of Heaven, but not from it

She knew this day was coming. The weak morning sun julienned its way through the blinds, dappling the room in shadows. October 10th, the date that was glaring at her for weeks from the fridge door. She fumbles for her phone. Two hours until the Judge would declare court in session.

"Rei, I can't make it, I have work. Talk with Mr. Hughes about the offer he made. You won't win the case, and I can't afford to pay for all that property damage if I want to pay for your sister's college. – Mum."

The note lay innocuous on the kitchen table, when Rei came in fully dressed and slipping on her black, heavyweight jacket. Her stomach turns, and heat spreads throughout her body. No sooner is the note crumpled in her hand, then burnt. She leaves the house in the quietness of 7am, and the air out hits with a cold heaviness, there's a scent in the air, a sweet pungent ozone that hints at incoming rain. The grass is heavy with morning dew as she trudges her way down Barrack street, the ground a plush, scarlet carpet of autumn leaves. 

Rei knew her Mum wouldn't come, it was a distant realisation at the edge of her consciousness, but she did know. Flesh meets hard stone, and she grinds her teeth.

Rei arrives with the coach exactly, and enters, puffy faced. The coach had very few occupants, only a man with his hood pulled up, and a mother and son sitting at the back. Soon the bus's engine began to rumble, whirling to life and the remnants of Barrack street became but refracted colours, soaked in the rain. Rei checks her phone, an hour and a half before the Judge declares court in session. She balances her phone on the hand rest, and contents herself with watching the tapping of rain on the window.

"Oh? Is that you, Reiley? What a coincidence," says Mark Hughes, hand in a cast, and formally dressed, the plaintiff in her court case. The coach had just stopped at a station to pick up some passengers. Mark smoothly slides into the seat next to her. There's a horrible kernel of apathy that nestles itself into her anger. The rain patters down harder.

Mark smiles like she hasn't just ignored him, and asks, "How are you doing?" She clenches her keys, clenches and unclenches, clenches and unclenches, clenches and unclenches.

It is always unpleasant when her anger fades into something colder, something more sinuous than the crackling hearth that she is used to. Her fire is her only advantage, even if it's a power that takes more than it gives. She crosses her legs.

"Reiley," he sighs, "if you work with me, I can drop the arson charges, the company'll deal with your sister's college expenses as well, regardless of whether she'll work with them." Mark says lightly, not at all perturbed by her continued silence.

"I can't help you, 'cause it's not mine, it's just a gift," Rei snaps, because that is what her power is, a gift, a gift from magic to her, and the world. Mark knows, somehow, but he does not have the clarity that comes with experience, he is not gifted.

He goes to speak again, but the rain pelts down harder, pounding on the roof, drowning his voice. Rei crosses her arms, a ringing in her ear. The electric feel of ozone hums in tune with her fiery ichor, sending sparks, and licks of flame up her spine. It only makes her head positively dizzy, rather than the feeling of nausea at the base of her throat she'd had as a companion ever since she woke up. 14 and with magic thrumming through her veins, like a godly power.

"You have a car," She says, before Mark can prod any further.

"Well, the price of fuel just keeps rising these days," he says.

"Good thing you're suing me for money then."

"I really am sorry Reiley, but the company's reputation is priceless," Mark says wryly.

"The one I burned?" Rei asks, and Mark gives her a smile like he sees through her and plays along anyway.

"Oh God no, you only razed down a couple buildings here and there. I'm talking about the one up in Dublin. And do consider my offer, Reiley," He says, mirth adding a pleasant thrum to his voice.

"Not interested in working with you."

"I'm not an unpleasant person to work with, you know,"

"Well, I wouldn't know,"

"You could," he rakes his hand through perfectly dry hair – brown, and immaculate despite the rainy spells since yesterday afternoon.

"I could," She relents, languidly leaning on the chair. She tenses with the sudden onslaught of rain, and an odd sort of silence settles, filled with the pitter-patter of rain.

"Funny though, this coach goes all the way up to Belfast, but doesn't stop at Dublin." Mark says, tone butter-soft, but the accusation is clear. Rei checks her phone, 10 minutes to 9, there's a flood of messages and missed calls, she smirks, it's too late now. 

"What's funnier is that you rode a coach up from the south," Rei fires back, lightning quick. Mark was only supposed to be down south for a week, *last week*,when usually he'd be in Dublin. He had went back up. It's not far-fetched if you consider it, and Rei is a creature of logic as much as magic. No one would travel down south if they had a court session in the following days. 

Really, none of them planned to attend the court session in the first place.

But the question is: What is he doing here?

Suddenly, a pop of molten static goes off in her brain, and an arctic chill climbs up her spine. There's a tenderness building up behind her eyes, an ache that comes with pressure. She doesn't place it immediately, but her blood already sings with adrenaline, before her brain reacts to the scenery. She is no longer on the bus, rather, she's in a section of Northern Offaly that shouldn't exist, a place of myths and ancient runes. *Here it is.* 

A heavy surge of cloying heat hits her, and there's a dampness in the air that she can smell. She's outside, and the rain is pelting down on her, heavy and prophetic. In the expanse of greenery she realises Mark is here as well, in this vortex of space that only drags in the gifted, calm. The fact settles awkwardly with her, unnerving, and a premonition snakes its way down her throat, slow and heavy like honey.

"I grabbed onto you before this happened," Mark says airily, waving a hand to the looming trees, soaking in mist, a calmness in his voice not mirrored by Rei.

"Why are you so calm?" Rei asks, nonplussed, but before he can reply, an ominous pressure falls on them, Mark almost stumbles, and leans on the tree. Something dark looms at the edges of her vision, Rei steps in front of him slightly, fire and lightning intertwining at her core. Twinges of lightning dance across her skin carving silky spider trails, her fire laps at its heels, cracking the ground, littering it with thick wedges.

"Don't say anything, stay close," she manages, grabbing Mark's wrist, before inky tendrils crawled out of the darkness, writhing around a core, the jewel she needs. Her ticket out of all this. There's a cascade of soft, whispery sounds. A haunting Spectre is woven, crowned with that silver-grey colour of death. Frigid to its core, its black strips of flesh still in the wind, the rain a curtain around it. A gloomy mist coils around them, but Rei cannot attack, they're in its territory now.

"Riddle me this," The Spectre's voice hisses, serpentine.

"What is of heaven, but not from it?" The cold voice resonates inside her head. It soaks her nerves in anticipation, a grin threatens to break out. 

Then his words hit. A riddle, really? But if she answers this right, then perhaps a confrontation is avoidable. She hadn't known about the Spectre, from all the records she could find, from the internet searches she'd spent her every waking moment combing through until her back strained and her eyes fluttered every 5 seconds. Ignorance is not bliss, in this particular moment.

Of heaven, but not from it. Of heaven, but not from it. Of heaven, but not from it.

A cold shiver curls up her spine, her blood whistling with unbridled glee. 

"Magic," She says, confident and proud, but right or wrong, right or wrong, right or wrong.