This is both my first time writing in the Gallagher Girl universe, as well as trying out a different kind of writing style. For a bit of fun I've decided to try my hand at imitating Ally Carter's style, since this is her series and all. Of course this is probably going to be a poor imitation...but hey, at least you all know it is me not her who is writing. No creepy spy things going on here. :)

So the story behind my random venture into this part of fanfiction is simply that I finished GG4 (very quickly) and was both satisfied and not. Carter has become quite the Moffat. (shout out to all you Whovians out there. haha.) She gave us a wonderful book but little to no answers. And I was freaking out yesterday...thinking that that was the last book in the series. Thus spawned...this. So I hope you all enjoy this story and I would greatly appreciate any feedback!

((Disclaimer: I do not own anything of or related to Ally Carter's Gallagher Girl series, nor do I own any inventions patented or not by the CIA, M16, or any other spy agency that may be mentioned in this work. Also...I am not a spy. But then again, can you really trust an author? mwaha.))

Spoilers for GG4


Report Entry #1

My name is McKenna O'Leary. I am 18 years old. I have dark blond hair and blue eyes. I am 5'6''. I live in the U.S., currently residing in an apartment somewhere in the middle of South Dakota. I work at a small bookstore a block away from where I live called "Steve's". I make just enough to pay the rent.

My parents died four years ago in a car crash, and I have no siblings. I have one boyfriend with whom I share my apartment (which is an important distinction from living in the same apartment, just to be clear).

His name is Christopher Bukovinski. He is also 18 years old. He has brown hair (which actually has this awesome shine to it in the sun) and deep brown eyes (note to self: don't get lost in those again). He works at Joe's Hardware, also just down the street from the apartment. His paycheck goes towards food.

His parents live and work in Haiti as missionaries.

Those are all facts.

Those are all you will find about us.

We are living, breathing citizens in a small, safe community. Far away from everything. It is a place where anyone can start anew, and begin a life without the burdens of their past. Where past lies can be forgotten and only the truth can pervade the future.

There's just one problem: we are made up of lies. And without those lies, we have no future.

OoOoO

PROS AND CONS OF BEING ON THE RUN WITH A BOY:

(A list by Cameron Morgan)

PRO: You really get to see the world from a new perspective.

CON: Every new place you go also means a new name, job, etc.

PRO: Boy is totally hot.

CON: Boy still won't tell me a number of things which I continue to pester him about. (I think he just likes being mysterious…)

PRO: You can finally see the world from a normal person (non-spy) perspective.

CON: The above lasts for about a minute before you realize that you are still on the run.

PRO: It would make for a wicked essay in CovOps

CON: You don't have a CovOps class to write an essay for anymore, let alone a school to have classes in. Or friends to go to those classes with. Or family to rant about those classes to. Or a place to truly call home. Or…

Okay. I'll stop myself there.

I miss home.

I miss the Gallagher Girls.

I miss my mother.

I miss being able to be a (relatively) carefree teenager.

Does everyone feel this way when they turn 18? When they finally realize that they have suddenly become legal adults, when they can live on their own, have freedom from their parents and school and then find out that they have more responsibilities than ever before to match and outweigh those freedoms?

Perhaps.

They also haven't been looking over there shoulder constantly (figuratively, of course, actually doing so would violate rule #8 of basic counter-surveillance tactics) desperately hoping that the old woman on the bench wasn't actually a top-notch spy sent out to capture you by the Circle of Cavan (for reasons I STILL don't know).

"Pardon me, Miss?"

I reminded myself that a normal non-spy trained person would jump when surprised out of their thoughts.

"Yes," I smiled at the middle-aged woman in front of me. I'd seen her at the store before, always browsing the cookbooks for a little while before moving towards the fiction section. She always preferred the historicals. "Mrs. Finch, right?"

Her eyes lightened as she smiled. "That would be me. You've been here in New Haven for a few months, haven't you? I've seen you around the park in the morning."

Every morning I've been running, changing the route every now and then, rarely going the same way twice. Some habits are harder than others to break, I suppose. Few people are about at the time I'm usually up. It makes it much easier to keep in shape when no one is about. Somehow having half the town see a new resident flipping frontwards and backwards, doing moves even Chuck Norris would envy, didn't seem like a pleasant experience

It took three months for me to finally be 'allowed' to train on my own like that. Four months until my over-protective (but realistic) house-mate finally conceded that being by my side at every second was not necessary and a bit suspicious looking in fact. His defeat was not because he thought it wasn't needed, but because it had caused two of the three moves we'd had at the time.

Since then we'd only had to move once.

And it wasn't because our enemies almost caught sight of us, but our friends. Well, my friend Macey McHenry to be specific. I don't know why she was in Oklahoma, I might never know. I hope I do…

Anyway, I knew her when I went to the Gallagher Academy. She was one of my close friends, a tight-nit group which included two other girls, Bex Baxter and Liz Sutton.

I haven't seen them in so long. It's for their own safety, at least that's what I keep telling myself.

"I've taken to walking each morning; it makes the rest of the day seem so much brighter." Mrs. Finch was speaking again; her voice a sweet and happy tune. It sounded so much like my mother's.

I nodded to her, smiling some more, if not a bit sadly. "I agree completely. There's nothing like a bit of exercise in the crisp morning air. Do you have anything in specific you are looking for today?"

The older woman's black curls shook. "Not this time, no. I'm just browsing this time. I always love the selection here." She paused for a moment. "Actually, there is a book I heard about from a friend. It isn't exactly new, but it sounded interesting."

"All right, what's the title and I'll go see if we have it." Although it was a small book store, nothing like the chains around the country, I had to admit that the manager always seemed to pick a great selection. There were few books we have to donate to the library or local kids-hope charity because they always happen to sell.

Mrs. Finch chewed on her lip briefly. A small part of me recalled a lecture my Human Movements teacher gave in sixth grade. Chewing the bottom lip most often is a sign of nervousness or uncertainty. Chewing the upper lip is either anger or confusion. She fell in to the first category.

"I don't recall the name actually, but it was a non-fiction." She glanced into the distance, thinking. "Something about a history of women in the Civil War."

"Well, it should be in one of the back sections if we have it. I'll go check." I said as I walked towards the rear end of the store. It was a shame so few people went to look in the non-fiction section, Liz would have severely disapproved at how little people valued histories.

I scanned the section where the Civil War books were shelved. Most were about Lincoln, some about the politics at the time, others about cotton and the difference in North and South economies. Towards the end there was a book that caught my eye. The Sectional Rift: A Story through the Eyes of American Women.

I pulled it out and quickly flipped to the table of contents. It certainly sounded like what Mrs. Finch was looking for.

On a whim I flipped through the pages. There was a section on Rose Greenhow and her services to the Confederates. I chuckled softly to the pages which told of her death when her boat capsized. (In truth, she continued to work for a resurgent group determined to bring back the Confederacy after the War. They failed, but their spy work was something to be admired even two hundred years later.)

The air around me turned solid and the beating of my heart seemed to stop as I saw the page that followed.

On it was a picture of a sword, a very familiar sword, one which I saw nearly every day for 12 years. It was Gillian's sword, or rather, Cavan's.

My finger skimmed the small image as my eyes moved across the words below. It was barely more than a blip about a woman named Gillian Gallagher and the legend surrounding her about how she 'supposedly' saved Lincoln's life sometime during the War. No mention of how, who, when, or what her legacy was.

I placed the book to the side and brought the book next on the shelf nearer. If one book had something about Gillian, maybe another had more. I didn't actually believe that of course, but heck, a girl's got to try.

Luck does funny things sometimes.

The next book was about gangs during the Civil War era. It mentioned Gillian. Once. When it spoke about Ioseph Cavan and his group which mysteriously disappeared after a ball he was at one night, the same date Gilly foiled his plot to assassinate President Lincoln. The beginning of this strange feud.

I could see Mrs. Finch beginning to get impatient at the counter, so I picked up her own book and brought back to the counter where her joy filled face thanked me over and over.

The other book I placed under the counter, near my purse. Hope is a strange thing, but it came to me then, as I hoped that there would be something more in that book about the Circle and their mission.

And maybe more about Gillian? Maybe even something about Gallagher Academy?

The little bell on the door dinged as she exited, but I barely heard it. I missed my friends and my school. But how could I go back without putting them in danger? So much more than I would be in myself. I need to find the answers. We've been delaying it for so long, trying to fit in, to master our legends.

I must find out why the Circle of Cavan needs me so desperately.

I must… A Gallagher Girl never gives up fighting. This waiting is so tedious, but I cannot give up. I will not. But it is so easy to just become a part of this little town, barely on the map. This comfortable life without danger, without traitors…without being a spy.

Apparently I was so immersed in my thoughts that I hadn't heard the bell ring again as someone else entered into the store. Strike 1 for Cammie. Lesson #1 when being a spy: never, ever, forget to be aware of your surroundings.


Please Review! I would love to hear your feedback on the start of the story! I have the next two chapters completed so far, but beyond that...the plot is subject to change. :) Your feedback will probably effect where this story goes, so review!

And please, use constructive criticism. Flames are just irritating. And will tick me off. Seriously. You think Bex is scary when she's angry? Ha.

**edit: change in one of the beginning paragraphs. Thanks to FieraMare for the help! (see constructive criticism is noticed AND welcomed!)