Captivating The Witch

He shrugged and a tiny smile softened his dark features. Compelled by his levity, Tamatha touched the corner of his mouth briefly. “I’m glad it doesn’t repel me,” she said.

“It has alerted me to other witches previously. I’m sure it’s because you are so strong. Of course, that makes little sense. Unless you’ve a ward to repel my witch ward?”

“It may be my white light.” Which she’d taken off. Hmm... That was weird, but not so startling she need worry about it. They were sitting here now. And he no longer seemed repelled by her presence.

And he leaned forward to kiss her, but stopped, their faces but a breath from one another. “I told myself I was going to keep it strictly business this evening.”

“Me, too.”

He considered it, frowned, but then nodded. “Right. So...” He tilted his head and nudged her nose with his. He smelled like leather and icy cedar. “I’ve always thought that nothing happens accidentally.”

“Oh, it doesn’t. There are no coincidences in this realm. I’m very sure our running into one another in the alley was destined. Though for what reason, we’ve yet to learn.”

“Destiny is a big concept. Serendipity sounds cooler.” He pressed his forehead to hers. A hint of wine on his breath compelled her closer and to close her eyes. “Demons and witches have a brutal history,” he said.

Tamatha nodded. Witches had often been demon conduits through the centuries, along with their faithful familiars. But she didn’t want to discuss their reasons for hating one another right now. Not when she could feel the pulse of his heart in the air and the cool hardness of his horn nub against her skin.

“This isn’t history, Ed. It’s right now. We’re writing our own pages.”

“I can get behind that. There is something I want to ask you,” he said, breaking their connection by a few breathless inches, “but after I do, you’ll not like me so much as you do at this moment. So I’m going to keep that one in my pocket for now.”

“I can deal. Later will always be there waiting. I’ve asked enough questions for one night. I want to set work aside.”

“No more business.” He exhaled. “This you-and-I thing is really odd for me—”

Enough small talk. If he continued on that tangent he’d talk himself out of so much fun. “Kiss me, Ed.”

She tilted up his chin with her forefinger and took the lead by kissing him. He responded nicely by not uttering another protesting word. Relaxing back against the couch, his hands spreading down her sides, he lured her on top of him. His hands glided down the purple velvet to her hips and she knelt between his legs because the skirt was too narrow for her to straddle him.

Lemon and cedar mingled as the two of them breathed in one another, tasting wine and anticipation, touching warmth, hair and the pulse beats of desire.

She spread her palm over his neck and felt a soft flutter. A demon sigil that marked him as corax. Cool. She hadn’t read anything about sigils in her research so far, but knew she’d passed her hands over a book or two that detailed demonic sigils. When she returned to the Archives she’d head straight for those books.

“Do all demons have markings like this? Or wait, you said it was only certain breeds?”

He tilted a frown up at her, but it quickly softened to a light wonder. “Witch, do you want to research me or kiss me?”

“Honestly? Both.” She teased a fingertip at the corner of her mouth. “But first I’d like you to stop calling me witch as if it were a bad thing.”

“Sorry, Tamatha of the pretty green eyes.” He clasped her hand and pulled it up to look at the side of her smallest finger. “Since we’re asking about skin markings, what’s this tattoo mean? Beatus?”

“Be-aye-tus.” She pronounced the word properly. “It’s Latin for ‘blessed be.’”

“Special. A witch offering a blessing to a demon? Wonders never cease.”

“I suppose I should be more cautious around you, but I can tell a lot about a person from his kiss.”

“Is that so?”

“You’re trustworthy.”

She didn’t miss his wince and then told herself she was being too trusting. She knew nothing about this man. But that was why she was there. To learn. And to learn one must set aside caution and dive in for the experience.

“So you must kiss a lot of people to have developed such a skill?” he proposed.

“I never kiss and tell.” She traced a finger down the feather on his neck and delighted when it fluttered under her touch. “I’d like to see them all.”

He waggled a finger at her. “That would involve removing clothing. And I suspect you’re not that easy.”

“Oh, I’m not.” She tugged down her skirt and started to sit, but then immediately turned to lean into him. Because she couldn’t not look into his eyes. “But kissing you is something I’d like to do more of.”

“You perplex me.” Grabbing the wine bottle and their empty goblets, he motioned she move aside so he could stand. “You say you want to ask me questions, do research,” he said and set the bottle and glasses on the vanity, “but your body says something entirely different.”

“What about you? The man who claims to be wary of witches and yet you were the one to ask me to take off my white light so you could get closer.”

“Touché. You don’t have a lot of fear, do you?”

“You keep assuming I should fear you. Is there something you’re not telling me?”

There was. She could tell in his pause. Must be that thing he said he’d wanted to ask her, but that would make her not like him. Should she ask him about it? Asking might bring whatever they’d started to a screeching halt. Must be the history he had with witches. Well, she’d have to change his mind and teach him that some witches were trustworthy.

Tamatha stood and placed a hand on her hip as she paced before the couch. “Let’s make a deal. We both want something from each other, yes? And whatever it is you want from me, I am going to assume it’s not a simple office cleansing.”

He nodded and swiped a palm over his mouth, and behind that swipe she saw his smoldering smirk. It was sexy, yet secretive, and the unspoken lust in his eyes made her heart thunder and parts of her simmer and grow wet. Oh, so wet.

“Whatever you want from me is a doozy,” she decided.

“On the scale of trivial to doozy, I’d say you are correct.”

“Must be dark and dangerous if you’re so nervous about it.”

“I’m not nervous. Nervous is not a word in my vocabulary. I am confident.”

“If a trifle cautious.”

“Caution is smart.”

“Like I said, I can read a person, and you are nervous. You can’t stand close to me. You keep touching your face, fidgeting. And you won’t look me in the eye.”

“And you are too perceptive. But I’ll let it go because you’re so pretty.”

She twirled a finger within her hair. “You think?”

He clasped his hands together before his mouth and considered it a moment. Were it not for the black markings, he would appear a businessman standing in his high-tech office. An organization that sought peace? Dare she believe such a ruse?

“I need a witch,” he finally said. “At least, I think I do. It’s to do with my mission to keep the peace.”

So it was a mission? That was...big. And magnanimous. Yet what reason could he have to be so secretive about it?

“I feel as though I need powerful magic to help rectify the situation.” And at that moment his phone rang. He put up a finger that he needed to take the call. “Yes,” he said to the caller. “Another? I’ll be right there.” He tucked the phone in his inner suit coat pocket. “I’m afraid I’ve an urgent appointment.”

“Oh.” She bent to gather her wand and athame from inside the salt circle. “Right. It’s late anyway.”

“After midnight.”

“Yep, and I have work in the morning.”

“Where do you work?”

“In the Council Archi—er...hmm.” Should she actually reveal that to him? She hadn’t been told to keep it a secret. It wasn’t as though she worked with secret stuff. And most paranormal species were aware of the overseeing Council.

“The Council Archives?” he guessed. “Sounds like a bunch of stuffy old books.”

“It is, but books are awesome. I could live in the stacks, reading everything about all things. I never want to leave. My boss usually has to remind me to go home.”

“There is something about librarians that arouses most men’s imaginations.”

“Is that so?” She stood from collecting her things, then swiped the toe of her shoe through the salt circle, effectively rendering it but a broken circle of salt and no longer a protective barrier. “I’ve never considered myself a librarian. Bookish, I guess. But I know how to party it up. I’m down with all that.”

Ed chuckled. He took her hand, and when she thought he would lead her to the door, instead he kissed the back of it. Clutching a candle and the knife to her chest, she sighed at the chivalrous move. But when he licked her skin, she flushed to her core. Goddess, what would that feel like on other places on her body? Like her breasts?

“Tasting me?” she tried lightly.

“We demons can tell a lot from taste,” he said. “That’s a freebie for your research.”

“It’s only a freebie if you explain yourself. What can you tell about me from tasting my skin?”

“Let’s talk on the way out, shall we? That call was urgent.” He led her down the hallway, and as they waited for the elevator, he again clasped her hand. “I can taste the wine in your blood and a salty remnant of the pommes frites you downed five or six hours earlier. Possibly on your way home from our less-than-stellar encounter here earlier.”

“There’s a Greek restaurant down the street from my apartment. I love their fries and chicken gyros. Tell me more.”

“Your blood pressure is slightly elevated.” He winked and smirked. “I’ll attribute that to being here with me, your hand in mine.”

She shrugged, acquiescing to that one.

“You are indeed very powerful because I could feel those electric vibrations tingle at my tongue, as if the white light, but I can differentiate and know it is your magic. You’ve been on this earth for about a century...” He tilted his head. “I can feel the ancient ways in you, but not so old that I sense you were around preautomobile.”

The doors opened and they stepped into the elevator.

“You’re very good,” Tamatha said. “I was born in the 1920s.”

“I assume you’ve taken a source?”

“A decade ago.”

When a witch wished to maintain her immortality, she had to consume the live, beating heart of a vampire once a century. Witches called them sources; vamps called them ash. Nasty work, but immortality was well worth the mess and vulgar taste.

“And you emanate light,” he finally said. “And joy and curiosity. But I didn’t have to lick you to learn that. Such lightness is written all over—” he spread his hands before her to take in her shape “—this gorgeous piece of work.” He exhaled. “I’ve that thing to get to.”

And she sensed he was giving her an escape from what could turn into an evening of debauchery. That neither of them would protest. Yet she wasn’t quite ready to dive in so quickly with this intriguing yet deeply mysterious man.

“Tomorrow night?” she asked as the elevator doors slid open. “Another research date?”

“I’m...hmm. Can I get back to you on that one?”

“Oh? Sure.” She’d expected a quick response that he’d love to see her again. Didn’t he want to drop the big question on her? So her shoulders dropped as she headed for the door. “I live in the 6th,” she said.

“I know. By the Luxembourg.”

She cast a look over her shoulder.

“I can smell the pear blossoms and roses from their gardens in your hair. It’s a unique blend indicative of the garden on the Left Bank. If I want to find you, I will. We demons retain scents far better than any werewolf can. You’re in me now, Tamatha.”

And he turned to stroll toward a door set near the elevator bay. Without a goodbye or an au revoir. As last night when he’d left her in the alleyway after that devastating kiss.

Tamatha stepped outside under the moonlight and stroked the back of her hand where he’d licked her. With a shiver, she decided to draw her white light back up.

Chapter 6

The last of a few black feathers dissipated as Ed’s body re-formed into human shape. He tilted his head to the left and right to stretch the kink in his neck, then shook his shoulders to shake out his clothes and return to normality. Or as normal as it got shifting from a conspiracy of ravens to demonic flesh and blood.

There were other terms for a group of ravens, such as an unkindness. He’d stick with conspiracy. As it was, he got enough bad press.

The phone call had come from Inego, whom he’d directed to post guards at the Montparnasse. There were no dead witches in the cemetery this time that he could see. Nor a dismembered demon corpse. But between two mausoleum fronts with rusted iron doors he did find a telling pile of ash. Obsidian flakes clued him in that one of his own had died there. Recently, for the red embers and lingering sulfur that tainted the air.

Yet the sickly smell of rot clinging to the air was not demonic. And the ward on his forearm tingled.

“Witches,” he muttered. “Again. How is it possible? Unless they are alive and just really ugly?”

No, he’d seen exposed bone on more than a few of them the night he’d witnessed Laurent’s murder. Whatever the creatures were, they could not be alive. And they seemed to have a death wish for demons.

Perhaps the situation was more urgent than he’d initially thought.

Kneeling before the ash, he held his palm flat over the pile without touching it. Rising warmth teased at his skin, as if the essence yet remained. He couldn’t get a read that would clue him in to what breed of demon it had been or if it had been male or female.

Scanning the surroundings, he wondered if the demon had been wandering about the cemetery—for what reason?—or if he or she had somehow been lured here. Because it was the same cemetery. It seemed too coincidental to be mere happenstance. Could dead witches do such a thing? Or was someone else luring hapless demons to a sure and terrible death?

The thought was disturbing. And he would find answers.

From a witch like Tamatha Bellerose? He wasn’t sold on her being the most powerful in Paris, but he wasn’t yet prepared to admit to that doubt. She seemed open-minded. She’d even suggested she was not into summoning and then commanding demons to her will. With hope, she would at least hear him out regarding this situation.

He should have been direct with her earlier. But after watching her smudge the office, the whole time he’d slid his eyes over her gorgeous figure and had thought thoughts he wouldn’t want anyone to know about. Lust had altered his initial goal. He’d been thankful for the phone call only because he was pretty sure he might have pushed her down on the couch and made out with her right there in the office.

And what was wrong with that?

“Everything,” he muttered. “She’s a witch.”

He stood, then strode quickly toward the south entrance and slipped through the unlocked gate. He spied Inego parked down the street in a black Audi and slid into the passenger side.

“I posted guards at the front gate like you asked, boss.”

Ed rubbed his lower lip, in thought. Would any future victims really enter through the front gate? If the victim was demon, he or she could enter by a number of means, through shifted shape or by simply leaping over the fence at any point in the periphery. More guards may be necessary.

Beyond setting a demon out for bait, he had no idea why these killings were occurring. “Do you have any idea who the demon was?”

Inego shrugged. “He was in the process of being made dead when I decided to get the hell out of there. But he did have this.” The lackey handed a bowie knife to him. “It was lying on a stone sarcophagus. I grabbed it ’cause you know how I like weapons.”

The blade was crude iron, not polished steel. Demons worked well with iron, especially cold iron. The inlaid pearl handle was etched with a demonic sigil, but it was so worn it was difficult to determine the original design. In the hands of its owner the sigil may even glow and provide strength or serve some fierce magic.

“This sigil...the curve of it and that crossed line... It looks familiar, but I’m not sure. I’ll have to clean it up and see if I can match it to a sigil on file. Looks like it’s back to the office.”

“Will do.” Inego shifted into gear and turned the vehicle toward the Right Bank.

Ed had shifted the other night and again tonight. Too much, too fast. Already draining numbness toyed with his brain, thanks to the most recent shift. He probably wouldn’t get farther than the couch in his office before falling into a dead sleep.

He closed his eyes and tried to banish the dreadful scent of death and rot from his senses. Dead demons generally did not smell when they dusted, but this one had reeked of sulfur. It could have been ripped limb from limb. There was no way to know by studying the remaining ash. As with vampires who ashed when staked, so did demons. But also similar to vampires, the younger demons could die and remain in bodily form or even only ash partially. So Ed knew the victim had to be at least a few decades old. Which helped him little in identifying the demon.

He absently tapped the blade on his thigh. The sigils could help in identification. He’d do that at the office. If he could get the memory of that awful smell from his nose. Think of something sweeter. Roses and pear trees that dotted the Luxembourg grounds. And lemons...

“Why do I keep kissing her?” he whispered.

“That pretty little witch?” Inego asked.

“Huh? Oh.” He’d drifted into a reverie, lured by his exhaustion. He didn’t want to have this conversation with the idiot who would put a plastic bag over someone’s head thinking that was safe.

“We did get the right witch for you, yes? If you’ll pardon me, boss, you two seemed familiar with one another.”

“Yes, she’s the right one.” In ways even he couldn’t comprehend. Yawning, Ed settled, flexing his spine into the comfortable leather seat. “I’ve kissed her both times I’ve seen her. And I don’t know why. Witches disgust me. I had no intention—”

“You’re bewitched,” Inego offered. “The witch made you kiss her.”

Bewitched? At the time, he’d jokingly suggested that she had made him kiss her. Because if he had been in his right mind, he would have never so boldly done such a thing. Maybe?

Bewitched. That made...a lot of sense. And what reason had she to tell him the truth? She’d wanted to soften him, keep him from harming her. Of course she had used witchcraft on him.

The car stopped behind his building and Ed stepped out, telling Inego to remain on call and keep his guards posted at the cemetery. Next time, he said, call him at the sign of anything suspicious. He needed to catch the demon before it was torn asunder.

“Bewitched,” Ed muttered as Inego drove off. “She isn’t playing fair.”

* * *

Balancing a shoulder bag full of books on demons and curses and sigils, along with her purse, a plastic sack that held the high heels she’d traded for flats for the walk home, and the small plastic cup of pineapple gelato she had picked up when walking down the rue de La Huchette in the 5th, Tamatha licked the tiny plastic spoon clean and almost groaned out loud at the goodness of the tangy Italian ice.

On the days when she walked home after work, she always treated herself to gelato from Amorino. But as the first drops of rain hit the creamy treat, she cursed and rushed across the pebbled grounds of the Luxembourg. Her apartment backed up to the royal garden.

Pausing outside the lush hornbeam shrub that bordered the park because the angle of the rain didn’t reach her there, she finished the last of the gelato, then made a toss for the nearby garbage bag the city posted near trees and street poles—when a demon caught the empty cup and made the slam dunk for her.

“You.”

“Me,” Ed said as he approached. An irrepressible smile curled his mouth into something she could only wish he would press against her lips. “You didn’t expect me? Didn’t we have a date?”

“I thought you needed to think about it?”

“I thought. And here I am.”

“Well, then here.” She handed him her heavy bag, and when the rain began to pummel them both, they dashed down the alleyway that hugged her building. Once inside the cobblestone courtyard and sheltered by the roof over the landing, lightning crackled the sky.

“Inside. Quick,” Ed said, and Tamatha followed orders without even thinking that he’d sounded demanding. “We’ve got to stop meeting in the rain,” he offered as he followed her up the three twisting flights of timeworn stairs.

“I like the rain.”

“It annoys me. And sometimes it hurts.”

She pushed her key in the lock, turned it and shoved the door inward. “It hurts? I think I read something about that. No, that was faeries. Rain in the mortal realm can burn their skin.”

“It works the same on some of us demons. Especially so when there’s lightning. It crackles in my veins like electricity and messes with my ability to shift.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. But I’m going to make a note of that.”

“I’m learning to expect nothing less from you.”

“You can drop my bag there by the door.”

She strolled past the tiny kitchenette and into the living room. Her bedroom was on the opposite side of the room beyond the curvy pink velvet sofa. With a dash she deposited her shoes before her bed, then returned to the living room to find Ed looking around. The pale pink sheers were pulled back to reveal lightning splintering the sky.

“It’s not the Shangri-La, but it’s my home. So, another date?”

“Sure, but first I’d like to get straight to the point.”

“The point?”

He walked right up to her and grabbed her by the shoulders. Not so gently. And he wasn’t giving off “I’m going to kiss you now” vibes. “You’ve bewitched me.”

“I—” Tamatha’s apprehensions dropped. Aww. What a sweetie. Mr. Darcy redone in demonic flesh and blood. Although...he hadn’t said it in quite the manner Darcy would. Not a hint of romance in his tone or mention of his body and soul. Which meant... “Are you serious?”

“That’s the only explanation for my compelling need to kiss you every time I see you.”

Was he for real? The guy couldn’t accept that maybe he wanted to kiss her? Way to make her feel special. Not.

Tamatha pulled from his grip and pushed her rain-jeweled hair over a shoulder. “I don’t work love spells or anything romantically related. That’s trouble waiting to happen. No spells cast as a means to provoke you to kiss me, I promise. Though, bewitchment is a term that encompasses a certain romantic desire or feeling toward another. Seriously, you think I’m making you kiss me? And you can’t imagine any other reason, on this entire planet, why you’d want to kiss me? Maybe you just...want to?”

“Well, sure, but...” He sighed and swiped a hand through his hair. The move made her yearn to know the feel of his fingers gliding through her hair. “I thought... Uh...hmm...” He tapped his lip. “Because when we do kiss, it’s so easy. And I’ve never been this way around a witch before. Because I have trouble with— And things never seem to last. Most especially if she—”

“She what? Ed?” She touched his cheek and then dared to stroke across his horn nub.

He gripped her hand quickly. “You shouldn’t do that.”

“What? Touch your horns?”

He tilted a serious stare at her.

“Does touching your horns make you...horny?” She tried not to laugh, or even giggle, but the idea of it was clearly ironic. “I’ll keep my hands to myself. I didn’t know.”

“Yes, well, now you do. Lesson number one in Basic Demon Knowledge. Don’t touch the horns unless you’re invited to.”

She nodded respectfully. “Kind of like faeries and their wings. You touch their wings and it’s supposed to be sexual, like touching their breasts or their...” Her eyes dropped to his crotch, where a noticeable thickness caught her attention. “Wine! I’m sure you’d like some wine.”

She hustled into the kitchen and was glad for the half bottle in the fridge. Needed to restock. And ugh, this was a white. Not the most romantic of wines. But then, apparently the demon was feeling put off by romance. Unless, of course, she considered what had appeared to be a hard-on.

So was he hot for her or not? She couldn’t shake the awful feeling that he believed his kisses had been commanded by a force outside him instead of a reactionary pull to make contact with her.

To her, using magic to mess in the affairs of love and romance was almost as big a no-no as commanding demons against their will. Love spells could be quite effective. Until they were not. Be careful what you wish for and all that.

“Stick to business,” she reminded herself. “But he did mention something about a date.”

And she was keen on love. Often. But to be clear, the family motto encompassed all kinds of love. Familial, friendly, social, romantic, love for animals, love for food. Heck, love for bugs, grass or old cars. One must simply love life.

Out in the living room, Ed had opened one of the tall windows, and the noises from the restaurant below mingled with the clatter of rain on the windows and streets.

“Close it halfway,” she said. She straightened the black velvet pillows on the pink sofa and cast about a glance to make sure no stray underthings were lying about. It was a chick’s apartment; that stuff happened all the time. “Or the pigeons will come inside. I hate to bespell those poor things. They never seem to fly right afterward. Though I do use the occasional stray to practice ornithomancy.”

“Divination by birds,” he said and adjusted the window to make sure the opening wasn’t quite so pigeon-wide. “That should make for interesting times, me being a corax.”

She hadn’t considered that, but cool. “Would you allow me to divine your conspiracy?”

“That sounds strangely sexual,” he said with a wink.

And Tamatha actually blushed. So he did know how to flirt.

“White,” he said as she handed him the goblet. “I do love a dry sip.”

“Is that a demon thing?” she asked, slipping into research mode. From the table she grabbed a notebook that she always left lying around for moments of inspiration. And she put on her glasses, as well.

“No, I just love a good white. So we’re right to business.” Ed sat next to her. “I guess our dates always start that way, eh? That’s cool— Wow.”

“What?”

“Those glasses are incredibly sexy on you. All the rhinestones and the way they draw focus to your bright green eyes.”

“Hmm, must be the librarian thing you mentioned.”

“You’re not put off that one of my fantasies is exactly what you are?”

“Why should I be?” She leaned in close enough that his cedar scent overwhelmed the wine. It stirred her desires and softened her muscles so she felt like falling into his arms. “I like to play with danger.”

“Right, the dangerous-demon thing. I’ll give you that. I’m not safe, by any means.”

“And how does not being safe play into your work, which is to bring peace? I don’t understand that. What kind of peace and between whom? Other demons?”

“I said that was personal. You want basic demon facts, and that’s what I’ll give you. You know about our sigils.” He pulled back his coat collar to show the black ink work, which wasn’t ink work at all but an innate coloring in his skin. “You know about our sensitive taste.”

“Right. And you can travel by shifting to a conspiracy of ravens. Can I see you do that?”

“Not now that I’ve learned you might like to use my ravens for divination. Besides, I’m all tapped out for a while. Just getting my strength back after doing it twice in a week.”

“It drains you that much?”

“Shifting to dozens of birds and then re-forming back to a complex human body? That requires a lot of energy.”

“Then why did you do it recently?”

“Next question.”

She didn’t like that he felt he couldn’t be totally honest with her, but Tamatha would use caution. He was here and that was what mattered. “You know, I could help you with recharging your energy after a shift.”

“How so?”

“I’m sure I’ve a spell of some sort that’ll hasten your healing. Because that’s what it is. Healing from the shift.”

“Something to keep in mind. But pardon me if I maintain a healthy distance from your witchcraft.”

“Right. You and your caution.”

On with the research. And yet she wasn’t as compelled to learn about the textbook stuff so much as delving deeper inside the man. A man who had just flirted with her, even if it may have been accidental on his part.

“Tell me something daring. Intimate. Do demons have sex the same way most other species do?”

He chuckled, shook his head. “Yes, we do. Though we come in all shapes and sizes, with different means, muses and fetishes. And some of us fellows are ribbed.” He winked and sipped his wine.

“Ribbed?” She again averted her gaze to his crotch. “Like...you mean?”

He nodded, his grin irrepressible. “For your pleasure, my lady.”

Mouth open in awe, she didn’t know what to say to that one, so she let it sink in. Interesting. And...oh, baby. Now he expected her to continue with the interview without wanting to make out?

“That was too much too soon, wasn’t it?” His gaze over the rim of the goblet reached in and caressed her thumping heart. Oh, how he had mastered the smolder.

“No, that was perfect. Great. I’m writing that one down.”

He tugged the notebook from her grasp. “I don’t want to be a footnote on your pages, Tamatha. Let’s stick to conversation and leave the dictation for some guy with an ego. Is that okay?”