Chapter Six

I drove to my office, hoping I wasn't making a mistake leaving Peter and Kitty with Murph. In the comcis, Colossus was known to be unreasonable regarding his sister, so his relatively meek acceptance of me asking him to stay put and trust me struck me as questionable, at best. I remembered Kitty as playing hard and fast with restrictions placed upon her - the whole "Professor Xavier is a jerk" came to mind- and she knew Chicago. She could phase with Peter through a wall and be gone long before Murphy could even get out of the gym. I didn't really have a choice - the alternative was to take them with me, into my meeting with Bonham, and that would be unprofessional. Hey, don't laugh. I have some modicum of business sense.

I went into my building and walked up five flights of stairs to the office. I jabbed my key into the lock at my door and opened it, catching sight of the envelope on the floor just before I stomped on it. I suppose I should have been thankful that it hadn't required a signature I stooped over and picked it up, going over the white envelope absently. I didn't recognize the logo or the name - a pinkish-purplish flower with the initials - PBL - but my magical senses didn't tell me anything interesting. I ripped open the strip on the back, and pulled out my ticket.

Included with my ticket was a parking pass for the private lot off West Adams, which was a nice change from those game day fee hikes . It probably says a lot about my life that I immediately began, at the sign of this good fortune, looking around for falling footwear.

It probably says more that, when I later pulled my car to the lot entrance, the attendant spent what seemed to be an inordinate amount of time checking my parking pass for authenticity, as if trying to reconcile my battered vehicle and appearance with his preconceived notions of who belonged in his lot.

I felt my temper start to build, accompanied by a burst of static from the radio at the guy's hip. "It's a parking pass, I said, not fine art."

He growled at me, and waved me in, more likely due to the arrival of a couple cars behind me than anything else. He gave me a glare as I drove off, and I bit down on a snide comment – I am a professional, after all – and forced myself to return a smile and a wave. I maneuvered the Beetle into a parking space in between a Lexus SUV and a Porsche convertible that was parked on the edge of my space, well over the yellow line, forcing me to pull in carefully. I really can't afford a claim against me. My mechanic Mike keeps my car up and running, like seventy-five to ninety percent of the time, and I had never bother my Insurance carrier with such trivialities as mold demons or damage from flaming monkey poo, but for some reason I was still considered "high risk."

I left the parking pass on the dash as conspicuously as I could, to remind the booth guy that I really did belong there, no matter how odd my Volkswagon may have looked next to its sports car descendent. I gave my poor beleagured Beetle a reassuring pat, and found myself fighting the urge to hex all the Porsche's computer systems for making my car feel inadequate. The idea of doing so made me smile a bit, and then feel slightly ashamed of the thought of abusing my magic. I took a moment to center myself, and felt that too familiar prickle I got when I was being watched. I scanned the area, but the only people I saw were the jerk waving in a dark Mercedes and some fans heading to the arena.

I wound my way through security, glad I'd left both staff and blasting rod in the Beetle. I held my duster open for security, and ended up having to toss a can of silly string from one of the pockets as a potential security hazard.

"Silly string. Really? I suppose the three day waiting period at the toy store should have tipped me off, huh," I muttered as I threw the offending can into the garbage.

I felt self conscious walking these halls again. It was only a couple weeks since my last visit - also a business trip - when I'd caught a manaed defiling Mac's beer to try to stage a literal - and hyperviolent - Bacchanalia at a Bulls game. I made my way through the hallway to the suite designated on my ticket., and felt naked without rod and staff. It's a business meeting, Harry, I scolded myself, not a fight, but I found myself shaking out the bracelet of little shields I wore over my left wrist. Taking measured breaths, I knocked politely on the door and waited.

"Come in, come in," came a cheerful voice.

I reached out carefully, unsure why I was so apprehensive about entering. I grasped the doorknob and opened it.

"Mr. Dresden, I presume," Grayson Bonham was a short, thin man with blonde hair and round glasses, and he spoke with a slight British accent. "Such stories I have heard of you, wondrous and terrible."

I looked at him, standing there in dark tan pants and a green Kings polo shirt, "Likewise," I said, "only not so much with the terrible, of course."

Truth be told, Bonham did a lot of TV stuff which for obvious reasons I couldn't watch, but Billy and Kirby swore by them. "How can I help you?"

"So forthright and businesslike," he said. "Didn't you want to watch the contest? Perhaps take a bit of refreshment?"

He indicated a buffet spread across one wall and my mouth watered involuntarily. "Thanks, I'm good," I lied. "I'm in the middle of another case right now. If it turns out that I can help you, I will, but I wanted you know that I can't promise your case will get my exclusive attention, at least not until Saturday."

Bonham regarded me, eyes calculating behind the glasses. "That grieves me, Mr. Dresden, as I fear my needs are within a similar timeframe. Ms. Mallory did not mention you being otherwise preoccupied at this time."

I shrugged, "I wasn't preoccupied when I spoke with her. My clients arrived just as I hung up with her. Like I said, I'll be happy to hear your case, and maybe I will be able to help you in the time you need. If not, I can at least direct you to someone who may be better suited to help you."

"Is there another Wizard in the area?" he asked, "For rest assured, it is a Wizard's services I require. Perhaps I can offer a suitable increase over your normal rate that may persuade you to give precedence to my needs, say ten times your usual wage?"

I looked at him, trying to determine how serious he was. I wasn't going to accept, but that wasn't chump change. A decade or so earlier, when I was getting by on Ramen noodles, I could see myself rationalizing a way to accept. After all, the situation with Illyana was pretty much a waiting game; I just had to make sure Colossus and Shadowcat didn't cause any damage in the next day or so.

I chose my words carefully, "I'm afraid that it isn't a matter of money, Mr. Bonham. If you've heard anything about me, I would hope it's that I stand by my word, and no amount is going to change that."

"Yes," he said gravely, "I've heard that. Ah, complications. So be it, then." He took a drink from his cup, "I seek the release of one important to me, imprisoned against his will."

"Whoa," I said, "you want me to break someone out of jail?"

"He is not being held in mortal hands, Wizard. If that were the case, I certainly have the financial wherewithal and political connections to free him. His detention is unlawful, and in the interest of the brevity that you seem to cherish, I assure you that the authorities cannot help me in this matter."

"In the interest of brevity then," I said, "maybe we can dispense with the whole charade you have going on here."

Bonham gave me a flat look. "Charade?"

"Oh come off it. You aren't even as good an actor as Mab was."

"Do tell."

"Well," I said, "everything about you seemed a little off, but the whole mortal hands comment set off my fae-dar."

His eyes went flat at the calculated insult.

"My apologies," I said quickly, "but that certainly is another corroboration."

"What is your point, Wizard?" the man said.

"My point is that you aren't human. Not sure if you're Wildfae or High Sidhe, but I think I can even guess your real name."

Maybe a ghost of a smile reached his lips as he stood waiting.

"Dick Grayson was, of course, the name of the first Robin, and Bonham - from Bonhomme - means Good man. In other words, a Goodfellow. And you invited me to a freaking hockey game, the one game where they play with a puck." I paused, "So, do I speakest aright?"

Bonham looked at me, gravely. "It occurs to me," he said, "that my nom de guerre may not be as creative as I had been informed. You are of course correct in your reasoning. 'Tis not my True Name, of course, but 'twill suffice for now."

He seemed to shimmer, his form melting into a more traditional visage of a member of the Sidhe - handsome beyond human measure, almond shaped eyes of a brilliant green gold color, delicately pointed ears and canines, the latter of which had spread into a smile.

Whoa. I had been fairly certain, but to have this confirmation was unnerving. The Leanansidhe was my godmother. Mab, the Queen of Air and Darkness. had taken an unfortunate interest in me. I had seen Queen Titania in my Sight as she maneuvered her troops to war. I even had my own guard comprised of pixies and dew drop fairies. I had slain the Summer Lady years ago, and had cast defiance at and even threatened her Winter counterpart. But even I was a little awestruck coming face to face with a star from one of William Shakespeare's most popular plays. "Ooookay," I said. "So that's not a little bit creepy. Is this job all just one of your jokes? You are sorta famous for that."

"This is no jest, wizard," he said. "I do have a commission for thee. I ask your aid for one bound within the lands of Faerie, imprisoned beyond my own talents to effect release."

My eyes narrowed suspiciously. "And who told this guy to go directly to jail and not pass go?"

"No one with any legitimate authority to do so, certainly," he answered glibly.

"Not good enough," I said. "We can dance around, but if you're on a schedule and you need my help, I'm going to get answers, or I'm not taking the case."

Goodfellow's face darkened, "I would be careful, mortal. You've trouble enough with the Sidhe to go offering such insults, especially having some meager knowledge of my aspect and power."

"Listen, Puck," I replied, "The Erlking wants to stick my head on a wall if he gets the chance. Mab's been trying to get me to sign on with her, and I'm still in her debt, to boot. Stars and stones, I've pissed off most of faerie at one point or another. You want a piece of me, you're going to have to take a number."

"So young to have such grudges held against you," he said, breaking into a smile that was equally as scary as his earlier frown. "It seems to me that a deal may yet be struck between us. I can offer a reprieve from your enemies, freedom from your debt to the Queen of Air and Darkness, immunity from the vengeance of the Hunter."

"Yeah," I scoffed," And how does that work?"

"Simply, Wizard," he said smugly. "Accept my commission. Complete it within the allotted time, and the one you rescue will grant these small boons as recompense."

"Who the hell has the power to boss around Mab?"

"Who else but he who preceeded the Queens? He who ruled all Faerie before foul treachery brought him low and sealed him against all hope of escape. Why, King Oberon, of course."

"Oberon's dead," I said reflexively.

"Nay, mortal. Such as he could not be removed so easily. Your own sage, Newton, specified that power cannot be created nor destroyed; whither be that power, then, were Oberon slain?"

I shrugged, "I always figured that his Mantle was split between the Summer and Winter Queens."

He laughed, almost a braying sound. "Winter and Summer, share? Have you learned nothing from your interactions with the Courts, Wizard? Even now, in their dire panic to prevent me from engaging your services, they can scarcely manage truce. 'Tis another reason to free the King. The bickering among the Queens and Ladies can be entertaining, but now is the time to put aside such pettiness and unite in preparation for what is yet to come."

"Yet to come?" I asked, confused,

"Are you blind? Did not the insanity of Lady Aurora not illustrate the danger? Winter ignoring calculated insults by the Vampire Courts, Red and White? Your godmother, encased in ice in Arctis Tor, dripping her own madness? The need for the guiding hand of my liege has never been greater."

The Black Council, I thought. I'd seen evidence that some of the Sidhe may have been associates of the hypothetical organization that had come close to killing me several times over in the last decade or so. I considered my words, "If I agree to your job, at the fees and favors you mentioned, where would I even begin looking?"

He tossed me a stick, "I am not permitted to know the exact location, but my information is that the entrance is somewhere nearby. You know the way of the Ways - seek ye the parallels betwixt the worlds."

The parallels - well, a lot of jails have iron bars. Iron enough to hold someone like Oberon. That seemed the best place to start. If I were going to start. One the one hand, I could be apparently be free of Mab's twisted desire to make me her Winter Knight, and on the other. I'd had enough of the Sidhe for a couple Wizard's lifetimes. I didn't relish making myself a target for both Summer and Winter. I also got the feeling that if I tried and failed would mean there wouldn't be much left if your friendly neighborhood Wizard.

"Listen, Puck, I need to make a call,"