Aslan shut the washroom door behind himself, as he usually did. Rather liked having no room to sneak in behind him, and there was no place to put his shaving razor that would make it any less a razor.

“How was your day?”

And by her day, he meant yesterday, for he had been out since lunch at least. On its own, that was hardly unusual. He had come home smelling like perfume and stale smoke on occasion. He still collected the newspapers on the various prostitute slayings.

Never came home smelling so strongly like a woman had been all over him, though.