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“What would you call it?” says Abbot.

“It’s not that. I was just thinking about how ghosts talk about you people. It’s a lot worse than ‘infestation.’”

Abbot hooks a finger toward the living room.

“Can we talk in private for a moment?”

I lean on the cracked kitchen counter.

“Anything you want to say to me, you can say in front of Samael. I’ll probably tell him or he’ll find out the same way he seems to find out everything.”

He nods.

“It’s true. I’ll know an hour after you tell him.”

Abbot looks a little exasperated.

“Fine,” he says. “It’s about the house.”

“Yeah. I’ve been meaning to ask you, who cleans it? Because I feel like I owe them some kind of tip or something.”

“The house cleans itself,” says Abbot. “It’s the semiautonomous physical ideal of a happy home.”

“Cool.”

“And you broke it.”

“I did?”

Abbot kicks some debris with the toe of his loafer.

“This has never happened before. I mean, we have structures like this in war zones and they don’t break. But you broke this one.”

Samael claps.

“Well done, Jimmy. I always said you were an overachiever.”

“Listen, Stark, I don’t know how to say this, but you have to leave.”

“The house? You said I could stay here as long as I wanted.”

“That was before you—”

“Broke the house,” says Samael.

The bastard laughs like this is the funniest thing that’s ever happened since the beginning of time.

Abbot says, “I’ll send in a Sub Rosa crew to take care of the current mess, but the Council would really appreciate it if you could be out by the weekend.”

“That’s tomorrow.”

“Yes.”

Samael won’t stop laughing.

“I’ll go under one condition.”

“What’s that?”