The Demon King by Heather Killough-Walden Page A

its
inhabitant was concerned. Why had Bael directed him here? Who was
inside?
    He steeled himself to go knock on the door
when he spotted the sundial in the tiny front lot. It was decorated
Art Deco style. Seeing it set off the mechanisms of his memory with
sudden, fierce clarity. The vision that came to mind was so vivid,
he stopped in his tracks, paralyzed by the sights and sounds of the
past. Gears were shifting, his surroundings were altering, and all
at once he was a child again.
    His adoptive mother was sitting with him on
the edge of his bed. She was wearing her uniform, but her stud
earrings were sterling silver placed at the triangle and rectangle
angles of art deco style. She’d always favored that.
    Laz had just asked her why she’d chosen to
be a cop.
    “ Steven… what do you do
every day, child?” she asked in her gravelly, sweet
voice.
    Steven’s young brow furrowed. What did she
mean by that? What did anyone do every day? “Wake up?” he
asked.
    “ Okay,” she nodded. “Then
what?”
    “ Eat breakfast.”
    “ Good. What do you
eat?”
    “ Different things.” He
looked down at his plate. “Today it’s eggs and toast… ham… apple
slices and orange juice.”
    “ Okay. What do the eggs
come in?”
    “ Shells.”
    His mother laughed. “Okay, that’s true.” Her
laughter trailed off, and he found himself smiling. “But what are
the eggs and their shells put into when they’re sold?”
    “ Styrofoam,” he answered
readily. This time he knew the answer easy. His teacher re-used the
Styrofoam containers for arts and crafts.
    “ That’s right. Do you know
what Styrofoam does to the earth?”
    Actually, he knew that too. His science
teacher had recently told them that it took just about forever for
Styrofoam to dissolve… was that the word? Dissolve? It was
d-something. “It stays around for a long time,” he said.
    “ Yes, it does. A very long
time. And that isn’t good for the planet. Your orange juice
sometimes comes in a plastic container. That’s not good for the
planet either. That plastic often ends up in the ocean, choking
animals and plant life. The ham comes in plastic too. And so does
the bread.”
    “ That’s a lot of
plastic.”
    “ Mmm-hmm.” She nodded. Then
she sighed and leaned back into the bed, lacing her fingers
together behind her head. She was still in uniform, and he could
tell she was tired and that laying back for a bit felt good. “What
do you do after breakfast?” she asked, staring up at the
ceiling.
    “ I get dressed.”
    “ In clean
clothes?”
    “ Sometimes,” he answered
honestly.
    His mother laughed again, flashing those
beautiful white teeth he adored so much. “Okay, fair enough,” she
said through her laughter. “But when you do get dressed in clean
clothes, it was water and detergent and electricity that got them
that way.”
    Steven frowned. He had a feeling he knew
where this was going. “Aaaand… those aren’t good for the earth
either?”
    Rosa Dixon shook her head. “Nope. The
detergent winds up in the rivers and lakes, electricity is created
by huge factories that blow toxic things into the air, and we only
have so much fresh water to go around, Steven. One day, it’s gonna
run out.”
    Steven thought of all the water in the
oceans. “No way,” he said, shaking his head and smiling.
    “ You’re thinking of the
oceans, aren’t you? That’s salt water, child. We can’t drink that.
We can’t water our plants with it. We can’t grow things with it.
We’re stuck with the tiny bit of water that already exists on the
small fraction of the planet that isn’t covered by
ocean.”
    Whoa , he thought. “You mean like rain. And lakes and
rivers.”
    She nodded. “Exactly.”
    Still, it seemed it would take a long time.
But then again, there were a lot of people. He remembered how many
lanes of cars there had been during their trip to Disneyland two
years ago. There must have been twenty lanes, at least. And all
those people