Tea For Two

Jene Visser was only four years old the first time she disappeared into the night.
 

Janicke Visser was not a very conscientious mother. She was only 30 - though she acted more like 15 most of the time - and was already the mother of eight children. All had been fathered by various nameless, faceless former boyfriends and one night stands and ranged in age from 15 to 4. Sadly, all of them had been forced to grow up rather quickly as a result of Janicke's immaturity and they most surely would have been split up and thrown into foster care if it hadn't been for the ingenuity of the eldest children.

Jene (pronounced YEN-ay) was the youngest of the brood, and Janicke's least favourite. She was the oddest looking child - soft white curls, pure white skin, and eyes so pale they barely registered as any shade of blue - and the only one who looked anything like Janicke. None of the children liked their quiet, strange looking baby sister. They all found her too unnatural looking and too quiet. Too peculiar and too eerie. It didn't help that their mother encouraged their behavior - hating Jene for some odd, unknown reason herself - calling her youngest child horrible names and leaving her to take care of herself. Not one of Jene's brothers or sisters ever abused her, they all just ignored her in the hopes that she would just get lost one day and hopefully never come home.

Only Dieter, Janicke's husband and (supposedly) Jene's father, gave a damn about her. He was the only one who had come to her rescue when Maks ran her bath too hot and scalded her. He was the only one who ever went rummaging through the charity bins for new clothes for Jene when she grew out of her old ones, and he was the only one who ever ran to her side when she woke up screaming in the middle of the night. Dieter was a good man - and he tried to be a good father - but he was also very screwed up, and not much good to anyone most of the time.

Dieter and Janicke were self-proclaimed Hippie's. Drugs, sex and never staying in one place for too long were the only constants in their lives. None of the children had ever been to school and the eldest two - Maks and Nika - used the same drugs as their mother and step-father, at almost as regular a basis.

Jene had been born in Copenhagen - May 21, 1975 - but had been raised mostly in Brussels, Strasbourg, Munich, Hamburg and Zurich. Always living in a cramped flat or an un-inhabitable townhouse, sleeping in cold corners or dark closets. Rummaging through charity bins for new clothes or dust bins for something to eat when Janicke, Maks, Nika and Dieter were too stoned to make anything. She lived most of her little life at night, climbing out of windows to escaping the stench of pot and shite and play in the deserted playgrounds and streets of whatever city they were living in at the time. She was very good at playing up her situation with nice-looking middle- aged women, usually getting a free sandwich or the occasional ice cream sundae out of the deal.
 

The streets of Amsterdam were never quiet, no matter how late it got. The bright neon signs and flashing advertisements for GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS kept the street well lit and safe for Jene. Police officers patrolled regularly and she felt very secure walking the streets of the red light district with her rag-tag dolly ‘Hannah' in one hand and her too-big jacket (something she'd found in a dumpster in Munich) in the other. She had become a fixture on these streets of late and many of the girls and madams adored having her visit, usually giving her some candy or a sandwich and a glass of milk before sending her on her way again. On to the next stop where another warm plate and full meal was waiting for her.

Jene was not feeling very sociable tonight though. Janicke had taken the youngest three kids out shopping earlier in the day, buying more than enough warm winter clothes for Jan and Yuri but nothing for Jene. If that hadn't been enough, the second Jene's back was turned, Janicke had packed up the boys and left her behind in the store. Jene had spent the rest of the day walking up and down the aisles of the store searching for her mother and brothers though her little brain knew well enough that they were long gone. Angry and scared that her family had moved to another city without her, Jene didn't feel too much like making her rounds of the bordellos.

Just wanting to curl up in a quiet place and have a good cry, she had pushed on towards the local park. The hustlers dotted the paths and parking lots, ignoring the tiny, white four-year-old when she walked past them . . . which was fine with her. Jene finally came to the playground. Her footsteps crunched as she walked across the sea of pebbles and curled up under the slide with Hannah.

For the first time in more weeks than Jene's little brain could remember back she let out a loud sob, and another, and another. Scared and alone and angrier than she had ever been before. Angry at her horrible mother and her horrible brother's and sister's and at horrible horrible God for making her Jene Violetta Visser.
 

Drusilla was hunting alone tonight. She and Spike had just had a huge falling out and Spike had stormed out of the house to prowl the streets, leaving poor Dru to take a kill by herself.

The cool summer air whipped her long, straight hair around her face and tugged at the hem of her green paisley dress as Dru entered the park. She didn't feel much like a fight tonight (fighting with Spike always took a bit of the blood-lust out of her) and hustlers and the homeless were notorious for never really fighting for their lives. Most just resigned themselves to the Grim Reaper's icy embrace and let Dru do what she wanted with them. Quick kills. Easy kills. Yummy in the tummy tasty kills. The only problem Dru had with hustlers and homeless was that most of them always had some sort of junk screaming around in their veins. Dru hated second-had high's.
They felt icky.
 

The tears had finally dried up.

Jene was playing on the swings, pumping her little legs as hard as she could, and imagining that if she let go of the chains she could fly away. Hannah sat on the edge of the slide below, watching Jene swing higher and higher into the night sky, quite content just sitting where she was and keeping a watchful eye on her flesh and blood ward with her two blue button eyes.

Down on the ground, a pretty lady with long black hair walked into the playground. Jene smiled down at her from her seat in the sky. The woman smiled back up.

"Are you lost?" Jene asked the pretty lady.
The lady smiled and shook her head, "No. Are you my dear? It's much too late for pretty little girls to be out all alone." The lady's accent wasn't like Jene's. She wasn't German, or Danish, or French or anything else Jene had ever met. She had a pretty voice though, soft and soothing. Safe.
"I'm not lost. I just wanted to play."

The lady walked over to the swing set, sitting down on the swing next to Jene's. She started humming to herself. Jene little brain couldn't register the song. The lady watched Jene swing with big dark eyes, never taking her gaze off of the little white body in the next swing.

"Whenever I swing," the lady finally said after a long silence, "I dream that I'm flying . . . high in the sky with the bats and the birds and I fly all the way to the moon and have a tea party with the stars."
Jene smiled at the lady and slowed down her pumping, "Me too."
The lady looked over at Hannah, sitting on the slide, "Does Hannah like to swing?"
"How did you know she was Hannah?"
"She told me," the lady said, "Doesn't Hannah talk to you too?"
Jene slowed down her pumping some more and nodded, "But no one can hear her but me."
"But I can hear her," the lady said, "Would you like to come with me pretty moppet? We could go to an ice cream parlour and try every flavour they had. Would you like that?"

Jene didn't need to be asked twice. Her tiny feet dragged back and forth in the pebble beneath her as she stopped the swing. The lady's smile widened, obviously pleased at Jene's decision. Jene took the ladies hand as they walked out of the playground and into the greenery of the park.

All Hannah could do was watch with blue button eyes as Jene walked out sight, holding the vampire's hand.
 

She smelled so sweet. The little snow fairy that held Drusilla's hand wreaked of sweet, syrupy blood like she had never smelled before. It made Dru's mind race and swirl like a really good acid trip. Sweet. Sweet like candies on Christmas day. Sweet like sloppy sticky syrup.
Ohhhhh, sooooo Sweeeeet!

Dru hardly noticed herself when she picked up the snow fairy in her arms and sunk her fangs into the fairy's soft little neck.

It was the most beautiful feeling Dru had ever known. It was more than ecstatic! More than euphoric! More than climactic! The blood buzzed on her tongue and coated her insides in a warm furriness that actually felt like it glowed.

There weren't any words for what the snow fairy's blood tasted like as it filled Drusilla's mouth and ran down her throat. It was sweeter than anything Dru had ever tasted. Sweeter than all the candies and syrup and cakes Dru had ever eaten . . . all at once. Sweeter than the sweetest blood wine. It was the most amazing taste that had ever touched Dru's tongue.

Suddenly Drusilla gagged.

Dru dropped the snow fairy as she clutched at her stomach and fell to her knees in shock. The blood started to burn at everything it had touched. Dru's innards felt like they were on fire. Her tongue felt like someone had coated it in acid. A loud, pain-fill moan escaped Dru's mouth as she staggered a few steps and then fell hard against a tree. Before she knew what was happening, dark blood spewed out of Drusilla's mouth onto the grass by her feet. Three or four nights worth of feedings ran past her lips as her body tried to get rid of the snow fairy's sweet, poisonous blood.
 

Jene climbed to her feet and watched as the lady vomited into the bushes.

"Are you okay?" Jene asked quietly.

The lady's head whipped around. Her mouth was stained with blood and her in-human, wrinkled face was a mask of pure, gut-wrenching pain. Jene hardly noticed that the lady's face was not human anymore. All she could see was the pain in the lady's big glowing eyes.

"I'm sorry," Jene said as she ran up to the lady and helped her sit down on the gravel path. The lady looked up at Jene. Confused, "I'm sorry I made you sick. Can you be okay soon? Please be okay soon."

With a sudden blur of motion, the lady grabbed Jene by the throat. The lady looked at Jene's face, turning her head back and forth, then her eyes moved to where she had just hurt Jene's neck and she gasped. The gash in Jene's neck had disappeared.

"What are you?" the lady asked.
 

It didn't take very long for Dru to realize what she had stumbled on.

There were hundreds of books about them sitting on shelves of dusty old monasteries and stuffy libraries, and there was always some crazy vamp or another swearing he had seen one. Some old demon had once called them something like ‘Des Inamorata Que Sostenos' (Our Mistress Who Sustains Us) or something silly like that, though Dru really couldn't see how something like little Jene could sustain any demon without burning their innards out. They were supposed to be the most powerful things that walked the earth. Not humans and not demons. A special kind who were going to bring the world into a new age one day.

Drusilla pondered all this as she watched little Jene devour the cakes and scones and tea that Dru had ordered for her. Jene had told Dru about her awful, awful family and it was clear to Dru that Jene did not want to go back to the cramped, decrepit townhouse she shared with her family. The bedtime stories her beloved Angel had told Dru about them swam around inside her head . . .

‘pure beings . . . white . . . poison . . . sweetness and light fill their bodies, but also absolute darkness . . .
white . . . they're the thing above us Dru . . . they're going to bring the demons and the darkest things of the world into power . . . we'll have absolute Hell on earth Dru, think of it . . . absolute Hell . . .'

"Do you want some?" Jene asked Dru, snapping her out of her daze.
They were sitting in a dark corner of a big fancy restaurant, the waiter's watching the sickly looking woman and the snow white girl in the grubby, bloody pajamas from the bar. Wondering if they should call the cops or not.
"No, you finish it all up like a good little Moppet."
"But it's a tea party. Have some tea."
Drusilla smiled. "Alright precious," Dru said as she poured herself a cup of tea and took a hesitant sip. Jene smiled, satisfied with that, and started in on another currant scone.

Poor little thing must be starving
 

Dru stood in front of the Visser's townhouse, Jene sitting in her arms. Over the past three hours Dru had fallen hopelessly in love with her new prize, but the voices had told her that it was best for everyone to take Jene home for now. Your time will come, they said, Be patient Drusilla, your turn will come.

"Don' make me. Please!" Jene begged Dru as she tried to set the little girl down. She grabbed at the collar of Dru's green paisley dress, tears starting to fill her palest blue eyes.
Dru's heart was breaking, "Be a good girl. Don't make Mummy Dru do anything nasty."
"Jene buried her face in Dru's neck and wouldn't let go, "No. No no no no no. Please please please, no!"
Drusilla looked up at the sky. The murky blue-black of night was giving way to the grey of dawn. Drusilla had to get back to the house soon. Dawn was coming.
 

Spike had been pacing the streets of the city all night - not at all looking forward to coming home to Dru's angry whining and racking his brains - trying to figure out what exactly it was that had sent her into such a tizzy. He was expecting the usual: one last round of screaming and accusations before he would fall to his knees - begging Drusilla's forgiveness and calling himself every name in the book. She would forgive him, of course, and a round of apologies would be followed by (and this was the only part he really looked forward to) a long, loud shag. All would be forgiven and she would love him again . . . until the next time.

He walked into the bedroom as the first light of dawn crept over the house tops of Amsterdam - carrying two dozen dark red roses and a big purple jewelry box - and stopped dead in his tracks.

Dru was curled up under the covers of their big black wrought iron bed. Snuggled up next to her was the whitest child he had ever seen. Her skin, her hair . . . it looked like she didn't have a drop of colour in her tiny body. Drusilla's fingers lazily played with the girl's soft white curls, her eyes totally immersed in the child's tiny white face.

"Ducks?"
Dru's head snapped around, "Shhhh!" she whispered violently, "You'll wake my pPretty Moppet up."
Spike tiptoed over to the bed and set the flowers and box on the bed stand. Slowly, so he wouldn't wake the kid and anger his beloved Princess, he took his studded leather jacket off and climbed into the bed on the other side of the little girl, " Where'd you get the baby, Love?" he whispered as he pulled the covers up around them.
"She was swinging in the park and I ate her."
"So why isn't she dead Love?"
Dru gave Spike a secret smile, "My Moppet is special."
"How special?"
Dru was quiet for a moment as she tried to figure out how to explain what had happened.
"Do you remember the big book Spike?"
"What big book Love?"
"The big ugly book with the pretty writing that you stole from the monks with Angel."
Spike nodded, "The Grimorum thingy?"
Dru nodded excitedly. Spike was lost for a long moment, his brow furrowed as he tried to put two and two together. Suddenly his expression brighten, realizing what Dru meant,
"Are you saying that this kid's one of ‘em?!?"

Dru nodded vigorously, grinning. Spike looked at the little girl's white, white face. If anyone else had told him that this little waif of a kid was a legend incarnate, he would have spiked them first and thought about it second . . . but Dru was rarely wrong about these things. Dru was never wrong about these sorts of things!

"She's one of ‘em." Spike said, the concept slowly sinking into his brain.
"Can we keep her Spike? Please?"
"What about her family? Don't they want her?"
Dru gave Spike a sad little shake of the head, "They make her sleep in a box in a closet, Spike . . . and then they left her in a big scary maze with monsters and they won't feed her . . . and she has to rummage through dust bins for her food. Ohhh Spike pleeeeeease! Can't we keep her for our own? Please?"
"Alright Baby, alright. You can keep her today but she has to go home tomorrow night."
"But she doesn't want to go home Spike."
Spike reached across the sleeping child and stroked Dru's cheek with the back of his hand, "We'll take her back to her family for now, but you can still visit until I figure out a way to keep her for you."
Dru's eyes lit up, "Moppet can stay with us sometimes?"

Spike couldn't help but smile at Dru. He loved seeing her so happy.

"Oh goody!" Dru squealed, "Moppet can visit! And we can keep her soon, right Spike? We can bring her home for good soon?"
"Of course Baby. Anything you want."
Drusilla looked back down at the little girl, her eyes sparkling, "My Moppet. Mummy's pretty little Moppet with the golden curls."
Spike smiled. He was aching for a good long make-up shag . . . now that all seemed to be forgiven . . . but that could wait til the kid went back to her monstrous parents. In the meantime he was glad that the little girl was making his Dru so happy.
"Dru?"
Dru looked up at Spike, her eyes swimming with such love he had never seen before.
"What's her name?"
Drusilla was quiet for a moment before her face melted into a beautiful smile that made Spike wanna jump her.

"Regan. Her name is Regan . . ."