Saturday Morning Breakfast Serial

Welcome to another Saturday morning. :) Hope you all were good this week? You weren't. No, don't tell me about it. I'd like to keep my illusions intact thank you.

Now, let's see, bowls at the ready? All right then:

When last we left our intrepid heroine she was about to get dunked in the baptismal font to recreate the situation where her ability to perform offensive magic was bound.

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Chapter ????
When in Doubt . . .

I slid the white baptismal robe over my head and walked, barefoot, to the edge of the pool. Bob was right behind me. Uncle Buford had already waded in holding a big bible wrapped in plastic. Eleanor was sitting on the edge of the pool, looking more serene than I'd ever seen her.

"Is the residual magic of this place going to cause a problem?" Because there was a lot of it. As much as the Catholic church where I'd taken sanctuary. I felt it humming around me, pressing against me, as powerful as a high-tension electric wire.

Eleanor answered. "If your father could do enough magic to bind you, I should be fine."

When does confidence become arrogance? Then again, she might just be that good. She had quite the reputation.

"Enough stalling." Buford growled. "Get in."

Crap.

The pool was bright blue, and the lights beneath the surface reflected through the water, giving the entire room a blue-green tint, with ripples of light and shadow that moved across the walls as ripples flowed across the pool.

Bob waded in ahead of me, his expression still worried. It almost made me smile. I'd been right to choose him. He'd look out for me. A sudden thought occurred to me. "Bob, can you swim?"

"Like a fish. Why?"

"Oh good." I didn't answer his question. It was kind of embarrassing really. But if this went sideways, and I wound up creating a seam, we'd probably wind up in the deep end of the high school pool again. It was where I'd gone the first time; where I took Tracker; and for some weird reason I couldn't explain, my 'default setting' under stress.

We stopped facing Buford, who began reading the words of the baptism ceremony, his deep voice booming and echoing through the big room. He had a certain natural theatricality, and made the most of the reading. The words were beautiful, moving. And in that instant I wished, very much, that I did believe. I wanted to. I really did.

I felt Eleanor's power building, but it was as if from a distance. Everything seemed . . . odd. . . almost surreal. It occurred to me that I might be going into shock. For a brief instant I thought about calling the whole thing off. But no, I had to do this. I had to.

And then the moment I'd been dreading came. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and ducked under the surface as Bob's hand pushed down on the top of my head, and held me under.