The Hexologists (The Hexologists, #1)

by Josiah Bancroft

But then, what were words but the surrogates of sensation, the emissaries of feeling?

Pyle took down his best pewter mug from the highest shelf and evicted the spider that had died there.

“That is a Hex of Woe. Its bearer will suffer from insomnia, vertigo, tremors, impotence, styes, tinnitus, and galloping flatulence.”

“I do understand a child cannot avoid facing their parents, either in person or in absentia. Really, the only question is whether the confrontation will be aired as words or forced underground as deeds, impulses… obsessions. One way or another, we all address our makers.”

His hair was gray, his frame thin, his skin tight from the application of a variety of tonics that appeared to slowly be turning him into some variety of expensive leather.

It was bedlam, a hedonistic riot, or as Victor described it, “the usual whoop-de-do.”