Odds Are Good

by Bruce Coville

  A moment later he heard his uncle roaring on the other side of it. For one foolish moment Justin hoped he would be safe here. Then the door shuddered as his uncle threw himself against it. Justin knew it would take only seconds for the man to break through.

  He backed away.

  Another slam, another, and the door splintered into the room. Stepping through, Uncle Rafe roared, “Come here, you little heathen!”

  Shaking his head, mute with fear, Justin backed away, moving step-by-step down the length of the attic, until he reached the wall and the small window at the far end. His uncle matched his pace, confident in his control.

  Justin knew that once Uncle Rafe had him, the wings would be gone, ripped from his shoulders. Pressing himself against the wall, letting all his fear show on his face, he groped behind him until he found the window latch. With his thumb, he pulled it open, then began to slide the window up. It hadn’t gone more than half an inch before his uncle realized what he was doing and rushed forward to grab him.

  “Don’t!” cried Justin, holding out his hands.

  The wings trembled at his shoulders, and he could feel some strange power move out from them. His uncle continued toward him, but slowly now, as if in a dream. Moving slowly himself, Justin turned and opened the window.

  He glanced behind him. His uncle’s slow charge continued.

  Taking a deep breath, Justin stepped out.

  He fell, but only for a moment. Suddenly the wings that had hung so limp and useless for the past few days snapped out from his shoulders, caught the air, slowed his fall.

  They stretched to either side of him, strong and glorious, shining in the sun, patterned with strange colors. As if by instinct he knew how to move them, make them work. And as his uncle cried out in rage and longing behind him, Justin Jones worked his wings and flew, rising swiftly above the house, above the trees, his heart lifting as if it had wings of its own.

  Justin flew for a long time, as far from Barker’s Elbow and the home of his brutal uncle as he could manage to go. He changed course often, preferring to stay above isolated areas, though twice he flew above towns, swooping down just so that he could listen to the people cry out in wonder as they saw him. Once he flew low over a farm, where an old woman stood in her yard and reached her arms toward him, not as if to catch him, but in a gesture that he knew meant that she wanted him to catch her up. He circled lower, and saw with a start that tears were streaming down her face. Yet when he flew away, she made no cries of anger as his uncle had, only put her hand to her mouth, and blew him a kiss.

  And still he flew on.

  Though Justin had no idea where he was heading, he could feel something pulling him north, north and west. After a time, he saw a cloud ahead of him. It was glowing and beautiful, and without thought, he flew into it.

  The air within seemed to be alive with light and electricity, and as Justin passed through the cloud he felt a tingle in his skin—a tingle much the same as the feeling he had had just before he found the magic shop.

  When he left the cloud, he had come to a different place. He had been flying above land when he entered it, a vastness of hills and forest dotted by small towns that stretched in all directions for as far as he could see. But though it had taken no more than a minute or two to fly through the cloud, when he left it he was above water—a vast sea that, like the hills and forest, stretched as far as the eye could reach. Panic-stricken, Justin turned to fly back. But the cloud was gone, and the water stretched behind him as well.

  Justin’s shoulders were aching. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could stay aloft.

  And then he saw it ahead of him: a small island, maybe two or three miles across, with an inviting-looking beach. The wide swath of sand gave way to a deep forest. The forest rose up the flanks of a great mountain that loomed on the island’s far side.

  With a sigh of relief, Justin settled to the beach. He threw himself face forward on the sand to rest.

  Soon he was fast asleep.

  When Justin opened his eyes, he saw three children squatting in front of him.

  “He’s awake!” said the smallest, a little girl with huge eyes and short brown hair.

  “I told you he wasn’t dead,” said the largest, a dark-haired boy of about Justin’s age. “They never are, no matter how bad they look.”

  “Come on, then,” said the girl, reaching out to Justin. “Lie here in the sun all day and you’ll get burned.”

  Justin blinked, then glanced back at his shoulders. The wings were still there. Why didn’t these strange children say anything about them?

  “Maybe I should just fly away,” he muttered, pushing himself to his knees. He did it a little bit to brag, a little bit to see if he could get the children to say something about the wings.

  “Oh, you can’t do that,” said the little girl, sounding very sensible. “Well, you could. But it wouldn’t be smart. Not until you’ve talked to the old woman.”

  “She’s right,” said the biggest boy. “Come on, we’ll show you the way. But first you ought to eat something.”

  “So you’ve seen people with wings before?” asked Justin.

  “Silly!” giggled the girl. “We all had wings when we came here. Were you scared when you went through the cloud? I was.”

  Justin nodded, uncertain of what to say. He realized someone else seemed to be in the same condition. “Doesn’t he ever talk?” he asked, gesturing to the middle child, a dark-eyed boy who looked to be about nine.

  “Not yet,” said the girl. “I think he will someday. But he was in pretty bad shape when he got here.”

  “Come on,” said the biggest boy. “The old woman will tell you all about it.”

  Justin followed the three strange children up the beach and into the forest, a forest so perfect that it almost made him weep. It was not that it was beautiful—though it was. Nor that the trees were old and thick and strange—though they were. What made it so wonderful, from Justin’s point of view, was that it was filled with tree houses . . . and the tree houses were filled with children. Happy children. Laughing children. Children who scrambled along rope bridges, dangled from thick branches, and swung from tree to tree on vines.

  “Hey, new boy!” they cried when they spotted him. “Welcome! Welcome!”

  No one seemed to think it odd that Justin had wings, though a few of them gazed at the wings with a hungry look.

  Justin’s own hunger, which he had nearly forgotten in the strangeness and the wonder of this new place, stirred when the children led him to a platform built low in a tree, where there were bowls of fruit and bread and cheese. He ate in silence at first, too hungry to talk. But when the edge was off his appetite, he began to ask questions.

  “Ask the old woman” was all they would tell him. “The old woman will explain everything.”

  “All right,” he said, when his hunger was sated. “Take me to this old woman, will you please?”

  “We can’t take you,” said the boy. “You’ll have to go on your own. We can only show you the way.”

  Justin walked through the forest, following the path the children had shown him. The trees were too thick here for him to spread his wings, which annoyed him, because the path was steep, and his legs were beginning to grow tired. He wanted to fly again. Where did this old woman live, anyway? A tree house, like the children? That didn’t seem likely. Maybe a cottage in some woody grove or beside a stream? Maybe even a cave. After all, he did seem to be climbing fairly high up the mountainside.

  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.

  Permission Acknowledgments

  “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.

  About the Author

  BRUCE COVILLE 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 Audi
o, 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.