You would have noticed. It's subtle but not extremely subtle, and you were literally standing between them.

Perhaps a different spell. Silent Telepathy is assuredly out of her reach, but a skilled wizard knows how to improvise. The point is that she organized… all of this, most likely. Gwen needed an accomplice to stand there and count while she gradually turned you into a chromatic clown, he complied after she showed him the commission, you assented because saying 'no thanks' when offered an exorcism is idiotic. The goal is obvious.

It takes another full minute of abracadabras and color-changes before Gwen finally relents. The count remains accurate the entire time. Her partner sits stock-still, staring into space. There's only one thing left to do, and while she doesn't particularly want to use up one of her precious third-circle spells she was at least able to put herself in a position where it was absolutely necessary. It's the optimal play, she consoles herself.

"Delu solisar."

Protection from Evil winks out like a dead firefly, quickly and without protest.

That's— that's it then. She took a hard swing at reality while its back was turned and reality didn't so much as flinch. Unless something extraordinary is going on, there is no deception here.

With an effort of will she relinquishes the death grip on her weapon and slouches back in her chair. Being vigilant against phantom threats is exhausting. A cup of tea would hit the spot, right around now.

"Is that the punchline?" she says icily.

"Hm? I'd call it good news. There was no—"

"Is that so? You spent all that time investigating me with a spell for doing the laundry and found nothing? I'm shocked."

"The point was to rule out—"

"Please, tell me what the point is! Tell me why I look like I was hugged by a flail snail! I thought painting my face bright red was some kind of mordant joke; it's such a relief to know that this was all an obligatory part of the sacred rite."

The implication of this is so stupid that it takes Gwen a moment to process and respond.

"I am not hazing you," she says slowly. "There is no one else watching us. I did not compel you to come here nor do anything else. I could not possibly have erased your entire—"

"That is a bold claim coming from a wizard, especially—"

"What? Who do you think I am, that I can just use up a – a Limited Wish on harassing someone I've never met before? I'm not a seventh-circle wizard!"

"Hogwash, you talked to him without words. Silent Telepathy is a seventh circle spell, which you didn't use, because wizards can do anything if they prepare for it. Undetectable mind-wipes are at most fourth-circle magic. Speaking of," she says to the cleric, "I am so terribly sorry that Gwen roped you into this interdepartmental feud. I assure you, her conduct is not representative of our values."

"An apology from a cop? Now I've seen everything." He laughs wheezily. "This skulduggery is for your benefit, chucklehead. Easier to break through an illusion than to run ahead with the next one; all you have to do is keep digging and the lies fall apart. That or they shoot you when you get too close to the truth, ha ha."

That's a reasonable gloss. May as well believe it for now, since you're not going to strongarm either of them into confessing on the spot.

It is a reasonable gloss – the cloak and dagger methodology, the tedious repetition, and the humiliation fit with an attempt to smoke out a shadow demon – and after considering that for a few seconds she's prepared to believe it.

Yep.

So why is she still absolutely livid at Gwen in particular? Is she mentally attached to the hazing theory, cursed with emotional incontinence, or some horrible third thing?

You can't just 'decide to believe' that everything is okay; that's not how beliefs work. Your lingering confusion and hurt won't go away until properly banished.

And how is she supposed to do that if she's not allowed to scream cathartically or have a violent meltdown? I feel like we've taken those options off the table a bit prematurely.

Shut up. Every problem is a nail, and you already have a hammer. Use it.

"It's fine," she says, when it looks like the cleric might object to a wand being waved around in the same room. "Just a truth spell. Did it work? Good. I have never lied to you, nor am I concealing anything I believe to be relevant. Short of paying one of Absalom's strongest clerics to Heal you, painting you different colors was my best and only idea for treating your condition. I suppose I could have used a gradient of natural skin tones instead of turning you into an art exhibit. I apologize for the oversight."

"Thanks," she says awkwardly. "I, uh, I'm sorry for freaking out just now. I don't know what came over me."

"No matter. As confused as I am, and I am very confused, it can only be worse for you."

That's oddly understanding of her. But, back to the matter at hand:

"Then a wizard did not do it, as far as you're aware. Is there anything else that could?"

Gwen hesitates. Saying this is completely pointless, since it's neither a reassuring thought nor actionable information, but prevaricating under Abadar's Truthtelling is worse than pointless.

"If it wasn't magic, the next most-likely explanation is that you sold all of your memories to an outsider."