I am sooooooo sorry it took me this long to update. Things kept on coming up and then when I did have free time I was too tired to write. Anyways, hope you like this chapter. It gets a little more dramatic again from here on. Please review :)

Rience Brenin stood on his balcony overlooking Caerdydd, surveying the city with unsatisfied eyes. He was not much of a man: short and stocky, his former military muscle slowly going soft from greed, he was more of a Napoleon than a Caesar. He was dressed in the finest clothes the wizard world had to offer, although he figured the sash that spanned his chest could always use another medal, something to honor bravery or some feat of his own invention. His eyes, one of them so brown it was nearly black and the other an icy blue, were hard and loveless. No contentment shone from them, only want, a desire for more than Caerdydd could offer him. He wanted every corner of the wizard world, and maybe even beyond that. To be lord and master over both worlds, to have all people, magical and mortal, in subjection to him, was a tempting idea.

Brenin sighed and turned his gaze away from the bustling capital. The fact that there were uprisings going on at that very moment ruined his vision of what the future could be like. Why couldn't hostile takeovers just be accepted? After all, he had plans to make the worlds a better place. Well, after the people within it were beaten down into subservience, of course. For some reason the majority of the population was opposed to such a mindset.

The aging general entered his comfortable office, shutting the French doors behind him. Marble and rich wood inlaid with gold surrounded him. An imposingly large teak desk faced the even larger fireplace, which was flanked by two stiff-backed black armchairs. The marble floors were covered in expensive rugs and one rare white bearskin. Overhead hung a crystal chandelier, an invaluable fixture that had belonged to some mortal dictator at some time or another.

An abrupt rapping on the door of the office interrupted the Premier's musings. "Enter," he said, slightly annoyed.

Two burly security guards walked in. Between them was something that perked Brenin's curiosity: a petite teenage girl, with fiery determination in her eyes and dark wavy brown hair framing her pixie-like face.

"As much as I enjoy my circulation being cut off, I'd prefer it if you two got your mitts off of me," the girl said sharply, trying to wrench out of the viselike grips the guards had on her upper arms.

"What is this?" Brenin questioned. The girl couldn't have been more than seventeen; she could hardly be considered a threat.

"We found her lurking around in the hallways, Sir. She didn't have clearance to be there," one of the guards informed.

"In that case, why didn't you just throw her out? I can't be bothered by unattended children, Arturo," the Premier told him in a bored tone.

Alex bristled at this. "Hey, I'm nearly eighteen. Not exactly a kid anymore," she spat, although her protest was ignored.

"She claims to know something about the Emrys boy," the other guard said.

The atmosphere in the room immediately changed, adopting a serious, tense feel to it. Brenin's mismatched gaze locked on Alex's. She returned the stare with a willfulness that made him believe there might be something to her claim.

"Alright. Leave us," Brenin told the guards. The two men clicked their heels together in obedience and exited through the way they had come. Brenin sank into one of the leather armchairs and turned his attention on Alex, studying her through narrowed eyes. "Well?"

Alex took a deep breath. "What if I told you I knew where Justin was and could take you to him?" She asked.

Brenin's eyebrow rose in bemusement. "If you did I would first be inclined to believe that you were lying. One must never take the word of another at face value, especially a stranger one knows nothing about," he replied.

"Makes sense. But then again, one would never get what he truly wanted if he never took even the smallest of risks," Alex countered.

"Who are you, then, and what is your supposed association with Justin Emrys?"

"Name's Alex Russo. My family took Justin in eighteen years ago."

Brenin looked intrigued. "Do tell."

"Justin and I were enemies our entire lives. Thought he was better than me, I guess, and everyone else seemed to believe it. When I found out who he was a few weeks back and that you were after him, I saw my chance to finally be rid of him."

Brenin was silent for a moment, the only sound in the room the dull ticking of a gilded clock on his desk. He was searching her eyes for deceit, and Alex, a hardened fibber, did her best to hide any evidence that what she said was a lie. To accomplish this she forgot about how she really felt about Justin. Instead she focused on the time he had transformed Franken Girl into her bff and how mad she had been at him for it. This turned out to be quite effective, for nothing in Brenin's expression betrayed that he suspected anything.

"Where is he, then?" The dictator asked, the eagerness in his voice unmasked.

"Not so fast."

"Ah. So there's a catch, is there?"

"I want compensation. A reward for turning him in."

Brenin shook his head and chuckled. "I must admit that I expected as much. It would seem unusual for you to send this boy to his death just because he annoyed you." The man stood up and paced over to Alex, the stone coldness of his eyes glinting with an evil that made her uneasy.

Without warning, Brenin grabbed her, his hold on her tighter than that of the guards, and with his other hand pulled a silver revolver out of his jacket. He pressed the cool metal barrel against the whiteness of her neck, making her heart pound. She whimpered and suppressed the urge to scream when she heard the click of the hammer being pulled back.

"You're reward is your life, my dear. If for whatever reason you lied to me, or try to run away, then all that prettiness of yours is going to go to waste," Brenin hissed in her ear, so close she could smell the rankness of his breath. "Do you understand?"

Alex nodded, gulping nervously. The pressure of the gun was removed from her neck. Brenin released her arm as well and pushed her roughly away from him. She stumbled a little before regaining her balance, trying to ignore the pain from the bruises she knew his grip had left on her arm.

"Now, take me to him," Brenin demanded with a pointed wave of the revolver.

"Alright, but you have to come alone, and stay hidden. If he sees anyone but me he'll become suspicious and make a break for it," Alex told him, attempting to keep her voice from shaking. Having a gun barrel pressed against your neck would ruffle anyone's feathers.

The general seemed to be fighting an internal battle. He didn't like going anywhere without protection; there was an unusual amount of people who wanted him dead. But this might be the only chance he got to eliminate the only threat standing in his way of world domination. "Alright, I'll go alone. But if you try anything, remember that the Silver Ghost here has killed many a man in a single shot," Brenin informed her, slapping the revolver against the palm of his hand.

Alex gulped again. She turned and headed for the door with Brenin close behind her, trying to convince herself that the worst was over. As long as everything went exactly as planned, she'd be okay. There was just one tiny flaw with the plan, however. No one had figured a weapon into it.