A/N: I had been planning to keep this chapter till the end of the week and then post it...you know, build the suspense and everything. However, after reading spirochick39's review, I'm fearing for my life. So, here it is...dum dah dum dumm!

Chapter 3

Meeting the Enemy

An annoyed guardsman stood watch outside the main gate of Fowl Manor. He was annoyed because he had been standing in the exact same spot for an entire day, waiting for someone to try to gain entrance. Those were his orders. The guardsman was a bit short-tempered because Britva had personally forbid him to smoke, forbid him to talk, forbid him to sleep, and forbid him to leave his spot for any reason, "come Hell or high water, enemy gunfire or death," as Britva had said.

He dared not disobey Britva because Britva would certainly kill him. The guardsman sighed to himself. It looked like he had wasted the whole day keeping watch over the road. He had only seen one car the entire time, and that one had apparently had just taken a wrong turn. The guard looked out over the road and, much to his surprise, saw a yellow cab coming straight for the main gate. The guard put a hand on the gun in his jacket and moved to the center of the gate, holding out the other hand which motioned the cab to stop. It did and a pale teenager climbed out from the backseat then went to the driver's window and paid his bill. The cab then turned around it front of the gate and headed off, back to where ever it had come from. The teenager straightened up, smoothed the wrinkles from his Armani suit, and then walked right up to the guard.

The youth cast the guard a withering look and asked, "May I inquire as to reason you have placed yourself in front of my house?"

The guard was caught by the professionalism this teenager used which was much more than even the guard used. Some might even describe it as intelligence. The guard roughly replied, "Just tell me your name, kid."

The pale adolescent looked offended by the term 'kid,' or so the guard guessed that he did as the teenager straightened his tie and stood even straighter. The boy's facial expressions didn't express anything, not even those cold blue eyes. "My name," the teenager said, "is Artemis Fowl the Second. You may inform your leader of that, for I am certain that he is anxious to speak with me."

The guard smiled a very sinister smile, "Or something more."

The guard pulled out a walkie-talkie, turning it on and announcing, "He's here, Britva."

"Excellent," responded a voice. Even through the walkie-talkie the voice sounded dark, "Send him to me at soon as you do a weapons check."

Artemis nearly smiled at the mere mention of a weapons check. After all, this was his home. He, or rather Butler, had weapons planted everywhere that Artemis could set off at any moment of his choosing. Some of them were fairy technology and so Artemis had worn the earplugs Butler had stolen from the LEP helmets many years ago. Butler had still had some left after their final farewell to the fairies. However, Artemis wouldn't use them just yet. He would wait for the opportune moment, a moment he planned to set up himself.

The guard opened the gate and two more guards joined the first to escort the Irish youth to Fowl Manor's family room. Britva was waiting for him in the same chair the Russian had met the boy's father in. The first guard went to the chair and conversed in low tones with the mafiya leader. After the guard left to return to his post, Britva eyed the boy evilly, near loathing. "My guard tells me that you arrived in a cab. Where is your body guard, Butler?" he demanded.

Artemis put on a fine show, allowing the appropriate emotions to distort his normally emotionless face. "He's dead." the boy lied, looking all the world as if he had just lost his only brother.

"Dead? How?" asked Britva harshly.

"He was shot," explained Artemis staring at his shoes, "by a sniper trying to take me out when we were in England."

"And why were you in England?" inquired the man forcibly, trying to catch the boy in a lie.

But Artemis had expected this and had already invented a story for such a case. "The 'Dame of the Mist.' A famous painting of a woman in a field of mist. It has been missing for 20 years, until I discovered its whereabouts a month ago. I had planned on stealing it when...Butler...died..." The boy looked up from his shoes. There were tears in his eyes and he hastily wiped them away.

Britva decided to believe his story. The boy certainly looked distraught enough about it. Besides, even if the boy was lying, what could Butler accomplish against 40 of his trained guards? The mafiya leader stood up and walked around the boy, breathing down his neck, and using the technique he had developed to break lesser minds. Intimidation worked wonders on most of his foes, but most of his foes were not Artemis Fowl, nor did they have the intellect to rival his.

Artemis paid no heed to vulture-like creature, circling him and trying to make him smell his own death. Instead, Artemis decided that now was the time to set up his opponent. It might be dangerous, but it was the time. "Britva, I assume. Did you enjoy the money I gave you in return for my father?"

"Very funny, kid. Just name one reason I shouldn't kill you right here, right now," snarled the man. That was exactly the type of response Artemis was hoping for.

Artemis raised an eyebrow at Britva and replied, "Well, I would say 'because then you'd have a child's blood on your hands' but we both know that that wouldn't bother you at all. So instead, I shall answer 'because I'm magical.'"

"Yes, that's what my employees say," said Britva with the slightest of smiles, "They say you can vanish out of thin air and be seen on opposite sides of the planet in the same hour. You can also make ransom cash disintegrate and make the father you shot yourself rise from the dead. But are you magic enough to dodge bullets?"

Artemis gave his vampiric smile, "Perhaps. I've never been given the chance to try out my magic on that. No, the magic I'm talking about is much more dangerous to you. For example, do you believe that I could cast a spell and disable all your guards outside this building? I promise I will do nothing more than utter eight simple words."

"A demonstration of your magic? It will take out all my men? No, I don't believe you, but I allow you to try. I have at least 20 men out there and none of them will be defeated by a few words. I thought you were supposed to be a genius. Clearly someone was exaggerating."

"Well, you'll soon see, won't you," Artemis answered, taunting the mafiya leader.

Britva took the bait from the taunt, "You know, to prove you have the magic you claim to have and that you will only use words, not some weapon I'm unaware of, you'll have to stand out on the grounds with my men. If you can incapacitate them all with only your 'spell' and not harm yourself, I'll cut you a deal."

"What kind of deal?" humored Artemis, already knowing that Britva wouldn't keep his promise anyway.

"You will become a slave, or rather my weapon, and will have to obey every word I say and I will spare your parents...until you disobey. Then you'll be killed and so will they. If you are lying about your magic, then I will kill your parents, torture you to insanity, and then kill you as well. Sound like a good deal to you?" asked the Russian cheerfully.

"Just grand," answered the teenager, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Britva ignored him and snapped his fingers twice to bring guards into the family room. "Guards," he ordered, "take this boy to the grounds. He says he has a very special magic show to entertain you all." Britva once again smiled his evil smile.

A/N: Muhahahaha...dark chapter. What's Artemis' plan? The next chapter will reveal it, so review this chapter and keep watch for the next. (Though I know my readers, in all their brilliance, can guess what's coming that will only require 8 words and 2 earplugs...dum dum dum!)