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.
Excerpt:
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?”
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