Call of the Raven.

The Union Series.

Shawn Reilly.

Prologue.

The Call.

"Before the cock crows.

The Raven will call.

And you will be no longer."

~Asher Lake.

Grant Lake dropped his legs over the side of the bed and rubbed at his tired eyes. He hadn't slept much for days, not since the rain had begun. For a few moments he sat there in a listless stupor, staring at the waning moon hovering above the large maple, before staggering to the window to have a better look outside. He didn't see any sign of the dark bird from his dreams but he knew it was there.

He sensed it in his bones.

Throughout history ravens had been considered a bad omen. To him it meant so much more. As rain streaked down the windowpane, great sadness washed over him. He was born a wolf, a leader to the world of animal shifters known as the Union, as well as protector to the protege heirs left in his care. To his kind he was known as a Keeper, and dying young was his destiny.

Leaving the window behind Grant went to the dresser and removed a chain from his neck. He ran his thumb across the silver medallion that bore the emblem of a wolf, and then draped it on top of an antique box shaped like a treasure chest. Closing the door behind him, he walked down the hall to little Kennedy's room and quietly slipped inside. Taking a blue jewel from the pocket of his jeans, Grant placed it on her nightstand. After giving the eight-year-old girl a kiss on the forehead he went across the hall to the twins' room.

Removing the books he prepared for them, from the nightstand drawer, he placed them on top, so that they would eventually find them. In turn, he gave them both a kiss as he had Kennedy, and left the room. He had one last stop to make and that was the boys' room. Turning the door handle he stepped inside the darkened room. The quiet was evidence that Ari was still awake. Any other time his snores could be heard throughout the entire manor. The room was shared by three boys. Two were in bunk beds and the third lay quiet and still on a single bed by the window, but it was fifteen-year-old Ari lying on the bottom bunk that he went to first.

"Can't sleep huh?"

"Oh I could sleep," Ari turned his head toward him, "but every time I drift off Asher throws something at me and wakes me up. He says my snoring bothers him, but I know he's not even trying to sleep. He's reading." Ari yawned. "The fact of the matter is he's miserable, so he feels the need to make me miserable as well."

Grant glanced across the room at Asher whom he knew was listening. Lately being nice to him was an extra hard task. He had become so distant and mean at times, especially to his brother Ari.

"I think he's worried about something, but of course he never tells me anything," Ari complained. "He's completely shut me out, and worst of all he won't let me do my job as guardian." When Grant again said nothing, Ari sat up and scanned over him. "What's up Grant, you look a little worried too?"

"Ari, I would like for you to take Nixon and go sleep in the twin's room tonight. You know they don't like storms much, and I need to talk to Asher alone."

Ari stood and looked at the boy sleeping on the top bunk. Nixon's mouth was opened wide. Even in sleep the nine-year-old seemed to be in alert status ready to scream or worse, bite. "You know I always do as you ask Grant but can't I leave Nixon here? He doesn't like me."

Grant put a fatherly hand on Ari's shoulder. "Just give him some time. He's new here. Now take him and go."

"Oh, all right." Ari gently pulled the younger boy by the arm toward him, and just when he was about to lift him into his arms, Nixon's eyes and mouth flew open instinctively. Without thinking, Grant grabbed hold of his head before he could sink his teeth into Ari's shoulder.

"Why does he always go with the teeth?" Ari breathed. "You would think a bird-"

"I'm not a bird you ugly wet-smelling dog!" Nixon shouted.

Grant hushed him quiet. "I know you don't know us that well, but we mean you no harm. This place is your refuge."

"I don't need any ref-phuge!" Nixon exclaimed angrily. He pushed Grant's hand away but the tears that threatened to form told a different story. Grant knew the boy wanted to trust him but earning his confidence would take time and time was something Grant didn't have. "Why am I going with the dog and not him?" Nixon pointed toward Asher.

Of all the people in the house, even over the gentle loyal Ari, Nixon had chosen Asher and Asher could care less. "I need to talk to Asher alone," Grant repeated, "so go with Ari and don't give him a hard time."

"Then tell him to keep his hands off me!" Nixon demanded jumping down from the bed. Even in that he was rebellious.

Once they were gone Grant crossed over to the bed and looked down at the remaining boy. His hair, long and black as coal, lay against a crisp white pillowcase. His eyes were opened staring blankly out the window at the waning moon. Grant knew how he felt. Since he too was a wolf, Asher also was affected by the moon's weakened state.

"I'm seventeen...not yet a man," he gravely said. "I'm too young to be a Keeper."

"It's the way of things. It's not like you have a choice," Grant said. "Besides, what makes you think I'm going to die?"

"Oh you will die and soon because you made the choice to fall in love."

"Asher, do you always have to be so brutal with your words?"

Turning his head, Asher looked up at Grant. Even in the dark the boy's strange eyes reflected light, but as usual there was no warmth to be found within their depths. Asher had stopped smiling. Asher had stopped laughing. Lately it was always the same blank unreadable face and the same harsh words. "You can't stop it. You will die," Asher flatly said.

"And so will you."

"Yes, but at least I won't die young," Asher sighed.

"What makes you so sure? You're a wolf," Grant argued. "You were born a Keeper, and whether you like it or not you will take my place."

"Yes, I will take your place because the Council has seen to that and will continue to do so upon your demise. However, unlike you, I have come up with a plan to guard myself against the Raven's call." Asher turned away as Grant sat down beside him on the bed. The boy made no indication that he planned to give him more room or that he wanted him to stay.

"And what plan is that?" Grant picked up the book lying next to Asher's hand. The book befittingly was by Edgar Allan Poe.

"It's simple really," Asher said tonelessly. "The Raven doesn't want us to be happy. When we are happy, when we are content, when we fall in love, that's when the Raven appears. So I have vowed never to be happy, never to love or fall in love, and if I'm content, it is only in my acceptance of these things."

Grant's frustration escalated. "Let me get this straight. You will become Keeper to the Union and to the proteges but you won't love them? Is that what you're implying?"

"I will do only what is expected of me." Asher said. "I will keep them. I will provide for them, but I will not love them, ever. It is the only way to survive."

"There was one Keeper that married and had children and he lived a long life."

"You are right. There was one such Keeper, in all the history of ani-shifts that didn't accept the Raven's call, but he eventually went mad. Didn't he?" Asher's eyes boldly lifted to Grant's and his lips curved upward into a sardonic smile. "Or have you forgotten how your father was tormented until he eventually took his own life?"

This time Grant did nothing to prevent the fury spurned by Asher's words. He allowed it to show in his eyes, his face. He had never told anyone the truth about his father and for Asher to know meant he had gone prying into the archives.

Detecting his anger, Asher exhaled, and then quickly stated, "The wolf has full autonomy. He can do as he pleases."

"That's where you're wrong. Only the Keeper and the Pillar Council are granted access to the archives and you are not yet a Keeper."

"Oh," Asher looked away. "That's where you're wrong. Before the cock crows the Raven will call and you will be no longer."

Grant's anger was quickly replaced by an overwhelming and alarming sadness. Just as he started to speak his eyes landed on the book that Asher clutched in his hand and with the slightest turn of his head, he noticed several other books just like it stacked on the nightstand. The titles Grant knew all too well since he had read them himself.

Fact or mythical, the books were all about the Raven. He had spent a great majority of his life searching for an answer just like Asher. Even among the archives Asher was searching past historical events for solutions. If he wanted answers, than he couldn't be beyond help-beyond hope. Neither of them was. Grant had to believe that.

"I discovered a spell in an old book," Grant said. For the first time during their conversation Asher's attention was fully his. Even in the dim room the strange color, the almost fluorescent blue of Asher's eyes intimidated Grant with their intensity. Lowering his gaze, Grant refused to let Asher see his doubts. He knew that his plans weren't full proof. There were dangers that involved cost, not just to him. "I'm not going without a fight. I plan to use the spell. I want to live and I want to love. Asher, despite everything else that you feel, please lookout for me."

Unconvinced, Asher shook his head. "You have nothing, so nothing will change. Fate has seen to that. As I said before there is only one way, and that is my way...never to love."

Grant stopped in the doorway and regarded him. "What a sad, selfish way to live then."

There wasn't a single star in the pitch black spans of sky, only the fading moon. As Grant Lake stood in the backyard, in the middle of a garden that filled the night with the scent of roses and honeysuckle, there was something behind his weakness, something powerful that prevented him from shifting into the wolf. Dropping down to the rain soaked ground he focused all his strength on the waning globe suspended above the outcropping of distant pines, but again nothing happened. Through the knees of his jeans the earth's chill penetrated clear to the bone, and he shuddered because of it.

Looking back over his shoulder toward the manor, he could make out a shadow in the second floor window. Asher was watching. Yet, knowing that he wasn't truly alone, Grant still found no comfort. Then he heard it, the sound he had come to fear...the distant call of the Raven. Dread washed over him. His eyes lingered on Asher's shadow, wishing he could somehow relay to him his pain. Grant refused to allow Asher to be right. He would end the curse.

Turning away from the house, Grant stood, brushed himself off and started walking with even more determination than before. His steps were not his own, for some unseen hand was guiding him. His mind was a tangle of thoughts creating a perverted sense of time that unpredictably placed him in front of the fog shrouded trees, without the knowledge of how he got there. With one large stride, Grant crossed the threshold and entered the forest. When the haze cleared he became aware that he had been transported to his family's final resting place.

How ironic, he thought, that the conclusion of his journey would end here.

For several seconds Grant stared through the entrance of the cemetery. The iron gates were adorned with an intricate display of patterns. In those designs he saw the symbols of his family, the wolf, the tiger, the falcon, and the rat. There were all sorts of animal shifters, or more preferably known as ani-shifts, but these were the most important of all.

He pictured their faces, the ones those symbols represented. They were the reasons he had accepted the call. Asher had been right. According to the archives it was only when a Keeper found love that the Raven called, and only when a Keeper ignores his fate that the Raven turns its wrath on those they love.

Cement and marble stones in an array of shapes and sizes, some elaborate, some not, poked through a dense layer of mist that hugged the ground. In the distance he could see the steeple that marked the small church where his family conducted their funerals. Grant pushed open the gate and proceeded to walk across the soggy ground. His eyes scanned the church with its wide wooden porch and simple, yet elegant lattice work. His family never came here except to bury their dead. It was taboo. When was the last time? Parker? He had been the Keeper then, dying at thirty-four, and now Grant knew his funeral would be next.

He stopped and his boots sunk down into the muddy ground. Again, fate directed Grant to a desolate region of the cemetery which dated centuries back. He recognized it then, situated in the farthest corner, alone and separate, practically concealed by overgrown brush and the extended branches of a willow. Several of the graves were marked with large sculptures of animals representing the form of the ani-shift that lay entombed there forever, but this grave was alone, all by itself.

Shivering uncontrollably, Grant pushed back a long sinuous branch and looked upon an image of a marble raven. The beak was open in mid-caw. The eyes were made of red jewels that glistened in the moonlight, which gave off an eerie manifestation as though it were alive.

He let the branch go and dropped down on his haunches. With a black gloved hand, he moved the tall grass aside, so he could see the name etched into the stone. The hair on the back of his neck stood up and he breathed a staggered breath.

He recognized the name.

The chorus from the owl, the crickets, and the wind suddenly ceased leaving a ghostly silence in their wake. Earnestly, he sought out the moon, his eyes attempting to channel its power. This visual conduit was the means to his magic. But it wasn't working. Without his magic he wouldn't be able to cast the spell.

"That's where you're wrong. Before the cock crows the Raven will call and you will be no longer."

How could he have been so stupid?

As Parker's successor he remembered the oppressive feeling that had been there the night of his death. Grant had felt it deep within his soul that Parker was going to die. And sadly, this night as Asher stood in the window watching him go, without so much as a farewell, he had known.

Grant meant to stand but before he could, he was suddenly knocked forward with such force that, his head smashed against the hardness of the tombstone. Pain shot backward from his eyes and traveled down to his neck. He tried to move his fingers, his arms, his legs, but they did not respond.

Without warning his body rose up from the ground and began to spin in rapid circles, and then just as quickly as the assault began, it came to an abrupt stop. With his brain continuing on in its gyrating dance, acidic bile crept up from his stomach. He swallowed hard to prevent himself from getting sick.

Once again the invisible force took possession of his body and slammed him against the cold wet earth. An involuntary grunt escaped from his lips upon impact, while his ears filled with the sounds of evil laughter. Within his peripheral vision, Grant spotted a darkened form standing just on the edge of the trees. He tried to turn his head but his body refused to obey, so he lay still and quiet as the figure approached.

With each slow methodical stride, Grant could make out more and more of his assailant...the Raven. He could make out a long dark trench coat-collar stiffly gathered around the neck, and black fingerless gloves. From his hands a brilliant light began to glow, blinding Grant, so that all he could see was the light.

"Why are you doing this?" Grant cried out. "I trusted you."

"Because it is expected, because I have no choice. That is why." With glowing red eyes the Raven drew back preparing to throw the light.

"Please," Grant groaned, "let it end here with me."

For a moment Grant was lost in the stars, his thoughts taking him back to the very first time he saw her working the register in the cafeteria. She was so much younger than he was but at that very moment, he knew without a doubt that he had been taken in by her smile. Now he would never know what their future might hold, all because he had blindly let the Raven come into his life.

His mind began to race between the faces of those he loved-all doomed to a life under Asher's heartless supervision. Surrendering to fate, Grant lay helpless on the damp ground. Even if he could, there was no reason to try and move now. He was dying. Through haze filled eyes he blinked upward at the distorted face that loomed over him.

"Let it end here, please," he mouthed.

Squatting down, the Raven stroked Grant's hair back from his brow. Anguish swept over Grant as he searched the face he knew well. "There, there Keeper, don't let it bother you too much. Your instincts are no good around me. It's not your fault that you didn't suspect anything. I was made that way, to conceal what I am, even from myself. It's the only way a Raven can get revenge, and it's the only reason we exist."

"Please," Grant coughed as blood splattered across his shirtfront, "leave my family alone!" Pain raged through his body from his injuries, but far more excruciating was the inner turmoil of knowing that Asher was right. He had failed and the curse would continue.

"For your obedience to the call your family will survive. However, for Asher I'm afraid that's entirely out of the question, because he's the one we want now."

"No!" Grant begged one last time. "Let him be."

"Sorry but it's his turn now." With his purpose realized, the Raven disappeared in a flash of lightening that momentarily lit up the darkened woods. Grant closed his eyes willing Asher to hear him, hoping that he might get the message. They were wolf brothers. Even though Asher tended to both deny and resent what he was, he was a wolf all the same.

And he was the Keeper now.

No comfort came, nothing but the black void that was associated with Asher's heart.

Grant refused to die like this.

He would not die.

He would live, if only to prove Asher wrong.

Besides, dying meant leaving his child alone, and Grant refused to let that happen.

A warm pulsating aura began to emanate from Grant's body, a slow tingle that started in his feet and spread upward growing stronger as it reached his brain. Now that the Raven was through with him, his magic was returning. Grant summoned what strength he had left, along with hope.

That combination would be all that he needed to cast the spell. Just a few simple syllables would allow his body to die, but his spirit hopefully would live on. Warmth flowed throughout his body as he uttered the words, and as it traveled, it washed away his pain. He relished the peace even though it would be short-lived.

Rain drizzled down upon his face as he laid waiting for the inevitable to come. The easy part was over. Soon the hard part would begin. Only through death could the spell be achieved. Beat by beat his pulse began to quicken, until a tearing spasm-like a hand seizing his heart in a death grip, took hold.

Yes, his body would die, but...

As his head rolled backward, Grant's gaze fell on the grotesque statue of the raven. Two red angry eyes glared down at him. Grant knew that the Raven was aware that he had made the ultimate sacrifice. Even as the crescendo of torment grew and Grant Lake lay dying, a smile formed on his lips.

It would end...yes, it would end.