The lights dimmed, flashed on, then went out completely. Celia felt the magix rescind–like a downhill sled headed back up hill doomed to crawl to a halt.
"Storm’s knocked out all the conduits," she heard her father call to her mother. "Do we have any good wells! The ones in this lamp are empty."
Her mother couldn’t her him or didn’t care to reply. They’d been fighting all week. The magix being out wasn’t going to quell that. Shuffle. Stumble. Thunk. "Hex it! Where are those wells?"
"Papa just light it up with a little bit of the raw."
"No, no. I’m not getting caught doing that again. And they should be right here in the drawer anyway."
"You sure you’re not in the middle one instead of the end?"
"Celia, it’s not that dark. Well. maybe it is. Thanks sweetie."
The little girl smiled because he’d called her sweetie and because he hadn’t felt her tap into the raw to see where the wells were.
Word count: 169