“Ma’am,” Clarence said, bowing stiffly as he handed a bundle of clothes toward me. It was Ziggy’s borrowed pants. On top was a folded note.

I looked from the livid purple bruise of a hand print around Ziggy’s neck to the gleaming white paper and snatched the clothing and note from Clarence’s hands. Shaking with rage, I unfolded the missive.

I only said I wouldn’t kill him. Enjoy what’s left.

I crumpled the note in my fist. “Clarence, if I needed you to send something to someone, would you do it?”

“It depends on what that something is.” He eyed Ziggy’s gray body as if mentally calculating his weight.

“No, not him. He’ll be fine.” I couldn’t ask the butler to risk his life freeing Ziggy, nor did I feel comfortable just turning the kid loose on the streets. I would hand him over to one person, and one alone. “I need you to deliver a note.”

He appeared reluctant. “You could ask the Master. He has messengers.”

“No. Cyrus can’t know about this.” Almost without thinking, I smoothed back a damp strand of Ziggy’s hair. His gaze darted over my face and his mouth moved slightly, but I could tell the drug hadn’t yet worn off completely. Had he been given another dose?

I wanted to be able to smile, to give him some reassurance, but I couldn’t. I turned back to Clarence. “Please. I want to notify this boy’s father. I want to get him out of here.”

Ziggy’s body spasmed. Great, I thought, he’s allergic to whatever Cyrus gave him, and he’s going to have a seizure. To my relief, the twitches that followed were much tamer, a sign that his muscles were slowly coming back to awareness after their paralysis.

“Give me your letter,” Clarence said somewhat reluctantly. “And tell me the address.”

“1320 Wealthy Avenue,” I said, choking back tears of relief. “The note’s on the table there. Do you want me to write down the number?”

“No, ma’am. 1320 Wealthy Avenue. Will you require anything else?”

A declaration of loyalty like the knights gave Arthur in all those Camelot movies would have been nice, but I doubted I would get one from Clarence. The only guarantee I had was the fact he hated Cyrus and probably wouldn’t go out of his way to make his master happy.

Clarence nodded as though he’d read and agreed with my thought, then he left without another word. Once he had gone, I knelt at Ziggy’s side.

His eyes searched my face, and his mouth worked feebly to speak. I laid my hand on his chest, hoping the touch comforted him. “Ziggy, I believe the drugs he gave you are wearing off. Did he give you another dose? Blink once for yes.”

With visible effort, his eyes closed briefly, then snapped open.

“You have some bite marks I think might need cleaning. Can I examine you?”

Two blinks and an angry glare.

I sighed. “I’m sorry I bit you. I really am. But I couldn’t let Cyrus know who you were. He’d kill you. You know I wouldn’t have done it in any other circumstance.”