Page 60 of Crown of Tides and Fury

I let the sheer fabric fall, removed the money belt and set it on the nightstand, then lay on the bed.

Ivy laughed. “This reminds me of this horrible year at girl’s camp. This awful, militant woman was in charge. Insisted we pair up each night and check each other for ticks—everywhere.Susie Wells and I never spoke to each other again after that. Couldn’t even look each other in the eye.”

“So, if I never speak to you again, you’ll understand?”

We started laughing, then laughed so hard she had to help me roll over.

She started at my toes and worked her way up, covering me with a blanket and pulling it over each section she cleared. Once my boobs were covered, she took a long, close look at my shoulders and neck, then felt through my hair and all across my scalp. “This would be a good place to hide one.”

After I sat up, she parted my hair a couple of dozen times. In the mirror, we looked like a couple of monkeys.

“I’m so sorry. There’s nothing here. Nothing I can see. Which means there’s no use in Everly looking. Maybe Persi will have more luck. Maybe invisible things are more visible to people who can be invisible.”

She paused to examine the tattoo her husband had permanently branded me with.

I sighed. “Team logo, I guess.”

“Yeah, well, it’s a small price to pay if it works for even one of us.”

“I think it has. I mean, even when it was just henna, it kept Orion from sensing Hank, when I was arrested.”

“Hank,” she repeated. “That’s what you call your pet rock, right?”

I nodded, sat up, and reached for the money belt. “It’s right here.” I unzipped it but she stopped me with a hand on top of mine. “Lennon?”

“Don’t worry. It’s not dangerous.”

She shook her head. “It’s not Hank. It’s the money belt. Has Kitch searched it?”

I stood and placed it on the bed like it was a bomb that might go off. “I’m such an idiot.”

“Come on. Get dressed, so we can let them in.”

“I’m such an idiot,” I mumbled another dozen times while I dressed alone in the closet. I could have avoided the violation of the morning—all of it—if I’d just been thinking clearly. But no, I never thought clearly when Griffon was involved.

Ivy opened the door. Our friends stood there, wide-eyed and hopeful. Her husband more than the rest. “Did ye find somethin’?”

She shook her head. “One last place to look.”

They all looked at me, noticed the ball of socks in my hand, then each, in turn, looked at my groin.

I rolled my eyes and gestured toward the bed. “Hank. It’s always the last place you look, right?”

Wickham stepped close to his wife and pointed at the length of me. “Ye checked her over?”

“Yeah. No ticks, no tracking devices.”

He looked skeptical.

I shook my head. “If you want to look yourself, you’re going to have to give me a few days, a few bottles of whisky, and a boatload of chocolate. Maybe a therapist…”

Kitch went to the bed and sat on the edge, silently asked permission to handle the money belt, then he ran his scanner over it. Nothing beeped, and his shoulders sagged.

“I don’t think it’s the kind of thing your scanner would pick up,” I said.

A smile teased out Wickham’s dimples. “Ye’ve remembered somethin’.”

I grimaced, then nodded.

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