Alcatraz Versus the Evil Librarians

overcome her bitterness, to realize that she never should have given up on her dreams.
    You think this because you’ve read too many silly stories about people who achieve things they previously thought impossible – deep and poignant books about trains that climb hills or little girls who succeed through sheer determination.
    Let me make one thing very clear. Bastille will never become an Oculator. It’s a genetic ability, which means you can only become an Oculator if your ancestors were Oculators. Bastille’s weren’t.
    People can do great things. However, there are some things they just can’t do. I, for instance, have not been able to transform myself into a Popsicle, despite years of effort. I could, however, make myself insane, if I wished. (Though if I achieved the second, I might be able to make myself think I’d achieved the first….)
    Anyway, if there’s a lesson to be learned, it’s this: Great success often depends upon being able to distinguish between the impossible and the improbable. Or, in easier terms, distinguishing between Popsicles and insanity.
    Any questions?
    I wanted to say something to help Bastille. After all, I’d just undergone a life-changing revelation, and I figured that there should be enough to go around. Unfortunately, Bastille wasn’t exactly in a “life-changing revelation” sort of mood.
    “I don’t need your pity, Smedry,” she snapped, swatting my arm away. “I’m just fine as I am. There really isn’t anything you could do to help anyway.”
    I opened my mouth to reply, but at that moment, I heard a door open. I turned as Ms. Fletcher strolled into the hallway outside our cell.
    “Hello, Smedry,” she said.
    “Ms. Fletcher,” I said flatly. “Or ‘Shasta,’ or whatever your real name is.”
    “Fletcher will do,” she said, obviously trying to sound friendly. She couldn’t quite pull it off. “I’ve come to chat.”
    I shook my head. “I have little to say to you.”
    “Come now, Alcatraz. I’ve always looked out for you, despite how difficult you made my life. Surely you can see that I have your best interests at heart.”
    “Somehow I doubt that, Ms. Fletcher.”
    She raised an eyebrow. “That’s all you have to say? I expected something a little more… scathing, Smedry.”
    “Actually, I’ve changed,” I said. “You see, I just had a life-changing revelation and don’t plan to make snide comments anymore.”
    “Is that so?”
    “Yes, it is,” I said firmly.
    Ms. Fletcher cocked her head, a strange look on her face.
    “What?” I asked.
    “Nothing,” she said. “You just… reminded me of someone I used to know. Anyway, I don’t care what game you are playing today. The time has come for us to deal.”
    “Deal?”
    Ms. Fletcher nodded, leaning in. “We want the old man. The crazy one who came and got you this morning.”
    “You mean Grandpa Smedry?” I asked, glancing at Sing, who was watching quietly. Apparently, he was content to let me take the lead in the conversation.
    “Yes,” Ms. Fletcher said. “Grandpa Smedry. Tell us where he is and we’ll let you go.”
    “Let me go? Let me go where?”
    “Out,” Ms. Fletcher said, motioning with her hand. “We’ll find you another foster family and things can go back to the way they were.”
    “That hardly seems compelling,” I said.
    “Alcatraz,” Ms. Fletcher said flatly. “You’re in a Librarian dungeon, and you have Oculator blood. If you aren’t careful, you’ll end up as a sacrifice. I’d be a little more friendly if I were you – I’m likely the only ally you’ll find in this place.”
    This was, of course, the first time I ever heard about a ceremony involving sacrificial Oculators. I dismissed the comment as an idle threat.
    Foolish, foolish Alcatraz.
    “If you’re the best ally I have, Ms. Fletcher,” I said, “then I’m in serious trouble.”
    “That sounded just a little bit snide, Alcatraz,” Sing said helpfully. “You may want to back off a little.”
    “Thank you Sing,” I said, still watching Ms. Fletcher, my eyes narrowed.
    “I can get you out, Alcatraz,” Ms. Fletcher said. “don’t make me do something we’d both regret. I’ve watched over you for years, haven’t I? You can trust me.”
    Watched over you for years… “Yes,” I said. “Yes, you have watched over me. And every time a family abandoned me, you told me I was useless. It was like you wanted me to feel abandoned and unimportant.” I met her eyes.