Page 7 of The Sea Witch's Son

Tucked against the far side of the dresser is a nook that could easily be overlooked if you weren’t looking at it from this angle.

Snatching the closest object, I creep towards the shadowed corner with a candle holder raised above my head. I jump out, ready to strike, only to find the nook empty.

Lowering my weapon, I’m about to give up and go to bed when I see it.

The new scrape running across ancient floorboards. As though someone caught the edge of their shoe on the way out.

Goosebumps break out as I turn and stare at the window I did not open.

Someone was here.

Someone was watching me.

Chapter 2

MARLIN

I force more air out of my lungs.

The pressure inside my chest turns into an unpleasant burning sensation as I push my body onwards, propelling myself through the water. Black spots dance across my vision as I near the flags, a 5-meter mark from my destination.

I refuse to breathe until I hit that wall.

The human body is a wondrous thing, but at times like this, it truly is a pain in the ass. The connection between one’s mind and body is a fickle one, a parasitic relationship that feeds off one another and insists giving up is the only option.

The mind is the weakest part of the body. Always encouraging the latter to admit defeat before the limits have been attained.

I kick through the numbness creeping up my legs and stroke through the pressure threatening to explode in my chest. Thelower body is always the first to lose function, an inevitable inconvenience given the amount of oxygen leg muscles consume.

It’s pathetic, really. The strongest component tapping out first.

Reminds me a little bit of Gus.

The thought puts me in good spirits as I glide towards the wall and finally allow my head to breach the surface. My body instinctively takes over, hastily gulping down oxygen to chase away the fire residing in my lungs.

I give my body exactly sixty seconds to replenish itself before I push off the wall and do it again.

And again.

And again.

The school reporter covering varsity sports did an article on my success last year. Securing gold in every event, my outstanding performance at Nationals was credited to “theinspiring dedication Marlin displays at every practice is one we should all hope to achieve.”

The reporter was an imbecile.

My success has nothing to do with my so-called dedication to jumping into a cold pool every morning. I wouldn’t even go as far as to say I enjoy the sport I spend countless hours training for.

No. It is not dedication that gets me out of bed before dawn every morning. It is the need forcontrol.

Regulating one’s breathing only goes so far. I like to know that the fear attached to drowning, the automatic panic thatkicks in when there’s no more oxygen, is something that can be manipulated into something useful.

If I cannot learn how to control myself, there is no point in controlling others.

Which would be no fun at all.

My rotator cuffs scream furiously as I continue doing laps, a refreshing reminder that I can feel things just as others do.

By the time I remove my goggles, almost two hours has passed. Hauling myself out of the pool, I stroll casually to where a pair of familiar green eyes await me.

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