The Hexologists (The Hexologists #1)

by Josiah Bancroft

Though he was a year younger than Isolde, Warren did not look it, and had been, since adolescence, mistaken for a man laboring toward the promise of retirement.

Warren lifted his shoulders as if fending off a shiver. “Well, you can’t spell ‘necromance’ without ‘romance,’ I suppose.” Isolde rolled her eyes and carried on:

My god, woman! Your desk is a disgrace,” Felivox said. From the dim transom of the open portalmanteau, his amber eyes glowed like the dials of a dashboard. “I asked for company not criticism,” Isolde grunted. “I’m afraid company is the white in which the yolk of criticism swims! Can’t have one without the other!”