Author Arthur Novels & Stories

I’m staining it. ​Arthur doesn't look at me. He’s looking at his watch. ​"Twenty minutes late," he says. ​He taps a screen on the armrest. The door slides shut. The noise of the rotors fades to a hum. ​"The stone," he says. ​I stand up. My legs feel like they’re made of wet paper. I don't move. I stay near the door. ​"The immunity," I say. "I want to see the confirmation. The filing."

It wasn't gold (the Mother), and it wasn't silver (the Guardians). It was Deep, Original Red. A message scrolled across Leo’s vision, bypassing all security. USER_ID: ARTHUR_VANCE_THORNE_001 STATUS: RE-AWAKENED. MESSAGE: "THANKS FOR THE LIFT, GRANDSON. I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR A BODY WITH THIS MUCH PROCESSING POWER."

“Arthur.” The answer was not what I expected and for a moment I could not respond. Arthur had hidden records, amended trusts, launched investigations and preserved secrets. The more Evelyn spoke, the less he sounded like a distant dead man and the more he felt like someone still standing behind all of us, moving pieces with a hand nobody had seen clearly.

I took a breath, the scent of her—faint vanilla underlying the sharp smell of gun oil—anchoring me to the mission. ​"Two blocks," I rasped, forcing my focus back to the HUD. "The entrance is through an old silk press. If Arthur is still alive, he’ll be in the sub-basement." ​Arthur was a relic of a different era. He was a man who had once been the lead cryptographer for the Architects, a genius who had helped build the very foundations of the "Argus" AI—the global surveillance net that now hunted us. When the Architects tried to "retire" him with a bullet to the back of the head, he had vanished into the London underground, becoming a ghost-broker for anyone with enough gold to pay his price

A tall handsome figure stood in the place of the boy when the light disappeared. The man had white hair and white beards. His iris were red and they were glowing. A staff appeared on his right hand. Rick could tell that he was very powerful. “ Now let's get down to business.” said the man named Arthur as he sat down and faced Rick. Then he continued “ I heard you need my help” he said to Rick. Rick looked at him still unable to say anything. He laughed. “ I know. I know. I don't look like an elder. I get that a lot. Oh where are my manners?. My name is Arthur and I am an elder from the hearthstone coven” said Arthur as he introduced himself to Rick.

His presence filled the space before he even spoke. “Mrs. Blackthorn,” he said smoothly, his tone refined, charming even. “I hope I’m not intruding. I do intend to come on time when it is meetings like this.” I gestured for him to sit. “Not at all. You have me at a disadvantage, though. I don’t believe we’ve met. And given your scent, I can tell that you are not from here, Alpha.” He smiled, slow and confident, the kind of smile that didn’t quite reach the eyes. “Forgive me. Alpha Lorenzo D’Amaris. But I choose to go by Mr. D’Amaris when it is amongst humans.”

***************************************************** POV: ARTHUR I unfolded the letter, my heart hammering a slow, painful rhythm against my ribs as my eyes scanned her clear, elegant handwriting. Arthur, I am writing this not out of anger, nor out of a desire to wound you. The news of what has transpired between Darius and me has likely reached your ears by now. I know the wolf inside you demands a battle, and I know your pride is suffering. But I am writing to ask you to let the anger go.

Even the statues were colorful pieces of modern art bent at impossible angles. Then there were the rock music and the dogs. I’m not sure which was louder, the Imagine Dragons blaring over the speakers or the barking of the golden doodle alerting Arthur to my arrival. At least the dogs—three in total—each greeted me with a wagging tail and a lick on my hand. Arthur, sitting at his computer at the desk, lifted his face to me. He arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at me before using a remote to silence the deafening music.

I just don’t know who-- “Penny for your thoughts.” I flinch and turn around at the source of the playful voice. And of course, there’s Arthur. Standing two inches away from me. I step back and almost push him, but I don’t want to touch him, not when he has no shirt on and his muscular, lean torso is in full display. “Don’t scare me like that!” “I’m sorry,” he says, but he sounds like he had fun. “I just don’t like the way you’re looking at those weapons when you have something more interesting to look at.”

On my grandfather’s farm, I met Arthur — a kind, good-hearted, and handsome guy. Blond, with light brown eyes — “whiskey-colored,” as they say — he had a natural way with animals and was studying to become a veterinarian. He was a bit skinny and had only recently started working for his grandfather. He was the same age as Eli. We quickly became friends. Arthur always knew how to keep a conversation interesting, and his sense of humor was spot on. One day, when Eli came to visit us on the farm, I whispered shyly,