Ravenloft: The Calling
Three siblings, one sentient manor, and an ancient magic that demands to be unleashed
by KOREN G RHODES
The inheritance was supposed to be a gift. Instead, it is a calling. When Ezra, Astrid, and Symphony return to the sprawling, sentient Ravenloft Manor following the death of their Aunt Maggie, they expect a simple estate transfer. What they find is a house that breathes, watches, and remembers. Bound by their parents to protect them from a dangerous destiny, the siblings soon discover they are the heirs to an ancient magical bloodline—and their powers are finally waking up. But they aren't the only ones interested in the manor’s secrets. Jacob Tully, a dark witch with a thirst for cosmic power, is closing in. He intends to use the siblings as a key to tear open the veil and summon the Devourer, a void-entity of endless hunger. Guided by the mysterious attorney Orion Lockwood and the steadfast Deputy Rain Hart, the trio must undergo a perilous ritual to unbind their magic before the manor's ancient wards collapse entirely. From the Anchor to the Catalyst to the Ancient Witch of the House, each sibling must embrace their unique role to stand against the encroaching darkness. In a battle where the estate itself is the prize, the siblings will learn that family is the only thing stronger than a god from the void. The gates are open. The calling has begun.
- Paranormal Fantasy
- Gothic Horror
- Urban Fantasy
- Contemporary Fantasy
Prologue
The night Aunt Maggie died, Ravenloft felt it first.
A tremor rippled through the old bones of the Manor, subtle enough that the lamps only flickered, but deep enough that every nail, every beam, every stone seemed tense. The house had been holding its breath for weeks, sensing the unraveling of the wards Maggie had woven into its walls.
Now the final thread snapped.
Maggie staggered in her study, one hand pressed to her chest, the other braced on the desk. The grimoire lay open before her, its pages glowing faintly with the last of her magic. The spell she had cast—her final protection—was incomplete. She knew she wouldn’t finish it.
The shadow in the corner swelled, stretching long fingers across the floorboards.
“You’re too late,” Maggie whispered, though her voice was barely a breath. “They will come. The children will come.”
The shadow surged.
The lamps blew out.
Ravenloft screamed.
Not aloud—its voice was older than sound—but the walls shuddered, the floorboards buckled, and every door in the house slammed shut at once. The Manor tried to push the darkness back, to shield her, to hold her upright.
But Maggie was already falling.
Her knees hit the floor. Her breath hitched. The grimoire slipped from her fingers and thudded onto the rug, pages fluttering wildly as if caught in a storm only it could feel.
The shadow reached for her.
Ravenloft struck back.
The chandelier above exploded in a burst of golden sparks, the wards flaring to life beneath the wallpaper like veins of molten light. The shadow recoiled with a soundless shriek, retreating into the cracks between the walls.
But Maggie did not see it.
Her eyes were already dimming.
With the last of her strength, she whispered to the house, “Hide it.”
The grimoire snapped shut.
A gust of wind—impossible, indoor, fierce—swept through the study. Papers flew. Curtains whipped. The rug curled at the edges. The book slid across the floor as though pulled by invisible hands.
Ravenloft moved it.
The floorboards parted with a groan, revealing a narrow cavity beneath the desk. The book dropped into the darkness, landing with a soft, final thud.
The boards sealed themselves.
The rug smoothed.
The room stilled.
With her last breath, she looked at Ravenloft. “Find them. Return them…and their memories.”
By the time Maggie’s body slumped sideways, the grimoire was already gone—swallowed into the hidden places of the Manor where only the house itself could reach.
Outside, the wind returned in a violent rush, rattling the windows. The Raven on the chimney cawed once, sharp and mournful, before taking flight into the night.
When the neighbors found her the next morning, the study looked untouched.
No broken glass.
No scorch marks.
No sign of struggle.
No book.
Just Maggie, peaceful as if she had fallen asleep at her desk.
And Ravenloft, silent and watchful, guarding the secret she died to protect.
Chapter One
Ezra turned down the narrow dirt road as tangled wood pressed in from both sides, branches arching overhead like skeletal fingers trying to lace themselves together. The blue sky dimmed into a bruised purple as dusk settled, and the first stars blinked awake—tiny, cold witnesses to whatever waited ahead. Ezra drummed his fingers on the steering whe…