LESSON N.º 3: The children of Apollo and Artemis

I sit next to her, with that enchanting platinum blonde hair lifting in the wind. The grass welcomes me in a soft hug as I cross my legs.

<< Kisa. >>

Her eerie eyes the color of cherry blossoms in midsummer stare at my hands. I raise them to my chest, showing her the palms that she longs to see.

She caresses my palms with immense fervor, the concern is easily read in her eyes.

<< What's wrong? >> I ask slightly tilting my head, she smiles and denies me. Her hair is ruffled again. I lean against the concrete wall, painted a strange burgundy, in the girls' bedroom.

We hear a soft melody, we are just below the window of the music room.

- Something bad is coming… - She says in a barely audible whisper, her hands holding mine tightly. Sam has taught me that when someone gives you a look like Kisa's, they are scared.

<< What are you afraid of? >>

I shudder at the shrill sound, someone has hit the piano keys violently. I spread my hands and stand up lazily, the screams make my ears want to burst like blood balloons.

I walk calmly, the girl of Russian nationality, with a strong accent when speaking, follows me in silence.

We entered the building, lit by the noon sun on a Sunday, our only day off from school. I speed up the pace until I manage to sit up, the black leather from the stool welcomes me like the grass outside.

I ignore the screams, the discussion that is taking place in front of such a powerful instrument, as I play a couple of keys and let myself forget.

After a few moments the voices disappear, I hear footsteps, there is a usual bustle in the building. Sometimes the girls are very scandalous, they get excited about anything, it's something I don't understand.

I let the notes flow quickly between the keys, my brow furrowing for a moment.

That is why I like being next to Kisa, unlike Alesha and Diana, she is quiet. Our personalities are alike, more introverted.

But nothing's in vain, she is a Daughter of Apollo, of foreign nationality and some strange gifts. She is unique in the whole School. Her relative is the most common within the group, a White Cadejo, a protective soul. However, she has a gift that no one else possesses within this walls that protect us, that imprison us.

Kisa was born dead, her soul was integrated with her as soon as she was a newborn. Moved by the pain of a mother, the despair of a father decided to give that lifeless body a second chance.

He tied the Russian girl's soul to her body as she clung to this world as best she could.

As soon as her parents heard their baby cry, they knew it was a miracle. Their girl was special, she had crossed to the world of death and came back. With her peculiar aspect, they raised her like any other child.

Until Kisa proved that she was more, much more. Miracles don't happen without reason.

The same day that she was ten years old, she told her parents not to go out, they would not see her again. With smiles and disregard, her parents rejected the thought and died twenty minutes later in a car accident.

Finishing the last notes pressing the piano keys, I review the memories that Kisa shared with me that same night, her tears had soaked my shoulder.

An annoying chorus of applause surrounds me.

The Russian doll, a nickname she earned since predicting her parent's accident, could see the future, Usually close deaths. Although her forebodings also had to be taken into account, they were powerful, threatening. If Kisa spoke, everyone listened.

Because no good is coming.

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- And as you well know, the Sons of Apollo have three branches, divination, art and the bow ... - After some eccentric gestures with his arm, he advances to sit down at the desk of the Daughter of Aphrodite in the front row. - And the Sons of Artemis are the protectors of women and have excellent hunting skills.

The same girl in the front row faces the teacher's gaze.

- And why do they have the same eye color? - Her tone of voice is curious, almost playful. She tangles a lock of her hair burned by pinkish tints in a pencil. - Aren't we supposed to be differentiated by our eye color?

The teacher gets up and looks at us one by one.

- Good question…- He mutters under his breath. - If you were attentive to the theoretical classes of Greek Mythology ... - He begins with a certain tone that spreads poorly concealed laughter among her companions. - You would know that Apollo and Artemis are twin brothers, therefore, their descendants have a much deeper connection than we will ever imagine.

Her gaze meets Alesha and Diana.

-Maybe you two… -she starts to say, but she never finishes the sentence, with a simple shrug of her shoulders, she looks out the window until the time comes for the presentation of the different relatives.

The first one I see entering is the Russian doll, today she wears her hair in a braid, which highlights her cheekbones and those bright pink eyes like gems, she wears a uniform identical to mine, but her colors are pinkish. Matching her eyes.

- My name is Kisa...

- Kitten? - Interrupts a boy who is always quiet in the last row, I have never shown interest in him. There is something in his gaze that causes me continuous discomfort, his aura is almost evil.

The whole class bursts out laughing, I know they know each other, but I don't know if he is the Son of Apollo or Artemis. Céline, who has been training me in secret, has confessed to me that if I manage to discover the secrets of the aura (which according to her "clearly she is not going to tell me" ) I can discover who is the person I am questioning.

For now, I'll bet he's a Son of Artemis.

After an attempt to return to order, by the teacher, the Russian girl continues to speak.

-My familiar is a White Cadejo... -She is aware that no one is listening, I see her clench her fists and continue talking. Her voice is tremulous. - Unlike black dogs...

- Did you just call yourself a bitch? - I nail my palms to the table.

Laughter ceases to echo between the walls, all eyes are on me. I slap away the cascade of fire that my savage locks of hair represent and I look back at them, making it clear that I'm talking to all of them.

- Pay attention. - They all turn around, now it's Kisa who smiles with bright eyes from the tears she's trying to hold back.

I sigh and glance at the teacher, who is so absorbed in himself that has not noticed anything.

I just leave the classroom. This feeling, which I already know, returns. It is confusion. I don't understand why I did that for her. We have shared bed a few times since we met in Céline's classes, but I had never used my gift on anyone's behalf.

I shrug my shoulders, I want to forget what happened, but they are not going to forget it. I know. I breathe as a hand messes my hair once more. My feet stop in a thud against the dirt road.

I have never made a gesture as strange as this. Did I just run my hand through my hair? I do not get it. I do not understand anything. I don't want to know anything else. In insane frustration, I run to Céline's field.

I need to relieve.

However, before I see the lean, yet robust figure of the teacher, my vision is blurred. A loud noise makes my ears ache like hell before I close my eyes.