The pain vanished so suddenly that it left me gasping, even as the image of a simple wooden rod, a couple of feet long, heavily carved with sigils and runes, leapt into the forefront of my thoughts. Along with the image of the blasting rod came thousands of memories, everything I had ever known about using magic to summon and control fire in a hurry, evocation, combat magic, and they hit me like a sledgehammer.

I lay there shuddering for a minute or two as I took it all back in. The memories filled a hole inside me I hadn’t even realized was there.

Michael left his hand on my head. “Easy, Harry. Easy. Just rest for a minute. I’m right here.”

I decided not to argue with him.

“Well,” I rasped weakly a moment later. I opened my eyes and looked up to where Michael sat cross-legged on the floor beside me. “Somebody owes somebody here an apology.”

He gave me a small, concerned smile. “You don’t owe me anything. Perhaps I should have spoken sooner, but…”

“But confronting someone who’s had his brain twisted out of shape about the fact can prove traumatic,” I said quietly. “Especially if part of the twisting was making damned sure that he didn’t remember any such thing happening.”

He nodded. “Molly became concerned sometime yesterday. I asked her to have a look at you while you were sleeping earlier. I apologize for that, but I didn’t know any other way to be sure that someone had tampered with you.”

I shivered. Ugh. Molly playing in my head. That wasn’t necessarily the prettiest thing to think about. Molly had a gift for neuromancy, mind magic, but she’d used it to do some fairly nasty things to people in the past-for perfectly good reasons, true, but all the same it had been honest-to-evilness black magic. It was the kind of thing that people got addicted to, and it wasn’t the kind of candy store that I would ever want that kid to play in.

Especially considering that the inventory was me.

“Hell’s bells, Michael,” I murmured. “You shouldn’t have done that to her.”

“It was her idea, actually. And you’re right, Harry. We can’t afford to be divided right now. What can you remember?”

I shook my head, squinting while I sorted through the dump-truckload of loose memories. “The last time I remember having it was right after the gruffs attacked us here. After that…nothing. I don’t know where it is now. And no, I don’t remember who did it to me or why.”

Michael frowned but nodded. “Well. He doesn’t always give us what we want. Only what we need.”

I rubbed at my forehead. “I hope so,” I said sheepishly. “So. Um. This is a little awkward. After that thing with putting your Sword to my throat and all.”

Michael let his head fall back and belted out a warm, rich laugh. “You aren’t the sort of person to do things by halves, Harry. Grand gestures included.”

“I guess not,” I said quietly.

“I have to ask,” Michael said, studying me intently. “Lasciel’s shadow. Is it really gone?”

I nodded.

“How?”

I looked away from him. “I don’t like to talk about it.”

He frowned but nodded slowly. “Can you tell me why not?”

“Because what happened to her wasn’t fair.” I shook my head. “Do you know why the Denarians don’t like going into churches, Michael?”

He shrugged. “Because the presence of the Almighty makes them uncomfortable, or so I always supposed.”

“No,” I said, closing my eyes. “Because it makes the Fallen feel , Michael. Makes them remember. Makes them sad.”

I felt his startled glance, even with my eyes closed.

“Imagine how awful that would be,” I said, “after millennia of certainty of purpose. Suddenly you have doubts. Suddenly you question whether or not everything you’ve done has been one enormous, futile lie. If everything you sacrificed, you sacrificed for nothing.” I smiled faintly. “Couldn’t be good for your confidence.”

“No,” Michael said thoughtfully. “I don’t suppose it would be.”

“Shiro told me I’d know who to give the Sword to,” I said.

“Yes?”

“I threw it into the deal with Nicodemus. The coins and the Sword for the child.”

Michael drew in a sharp breath.

“He would have walked away otherwise,” I said. “Run out the clock, and we’d never have found him in time. It was the only way. It was almost like Shiro knew. Even back then.”

“God’s blood, Harry,” Michael said. He pressed a hand to his stomach. “I’m fairly sure that gambling is a sin. And even if it isn’t, this probably should be.”

“I’m going to go get that little girl, Michael,” I said. “Whatever it takes.”

He rose, frowning, and buckled his sword belt around his hips.

I held up my right hand. “Are you with me?”

Michael’s palm smacked solidly into mine, and he hauled me to my feet.