I catch her wrist.
"Potion." She whips a vial from her skirt pocket, liquid inside swirling like molten mercury. "Auntie Sirona’s special blend. Blocks possession better than whiskey blocks feelings." Her laugh dies quick. "Turns your mind into a fortress."
Lochan snorts. "Even fortresses have weaknesses."
Fiona spins the vial, light catching runes etched into the glass. "Two-hour window. Enough time for you to do the deed and let him take over your body. He won’t know until it’s too late."
The vial burns cold against my palm. Frost patterns bloom beneath my fingertips. "What’s the catch?"
"Ever had your synapses deep-fried?" She adjusts her glasses. "Imagine that, but with more screaming."
Behind us, Lochan’s dagger scrapes against its sheath. "What if it doesn’t work and the Raven King is able to take control? He’s weak now, but when he takes his new vessel, he’ll be strong again."
"It will work." Fiona pops a stick of gum. She leans in, peppermint carried on her whisper. "Drink it and be prepared for things to get interesting. You’ll have to try to keep your wits about you. It can’t do the job on its own. If you decide to give in to the Raven King, he’ll have you, and this potion won’t stop it. Free will and all that—it’s stronger than anyone ever realizes."
Lochan stomps closer. "You’re betting Brigid’s life on this? On her?" He jabs a thumb in Sirona’s direction.
I thumb the vial’s stopper. The smell hits first, and I make a face. "Better odds than whatever you’d come up with, fae."
Fiona’s rings click as she squeezes my shoulder. "Tick-tock, boy. Your parasite’s not big on patience." Her gaze flicks to the tattoos peeking under my collar, and I wonder if she knows how they feel to me. Each one is a connection to my shadow magic, but also to the Raven King. Right now they’re humming intensely. He must sense that the Morrigan has taken her vessel, and he’s done waiting.
The potion sloshes. I count the heartbeat pounding in my temples. If this doesn’t work, Brigid’s going to be gone forever. And so will I. But the vial’s already chilling my throat before I can think twice, bitter winter flooding my veins.
Lochan’s glare carves into me. "If you turn—"
"Shiv me yourself," I rasp, wiping my mouth. Metal tang coats my tongue. "Bring flowers for my funeral."
Fiona’s laugh follows me into the shadows as they gather at the corners of my eyes.
My fingers close around the silver stone in my pocket before I can lose consciousness from the potion. It's cool, but as I draw it out, heat pulses through it like alive. The stone catches what little light there is, its surface moving as if liquid silver were running all over it.
The stone throbs in my palm, its energy seeping into my flesh. I close my eyes, focusing on its rhythm. The world falls away, leaving only the pulsing connection between the stone and my consciousness.
And then I feel him.
The Raven King's presence crashes against the edges of my mind. Dark, relentless, seeking any crack to slip through.
"Marius?" Fiona's voice sounds distant, underwater.
I grit my teeth. "He's here."
The pressure builds, a screeching static filling my head. I dig my nails into my palm, using the pain to anchor myself.
"Remember," Fiona's words cut through the chaos, "you're in control. Don't let him—"
Her voice fades as the Raven King's influence surges. Images flash behind my eyelids of blood-soaked battlefields, armies made of shadows, Brigid's—no, the Morrigan’s—eyes glowing with frightening power.
I force my eyes open, meeting Lochan's wary gaze. "If this goes sideways," I growl, "go after Brigid. Save her."
He nods, jaw tight. "Just don't make me regret trusting you."
I manage to get out a laugh. "Wouldn't dream of it."
The stone pulses once more, and I let the darkness in.
The room plunges into darkness, as if the very light is being consumed. But I know it’s just me. My muscles seize, every fiber straining against the invasion. The Raven King's presence floods my mind, a torrent of power and bitter rage.
I fight to keep my thoughts clear, grasping at the lingering warmth of Fiona's potion. It burns in my veins, a lifeline against the crushing darkness.
