The ancients revered them. The colonists feared them. Today, no one believes in them. Shifters have lived and worked among humans since before recorded history.
Echopharte tells of the first community and how both good and evil have continuously shaped our society, from ancient times up to the present day.
About the Author:
Anthony Stevens is the pen name of a gentleman who has written and published alternate history, urban fantasy and paranormal romances stores. He considers himself a bit of a bard and can usually be talked into sharing a tale or two at any gathering.
He often refers to himself as a tecknogeek olde pharte with a wide variety of life experiences. Although currently employed as an electronic security analyst, he’s worked in a variety of industries including stints teaching computer history at the Florida Institute of Technology, teaching English in a business college in Mexico City and as a technical writer and graphic designer for several high-technology firms.
Besides writing, his interests include photography, space explorations, model railroads, steam engines of all types, history and computer graphics. He’s been reading one or two novels a week since elementary school.
Anthony is also a huge fan of Free and Open Source Software since he hates the idea of putting any more money into the pockets of either Bill Gates or Steven Jobs.
Alisa pushed it aside. “Oh, that won't do among family, girl. Here. Give me a hug.” The warm embrace was just as enthusiastic as the one she gave her son. “Now you two come on up and let's get comfortable. I've got the AC turned up since I know you're both used to the mountains and it's hot and humid out here.”
Later that evening, Grego left his folks watching TV and took Kimmy out, on to the veranda that wrapped all the way around the upper level. “Come on, hon. There's something I want you to see.”
Out back, he led her down another set of stairs and onto a wooden walkway that seemed to float above the grass for a few feet, then curved away, between huge cypress trees. Most of the way, the walk was four or five foot over the swamp. The full moon had a hard time filtering through the tall, moss-draped trees. Well out of sight of the house, the wooden path emerged from the trees and became a dock. The river was mostly smooth with only narrow bands of ripples to show the current and eddies around submerged rocks. It mirrored the black shadow-trees of the opposite bank.
Grego sat on one of the pilings. “This feel a bit quieter, Kim?”