "The Baron would like to invite Miss Quinn Berkley, Miss Diana West, and Misters Braeden and Donald Seacrest to his mansion on the eighteenth of June, two o'clock. Shall you accept it, I have transportation waiting outside."

Quinn blinked in surprise. "The Baron? Isn't he just a myth?" There had been talk about a sophisticated vampire of deadly force that hunted in the shadows and always got what he wanted. With this knowledge, she took a closer look at the man she had let into their home.

Long-ish blond hair, a special hat and dressed up as if about to go to a fancy ball. Pale skin, deep pools of eyes (they seemed to be taking up his entire face) and… yep, there were the fangs that flashed in the light from the lamps and overhead lights.

Great job – you just let a vampire into our sanctuary. Quinn berated herself. Thankfully, he seemed rather uninterested in killing, so Quinn held off on reaching for the stake on the side table next to a seashell lamp. It was close enough that she could reach it if she needed to, though.

The vampire's eyes darted to the stake, too. His dark brown (almost black) eyes took it in with almost no emotion and then he was smiling at Quinn again, ignoring the almost asleep other members. She doubted they even comprehended what was being said.

"Well, just because something's a myth, doesn't mean it's not true." He said in a voice as smooth as silk. The vamp seemed very aware that Quinn was prepared if he tried anything and respected her for it.

"Touché." Quinn glanced at the others, who were now asleep. At least, their eyes were closed and she was fairly sure that they weren't just gathering their thoughts.

"What's the catch?" She asked warily. A legend was asking her (the fact that he had invited all of them had completely flown her) over was enough to put anyone on edge, but the fact that it was vampire legend and a vamp was sitting in her living room didn't help her comfort level.

The vampire looked at her with a calm expression; it seemed as if nothing could faze him. "There is no catch. The Baron simply wants to talk to your small unit. And as for why in the middle of the night, well, that's rather self-explanatory, is it not?"

Quinn pushed up her glasses with one hand, running her tongue over her teeth. She lingered on her canines, feeling the sharp arrow-like shape. The denim couch she was sitting on was worn and faded, but comfortable. It felt a bit like wrapping up in a blanket to watch football (or at least the way she watched it: paying attention to the commercials and eventually falling asleep only to wake up and ask what the score was after the game): cozy and relaxing, but alert enough that she could still focus. In this case she wasn't paying attention to a bunch of men running at each other, but a sophisticated predator who seemed well-satisfied, but you never knew when a lion sleeping was going to awake and attack.

He looked strange sitting in the worn plaid chair, with green painted walls in the background and the company's items strewn on the floor. His fancy dress, including gloves and shiny shoes that looked like something that Mr. Darcy would wear, made him look like he would blend right in at the Queen's palace, but certainly not as at ease as he looked in the run-down home of four teenagers.

There wasn't much to say about the living room, which Quinn had suddenly found very interesting; she had never been good at talking with people. Going to new places she normally brought a journal to sketch or write in, rather than find somebody new to talk with. Her father once made her attend a woman's monthly brunch, which led to many tears, as she wasn't allowed to bring a notebook and the people that she talked to would turn and talk to other people in the middle of a conversation with her. Quinn didn't mind being invisible, if that's the way she started out. When people decided to ignore her after she had already made herself known to them, that hurt.

The vamp didn't say anything, just watched her silently, as the only sounds echoing in the room were the ticking of the clock and the breathing from Donnie, Braeden, and Di, who sat on a love seat in the corner and the two boys on the other side of the denim couch Quinn sat on, picking at the fraying threads and trying to find something to fill the void. The silence stretched on, getting more and more awkward and getting harder and harder to break.

Finally, she made a split second decision and stood up abruptly. "I'll come. Just me. Not the others."

"Very well then." The vampire stood up and brushed his coat off. "If you'll follow me outside."

Quinn trailed behind him to a car waiting outside. He opened the door and held it for her. Thanking him politely, Quinn got in the car and sat on the far side. He got in and sat closest to the door they got in through. An open seat was between them, so there wasn't any awkward brushing of thighs or anything like that.

As the car started up (another fancily dressed most-likely-a-vampire was driving), the vampire turned to her and gave her a calm smile, though she now noticed how much fidgeting he was actually doing. His hands wound over and over each other, his leg jumped up and down in an impatient movement, and he was constantly touching his hair, ruffling it or just combing it back.

"I'm Brendon." He offered, holding out a hand to her. Quinn shook it, but felt rather disconnected to it, because of his gloves.

"Quinn." She responded, pushing up her glasses. It occurred to her that he already knew her name because he had read off each other their names when inviting them to meet the Baron, but she couldn't take it back.

"The Baron must be very interested in you to invite you to a meeting like this." Brendon-the-vampire commented. "I've only seen him so fascinated by one other group – and he never sent them an invitation!"

Quinn, who was brushing through her tangled hair with her fingers, stopped to ask, "Who?"

"Oh, those hunters. I'm sure you've heard of them." He gave her a look for signs of recognition as he continued. "They're a group of four, and have a surprisingly low number of deaths on their hands for being hunters."

"You mean they're terrible vampire hunters?" Quinn asked incredulously. She had a pretty good idea of which hunters Brendon-the-vampire was talking about, but she was waiting to reveal that she knew the group he was talking about.

"No – exactly the opposite!" Brendon's eyes roamed across Quinn's face, looking for any tells she knew whom he was talking about. Thankfully for him, it was dark enough in the car that she couldn't see his eyes. The lights from the few street lamps still functioning slanted through the window, moving in white strips across Quinn's lap. Brendon noticed the tightening of her fists, which were resting in her lap. But she was looking out at the streets as they passed by, her lips (a dusty rose color, almost sickly looking) were pressed in a thin line and she was avoiding his gaze, only moving her hands to push up her glasses or fiddle with her long hair.

Still watching her face closely, Brendon continued, "Vampires are considered legally dead, right? We don't have a heartbeat, and we technically don't have to breath."

Quinn turned quickly to face him, her eyes wide beneath the thick frames of her glasses. "You don't? I didn't know that."

Brendon shrugged, putting his palms up. "Well, now you do. Anyway, we're dead. So that means that they're basically just killing corpses. What I mean is that they've been surprisingly adept at not causing collateral damage."

The blue-haired girl made a sound that was halfway between a scoff and a laugh. "All hunters should have that skill. I would feel a lot less grief over them if that was true." Brendon waited, but she didn't elaborate. Her voice had sounded bitter and angry, but her face (the part visible – the dragon darkened the side facing the street so much it seemed to melt into the darkness inside the car) was calm and reserved.

Deciding to ignore her comment, Brendon asked, "How long have you been in a group with the others?"

She turned to look at him, a passing street lamp reflecting off her glasses and making it impossible to see her blue eyes. "Why should I tell you?" It wasn't hostile, but plainly just curious. Like she was asking, "What's the point of that question?"

"Humor me. I'm interested just as much as you are about the Baron's interest in a group of adolescents."

"Fair enough." Quinn conceded. There was quiet for a moment, then she answered, "It's been about two years."

"Were you on your own before?"

"No. I was with Di and – and someone else." Brendon picked up on the stumble, but pretended like he hadn't.

"You must have been, what, seventeen when this all started?"

"Fifteen." He was corrected, which made him raise an eyebrow.

"How did you survive?"

"Easy." The lights outside flashed across her face, but now her intense eyes (in terms of expression – the colors were beautiful, but not unusual) were fixed on him. "You make everyone believe you're going to kill them in the middle of the night."