Spiritual guide. Was that a new euphemism? Had this big-mouthed broad painted a target on the both of them?

That wasn’t fair. The only ‘crimes’ she had committed were knitting and talking about a relative … but what kind of fool talked about their relatives?!

Her endorsement of the new maid only served to make him suspicious of said new maid. He had given her a quick spiel about how, should she ever decide to marry or move or otherwise choose survival over breaking another sink that he would be happy to pay the train ticket with haste. She was still there.

Oh! Malachi was turning down both water and certain death. That shouldn’t have tickled him the way it did, but there was something about the adrenaline of juggling two lives that just made everything hysterical. His face remained impassive.

For the scantest of seconds, Aslan’s gaze broke from the active hunter to the father-slayer right next to him. Did he have any clue how improper, how absolutely tantalizing he could make one word sound? Of course he did: he was imitating his own damned bird call, after all; the way he all but fucked ‘Father’ off the tip of his tongue. Unfortunately for Aslan, ‘detective’ had two ‘t’s, and that sounded even saucier.

“She wants something,” he murmured back, eyes on her, with nothing but a faint tinge in his cheeks to suggest he caught anything improper from his the priest. “Let me show you where the kitchen is,” he continued, at a more pronounced volume.