Orlan groped around in the dark. Not a torch, not a candle, not even a lighter to be found in this apartment. Not even one of those apple-scented tea lights that Robyn had left, that he’d seen gathering dust under the sink so many times.

In the distance, sirens. The stores around here just weren’t equipped for power outages.
Why hadn’t he left the laptop charging? he fumed inwardly. Why had he used the last 23% of the power that morning on his tea break? When he’d ended up staring at the screen, the way it always went if he tried the dark magic in daylight.

It couldn’t be that complicated, surely. A candle, a piece of paper. Like Dickens and them used to do it. If he could find a pencil. If a single streetlight would shed even a streak of grimy light on his search. But the whole neighbourhood was out.

How long could it last? His stories lurked evasively during the day, shadows of beasts that only made themselves known at night. Where would they go, if the power didn’t come back soon?