Before he could finish his sentence, my fingers closed around crushed henbane petals in my pouch. I quickly placed one on my tongue and muttered, “Phyxie.” The man clutched his throat at my curse, his eyes bulging as the breath lifted from his lungs. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I caught your name,” I said sweetly as I took a step toward him. I counted the seconds in my head, making sure I had enough time to banish the curse. His nostrils flared and his forehead creased in panic, one hand still around his throat while the other reached for me angrily. I tsked. “Do they teach you manners in
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