detects Hobs

Mouse suddenly stopped in his tracks.
Me too. I didn't rubberneck around. Instead I focused on the dog.
Mouse's ears twitched like individual radar dishes. His nose quivered. One paw came up off the ground, but the dog only looked around him uncertainly.
"Lassie would have smelled something," I told him. "She would have given a clear, concise warning. One bark for gruffs, two barks for Nickelheads."
Mouse gave me a reproachful glance, put his paw back down, and sneezed.
"He's right," Michael said quietly. "Something is watching us."
"When isn't it?" I muttered, glancing around. I didn't see anything. My highly tuned investigative instincts didn't see anything either. I hate feeling like Han Solo in a world of Jedi. "I'm supposed to be the Jedi," I muttered aloud.
"What's that?" Michael asked.
The station's lights went out. All of them. At exactly the same time.
The emergency lights, which are supposed to come on instantly, didn't.
Beside me Michael's coat rustled and something clicked several times. Presumably he was trying his flashlight, and presumably it didn't work.
That wasn't good. Magic could interfere with the function of technology, but that was more of a Murphy effect: Things that naturally could go wrong tended to go wrong a lot more often. It didn't behave in a predictable or uniform fashion. It didn't shut down lights, emergency lights, and battery-powered flashlights all at the same time.
I didn't know what could do that.
"Harry?" Michael asked.
Mouse pressed up against my leg, and I felt his warning growl vibrating through his chest.
"You said it, Chewie," I told my dog. "I've got a bad feeling about this."


Small Favor Chapter 22, Page 183-184