Bookstore was located in a strip mall on Foothill Boulevard, distinguished from other strip malls within a three-block radius by his store, an independent coffeehouse known as Java Jackrabbit, and a market that carried both Asian and Middle-Eastern foods called Eastern Star. These three businesses gave the center a bit of individuality in contrast to the usual supermarket and Starbucks combination that had sprung up all over Los Angeles.
Steven entered, leaving the CLOSED sign in place. He breathed in the smell of paperbacks and hardcovers. There was something wonderful in that scent, something that took you back to your first time in a library, your first purchase of a real book.
He flicked on the wall switches, and the banks of fluorescent lights came to life, the light marching across the store as they switched on one by one.
People would gather at Magic Lantern on weekends for a cup of coffee and conversation about anything from a new SF book or movie to politics to the latest discovery in physics or astronomy. Steven would join in or sometimes just move around the store, helping customers and relishing the fact that this lively atmosphere was something he had created, conjured from his love of books.
That day, although the store was quiet, he took some solace in its familiarity, in its warm smell and crazy-quilt pattern of shelves. He sat for a while on the front counter and just stared off into space, past the bright covers and slick magazines.
Danny.
To everyone else he had been Dr. Daniel Owen Slater, but to Steven he would always be Danny.
It was Danny who had introduced him to science fiction, passing on some of his juvenile novels to his little brother. It was a genre that Danny eventually discarded, but not Steven. Steven was hooked for life.
One day, when Danny was ten and he was eight, they had gone digging for Pellucidar in their backyard. Their father had taken them to the New Beverly Theater to see
Raiders of the Lost Ark
. It was Gerald Slater’s favorite movie, and he had been thrilled that Indy’s tenth anniversary coincided with Danny’s tenth birthday. They had all loved the movie, but for Danny it was a life-changing event. He didn’t want to play Indiana Jones, he wanted to
be
him. Hebegan wearing his grandfather’s old fedora and pretending an old jump rope was his trusty bullwhip.
Danny also began reading books about lost cities and fabulous artifacts. After reading some books about Hollow Earth civilizations, he decided that one must exist. Whether dinosaurs or an advanced civilization populated it, they would find something if they dug deep enough. According to his “research,” all they had to do was reach one of the many access tunnels that honeycombed the Earth, and they could follow that down to whatever waited at the Earth’s core.
At the four-foot mark, their shovels struck metal, and Danny was convinced they had reached an air lock for the tunnels. He figured that the creatures below might not breathe oxygen, so they would have to get diving helmets or scuba gear before they went too far. He couldn’t leave the site just yet, though; he wanted one look at the marvels beneath the Earth’s crust even if he had to hold his breath while he peeked.
Danny had gotten a pickax from the garage and begun swinging at the exposed metal, the point making ringing sounds and sending up sparks with each blow. Danny had said the sound and sparks made him feel like Thor the Thunder God. The noise brought their father, just as Danny punched a hole in a city water pipe and sent a small geyser of water up ten feet. Mr. Slater was not amused, especially when the city levied a fine of $500 against him. Steven and Danny were grounded for two weeks, without television, videogames, and comic books.
It was hell.
Their father, figuring they needed a healthy outlet for their curiosity, encouraged them to join the Boy Scouts. He often accompanied them on hikes, and these memories were some of the
Steven entered, leaving the CLOSED sign in place. He breathed in the smell of paperbacks and hardcovers. There was something wonderful in that scent, something that took you back to your first time in a library, your first purchase of a real book.
He flicked on the wall switches, and the banks of fluorescent lights came to life, the light marching across the store as they switched on one by one.
People would gather at Magic Lantern on weekends for a cup of coffee and conversation about anything from a new SF book or movie to politics to the latest discovery in physics or astronomy. Steven would join in or sometimes just move around the store, helping customers and relishing the fact that this lively atmosphere was something he had created, conjured from his love of books.
That day, although the store was quiet, he took some solace in its familiarity, in its warm smell and crazy-quilt pattern of shelves. He sat for a while on the front counter and just stared off into space, past the bright covers and slick magazines.
Danny.
To everyone else he had been Dr. Daniel Owen Slater, but to Steven he would always be Danny.
It was Danny who had introduced him to science fiction, passing on some of his juvenile novels to his little brother. It was a genre that Danny eventually discarded, but not Steven. Steven was hooked for life.
One day, when Danny was ten and he was eight, they had gone digging for Pellucidar in their backyard. Their father had taken them to the New Beverly Theater to see
Raiders of the Lost Ark
. It was Gerald Slater’s favorite movie, and he had been thrilled that Indy’s tenth anniversary coincided with Danny’s tenth birthday. They had all loved the movie, but for Danny it was a life-changing event. He didn’t want to play Indiana Jones, he wanted to
be
him. Hebegan wearing his grandfather’s old fedora and pretending an old jump rope was his trusty bullwhip.
Danny also began reading books about lost cities and fabulous artifacts. After reading some books about Hollow Earth civilizations, he decided that one must exist. Whether dinosaurs or an advanced civilization populated it, they would find something if they dug deep enough. According to his “research,” all they had to do was reach one of the many access tunnels that honeycombed the Earth, and they could follow that down to whatever waited at the Earth’s core.
At the four-foot mark, their shovels struck metal, and Danny was convinced they had reached an air lock for the tunnels. He figured that the creatures below might not breathe oxygen, so they would have to get diving helmets or scuba gear before they went too far. He couldn’t leave the site just yet, though; he wanted one look at the marvels beneath the Earth’s crust even if he had to hold his breath while he peeked.
Danny had gotten a pickax from the garage and begun swinging at the exposed metal, the point making ringing sounds and sending up sparks with each blow. Danny had said the sound and sparks made him feel like Thor the Thunder God. The noise brought their father, just as Danny punched a hole in a city water pipe and sent a small geyser of water up ten feet. Mr. Slater was not amused, especially when the city levied a fine of $500 against him. Steven and Danny were grounded for two weeks, without television, videogames, and comic books.
It was hell.
Their father, figuring they needed a healthy outlet for their curiosity, encouraged them to join the Boy Scouts. He often accompanied them on hikes, and these memories were some of the
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