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“He didn’t drown?” I asked.

The farfetched story didn’t make much sense to me, but myths rarely did. The difference now was that this myth was walking around, trying to put an end to every shifter in Louisiana. Maybe the world.

“No, an old witch found his dead body downriver, brought him back to life by draining the life force out of a local beggar, named the babe after the waters which brought him, and taught him the darker magical arts. After a shifter murdered his adoptive mother, he became the creature he is today. Every drop of magic he has comes from death or destruction.”

“And shifter magic doesn’t?” I asked, shivering at the memory of the sound of crunching bone that always accompanied a change.

He chuckled. “Nah, our magic always makes a body more than they were before. The talents we have don’t destroy. Ye know about healing, but others have the ability to discern truth or intentions, and there are varying degrees of all.”

“Ah.” I had so much to learn about everything. “When was all this with Acheron supposed to have happened?”

“During the Middle Ages. Maybe 1000 C.E.”

“So, you’re telling me Acheron is over a thousand years old?”

Jasper shrugged and took several bites of the warm stew. “That’s what they say. I’ve never met him, so I can only tell you what others have said.”

“If it’s true, how is he still alive? Some special concoction of bitterness and spite?”

Jasper’s yapping laughter echoed through the den. “It’s probably a grand tasting brew he drinks every morning.”

“But seriously?”

“Lass, ye didn’t believe in shifters last week.”

Well, he had a point.

“Say I believe this jerkface is a thousand years old. What brought him out of Greece and here to Louisiana?”

“Dr. Wise was able to piece together something about an eternally burning hatred for the descendants of the shifter who killed his witch of a mother.”

“Which clan is that?”

“Care to venture a guess?”

“Six-Mile?”

“Care to guess which shifter is the primary descendant in direct lineage?”

“Logan?”

Leader of a huge shifter pack, moody, broody, muscular, and the object of a centuries-old vendetta. No wonder I had the hots for him.

“Smart lass, aren’t ye?” He grinned at me. “Really, most of us in the area are related,” he said. “Our clansintermingle from time to time, and we all share shifter genetics from the French settlers who decided to settle ‘New France.’ Acheron hates all shifters, and he won’t rest until he’s done away with us. If ye go back far enough, we’re all koo-zahns.”

“Cousins,” I said, shaking my head. I’d heard a little Cajun French in Willow Creek but not much. We were too far from Natchitoches and New Port Orleans, the oldest of the French settlements in Louisiana. “Did I hear something about shifters in New Port Orleans?”

“Aye,” he said. “There’s a big cat pride in New Port Orleans. They like to pretend they’re the only big cats around.”

“Is there any place that doesn’t have shifters in Louisiana?”

Jasper tugged on his ginger beard, grinned, and shook his head. “No, I’d say not. We hide in plain sight throughout most of the world.”

“So, what happens if the other shifter clans aren’t interested in uniting behind me to beat Acheron? They must all know he’ll come after them.”

“Ye multi-shift in front of them and shut them up. That should about do it.”

“Easy for you to say.” I held up my cell. “Guess it’s time to make a call.”