“Jenny Garshwin. She disappeared 6 years ago. It was 48 hours before it was reported,” Jack Malone said. “It was in our cold case files until we came up with a match on her fingerprints at a crime scene…” Jack continued, putting her picture up. Sam gasped, drawing everyone’s attention to her.
“That’s her. That’s the girl that ran off the mugger,” Sam said. “Older, more mature, but that’s her!”
“Are you certain?” Vivian asked. Sam nodded quickly, and with such enthusiasm that Martin Fitzgerald thought she would shake her head off if it wasn’t attached.
“Very. Like I said, she’s grown up, but that’s the same girl,” Sam said.
“All right. Go with Martin and get the aged photo done up. We’ll go around and show pictures in the neighborhood where you were attacked. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find her,” Jack said.
“And I, for one, want to have words with whomever turned this girl into a vigilante,” Vivian said vehemently.
“Carla! Get the door!” Martin and Danny heard someone yell from inside the large house. They looked at each other. For one, this house was large for this neighborhood, and nice. For another, well…it sounded like there were a lot of people living here.
“She can’t! She’s in the shower! I’ll get it!” a woman yelled back. Danny winced. This house, despite how nice it was, needed some serious soundproofing. The door opened to reveal none other than Jenny Garshwin herself. Danny swallowed and stepped up to the plate.
“Miss Garshwin? I’m Danny Taylor and this is Martin Fitzgerald. We’re with the FBI’s Missing Persons Unit…” Danny began. He wasn’t able to get any further. With a burst of strength that seemed impossible for her size, she pushed past them, knocking the two FBI agents over as she ran off. A dark-haired man in an eye patch came to the door.
“Jenny? Andrew…JENNY!” he yelled as he saw her disappear around a corner. Martin was just picking himself up out of the bushes where he’d landed, and Danny was getting up off the grass. The man glared at them.
“What did you do?” he growled. The anger was clear in his one eye.
“Nothing. Just identified ourselves,” Danny said quickly. Something told him he didn’t want to be on this guys bad side.
“Then identify yourselves to me,” the man said.
“I’m Danny Taylor, this is Martin Fitzgerald. We’re with the FBI’s Missing Persons Unit…” Danny said. Again, he was cut off, this time by the man’s irritated sigh.
“That would do it. She was a runaway when we found her and took her in. Did you find out what kind of home life she had? Can you blame her for spooking if she thought you’d be taking her back there? Not that you could, with her being an adult and all, but…” the man said. Danny looked at him. The man suddenly seemed world weary as he trudged back inside the house and picked up the phone. He dialed a number quickly.
“…Yeah, can you put me through to Wills? Thanks…Heya, Willow…no, no, we don’t need you for…Yeah, Jenny got spooked and ran off again…yeah, I know, can you just watch her for us? Thanks…Yeah, I’ll be there…why don’t you bring the Fang Gang and come visit…Yeah, that’d be good…Look, I gotta go. I got two FBI agents in the foyer and I don’t want Andrew accosting them with one of his concoctions…Yeah…See you then,” Danny heard the man say. Martin was looking at the collection of archaic weapons when a girl, who couldn’t be older than 15, came barreling around the corner right into him. She didn’t even stop, just kept on going, complaining loudly to “Xander” how “Margaret” took her tank-top again. Martin got up painfully.
“These girls have got to be on steroids or something…that’s the second time today!” Martin declared. Danny nodded, seriously wondering what was going on here.
“Okay, it’s called the New York School for Gifted Girls. Apparently, it takes girls with certain ‘gifts’, no clarification of what those gifts are, out of bad situations and teaches them things like self-defense while they complete their education. Most of the girls are between the ages of 13 and 18, but there are a few older, such as Jenny Garshwin,” Sam reported when she’d completed the research on the house that Martin and Danny had visited. Martin was nursing the bruises he’d gained there.
“Who funds them?” Jack asked. Sam looked at her paper.
“The Watcher’s Council. It’s a London based organization. I can’t get any deeper than that. They’ve never had any trouble with the law that I can see,” Sam said.
“Well, I got this from their place. 101 Slayer Rules,” Martin said. “Not only that, she ran when we identified ourselves.”
“I want to talk to these people. All of them,” Jack said. “Who knows how many of our cases have a link to that place.”
Alexander Harris was not a happy camper when he went to open the door. They had taken out a nest of vampires last night, and he’d badly strained his leg during the fight. He looked through the peephole and groaned when he saw five men and women in suits. And Willow had just arrived with the Fang Gang. Could things get any worse. An explosion answered that question. It just did, because…
“Ooomph!” Xander grunted as one of the men kicked down the door. Smoke billowed out of one of the rooms that three girls just vacated, all coughing as Willow went in with the fire extinguisher.
“Mary, I thought you said your science project wouldn’t blow up, this time,” Xander coughed. Man, the door was on top of him, and somebody was standing on the door. The agent standing on it quickly apologized and got off, but still had his gun trained on the young slayer.
“It shouldn’t have. I don’t know what I did wrong. It’s only a thermal conductor…” Mary said quickly. Xander groaned. Mary was a good, talented slayer, but she was also a brainiac like Willow.
“You connected the power source wrong. You connected the line voltage to ground,” another one of the girls, Lucille, said. Xander groaned. This whole conversation was way over his head. He looked up and into the eyes of an older man, older than the other two male agents. This dude was not happy.
“We have some questions for you and your people,” he said.