Odds Are Good (30 page)

It turned out that all his guesses were wrong. The path turned a corner, and when he came out from between two trees he found himself at the edge of a large clearing, where there stood a huge, beautiful house.

The door was open. Even so, Justin knocked and called out.

No one answered.

Folding his wings against his back, he stepped through the door.

“Old woman?” he called.

He felt strange using the words instead of a name, but that was the only thing the children had called her.

“Old woman?”

“Up here!” called a voice. “I've been waiting for you.”

Justin climbed the stairs, flight after flight of them, going far higher than the house had looked from the outside. At each level he called, “Old woman?” And at each level the voice replied, “Up here! I'm waiting for you!”

At last the stairs ended. Before him was a silver door. He put his hand against it, and it swung open.

“Come in,” said the old woman.

She was sitting before a blue fire, which cast not heat, but a pleasant coolness into the room. Her hair was white as cloud, her eyes blue as sky. A slight breeze seemed to play about the hem of her long dress.

“Come closer,” she said, beckoning to him.

He did as she said.

She smiled. “I'm glad you're here. Do you like your wings?”

Justin reached back to touch one. “They're the most wonderful thing that ever happened to me,” he said softly.

The old woman nodded. “I'm glad. It's not easy getting them out there, you know. I can't do nearly as many as I would like.”

“Who are you?” asked Justin.

She shrugged. “Just an old woman with time on her hands, trying to do a little good. Now listen carefully, for I have to tell you what happens next. The wings will only last for one more day. However, that will be long enough for you to fly home, if you should wish.”

Justin snorted. “Why would I want to—”

“
Shhh!
Before you answer, you must look into my mirror. Then I will explain your choice.”

Standing, she took his hand and led him across the room. On the far side was a golden door. Behind it, Justin could hear running water. When she opened the door, Justin saw not a room, but a cave. Four torches were set in its walls.

In the center of the cave was a pool. A small waterfall fed into it from the right. A stream flowed out to the left.

“Kneel,” said the old woman. “Look.”

Justin knelt, and peered into the water. He saw his own face, thin and worn, with large eyes where the fear was never far beneath the surface. From his shoulders sprouted wings, huge and beautiful.

The old woman dipped her finger in the water and stirred.

The image shifted. Now Justin saw not a boy, but a man. Yet it was clearly his face.

“The man you will become,” whispered the old woman.

Justin stared at the face. It was not handsome, as he had always hoped he would become. But it was a good face. The eyes were peaceful and calm. The beginning of a smile waited at the corners of the mouth. Laugh lines fanned out from the eyes. It was a strong face. A kind face.

Outside, far down the mountain, Justin could hear the laughter of the children.

The old woman stirred the water again. The man's face disappeared. The water was still, showed no image at all.

“Come,” she said quietly.

Justin followed her back to the room.

“Now you must choose,” she said. “You can stay here. This place is safe and calm and no one will hurt you, ever again.”

Justin felt his heart lift.

“But . . . you will stay just as you are. Never change, never grow any older.” She sighed. “That's the trade. There's always a trade. It's the best I can do, Justin.”

He looked at her, startled, then realized that given everything else that had gone on, the fact that she knew his name should be no surprise at all.

Justin went to the window. It looked out not onto forest or mountains, but clouds. He stood there a long time, looking, listening. Finally he turned to the old woman.

“Can I ask a question?”

“Certainly—though I can't guarantee I will know the answer.”

He nodded. “I understand. Okay, here's the question. The man I saw in the pool. Me. What does he do?”

The old woman smiled. “He works with children.”

Justin smiled, too. “And what about my uncle? Will things be better with him if I go back?”

The old woman shook her head sadly.

Justin blinked. “Then how is it possible I can turn out the way you showed me? How can
that
be me?”

The old woman smiled again. “Ah, that one is easy. It is because no matter what happens, you will always remember that once upon a time . . . you flew.”

Justin nodded and turned back to the window. Far below he could hear the children at play.

He ached to join them.

But then he thought of the others he knew.

The ones who never laughed.

The ones who still needed wings.

“How would I find the way back?”

“Take the side door,” said the old woman softly. “It will get you home a little more quickly.”

Tucking his wings against his back, Justin stepped through the door—and found himself on top of the mountain. He could see the entire island spread out below him, could hear, even from this height, the laughter of the children.

Justin took a deep breath. Then he spread his wings and leaped forward. Catching the air in great sweeps, he soared up and up, then leveled off and flew.

Not toward home; Justin Jones had no real home.

Flexing his wings, he pointed himself toward tomorrow.

Then he flew as hard as he could.

“The Box” copyright © 1986 by Bruce Coville; originally published in
Dragons and Dreams
(HarperCollins), edited by Jane Yolen, Martin H. Greenberg, and Charles Waugh. “Duffy's Jacket” copyright © 1989 by Bruce Coville; originally published in
Things That Go Bump in the Night
(HarperCollins), edited by Jane Yolen and Martin H. Greenberg. “Homeward Bound” copyright © 1987 by Bruce Coville; originally published in
The Unicorn Treasury
(Doubleday), edited by Bruce Coville. “With His Head Tucked Underneath His Arm” copyright © 1993 by Bruce Coville; originally published in
A Wizard's Dozen
(Jane Yolen Books/Harcourt, Inc.), edited by Michael Steams. “Clean as a Whistle” copyright © 1994 by Bruce Coville. “The Language of Blood” copyright © 1994 by Bruce Coville. “Old Glory” copyright © 1991 by Bruce Coville; originally published in
2041
(Delacorte Press), edited by Jane Yolen. “The Passing of the Pack” copyright © 1988 by Bruce Coville; originally published in
Werewolves
(HarperCollins), edited by Jane Yolen and Martin H. Greenberg. “A Blaze of Glory” copyright © 1994 by Bruce Coville. “The Golden Sail” copyright © 1999 by Bruce Coville. “Biscuits of Glory” copyright © 1995 by Bruce Coville; originally published in
The Haunted House
(HarperCollins), edited by Jane Yolen and Martin H. Greenberg. “I, Earthling” copyright © 1994 by Bruce Coville; originally published in
Bruce Coville's Book of Aliens
(Apple/Scholastic), edited by Bruce Coville. “The Giant's Tooth” copyright © 1999 by Bruce Coville. “There's Nothing Under the Bed” copyright © 1995 by Bruce Coville; originally published in
Bruce Coville's Book of Nightmares
(Apple/Scholastic), edited by Bruce Coville. “The Stinky Princess” copyright © 1999 by Bruce Coville. “The Japanese Mirror” copyright © 1996 by Bruce Coville; originally published in
A Nightmare's Dozen
(Jane Yolen Books/Harcourt, Inc.), edited by Michael Steams. “Am I Blue?” copyright © 1994 by Bruce Coville; originally published in
Am I Blue?
(HarperCollins), edited by Marion Dane Bauer. “The Metamorphosis of Justin Jones” copyright © 1997 by Bruce Coville; originally published in
Bruce Coville's Book of Magic II
(Apple/Scholastic), edited by Bruce Coville.

B
RUCE
C
OVILLE
is the author of over 100 books for children and young adults, including the international bestseller
My Teacher Is an Alien
, the Unicorn Chronicles series, and the much-beloved
Jeremy Thatcher, Dragon Hatcher
. His work has appeared in a dozen languages and won children's choice awards in a dozen states.

Before becoming a full time writer Bruce was a teacher, a toymaker, a magazine editor, a gravedigger, and a cookware salesman. He is also the creator of Full Cast Audio, an audiobook company devoted to producing full cast, unabridged recordings of material for family listening and has produced over a hundred audiobooks, directing and/or acting in most of them.

Bruce lives in Syracuse, New York, with his wife, illustrator and author Katherine Coville.

Visit his website at
www.brucecoville.com
.