“That’s right,” I said.

“Then either the shadow is still there,” Michael said, “still twisting your thoughts. Still whispering to you. Or you’re lying to me about taking up the coin. Those are the only options.”

I just stared at him for a minute. Then I said, “Hell’s bells. And I thought wizards had a monopoly on arrogance.”

He blinked.

“Or do you really expect me to believe that the Church has been there to document every single instance of anyone picking up any of the cursed coins. That they’ve followed through with everyone tempted by a Fallen’s shadow, taken testimony. Made copies. Hell, gotten it notarized. Especially given that you’ve told me that Nicodemus has worked as hard as he could to destroy the Church’s records and archives through the years.”

Michael’s weight settled back on his heels. He frowned.

“This is what they want, Michael. They want us at one another’s throats. They want us to distrust one another.” I shook my head. “And right now is not the time to give it to them.”

Michael folded his arms, studying me. “It could have done something to your mind,” Michael said quietly. “You might not be in control of yourself, Harry.”

I took a deep breath. “That’s…possible,” I admitted. “Anybody’s head can be messed with. But if you go rewiring someone’s brain, it damages them, badly. The bigger the changes you make, the worse it disorders their mind.”

“The way my daughter did to her friends,” Michael said. “I know.”

“So there are signs,” I said. “If you know the person well enough, there are almost always signs. They act differently. Have I been acting differently? Have I suddenly gone crazy on you?”

He arched an eyebrow.

“More so than usual,” I amended.

He shook his head. “No.”

“Then odds are pretty good no one has scrambled my noggin,” I said. “Besides which, it isn’t the sort of thing one tends to overlook, and as a grade-A wizard of the White Council, I assure you that nothing like that has happened to me.”

For a second he looked like he wanted to speak, but he didn’t.

“Which brings us back to the only real issue here,” I said. “Do you think I’ve gone over to them? Do you think I could do such a thing, after what I’ve seen?”

My friend sighed. “No, Harry.”

I stepped up to him and put my hand on his shoulder. “Then trust me for a little longer. Help me for a little longer.”

He searched my eyes again. “I will,” he whispered, “if you answer one question for me.”

I frowned at him and tilted my head. “Okay.”

He took a deep breath and spoke carefully. “Harry,” he said quietly, “what happened to your blasting rod?”

For a second the question didn’t make any sense. The words sounded like noises, like sounds infants make before they learn to speak. Especially the last part of the sentence. “I…I’m sorry,” I said. “What did you say?”