The tirade I was about to unleash on them was interrupted by more knocking. Just like with the vampires, I sensed no immortal signature. Anyone could have been at my door. Yet, peering out the peephole, I saw Hugh. I let him in, feeling relieved. Hugh would sort this out. He always knew what was going on since he and Jerome maintained such constant communication. Hugh’s confidence and typical know-it-all air would fix everything.

Instead, he looked miserable. Dejected. He trudged in and dropped onto where I’d just been sitting. He put his elbows on his knees and rested his chin in his hands.

“Hey, Hugh,” said Cody. “Isn’t it a great day?”

I knelt down on the floor in front of Hugh, so I could look straight into his eyes.

“Hugh, what’s going on?”

He simply stared at me, dark eyes mournful and bleak. I’d seen Hugh angry, elated, and exasperated over the years, but I’d never seen him depressed. It would have bothered me, if not for the fact we had a few other things to worry about than his hurt feelings just now.

“Hugh! We’ve all lost our . . .” I frowned, not sure what to call it. Powers? That sounded too Justice League. “. . . abilities.”

“I know,” he said at last. “So have I.”

“What powers did you even have?” asked Cody, apparently not minding the superhero comparison.

“Multitasking?” teased Peter. “The ability to balance books and collate?”

I shot him a quick glare over my shoulder and then glanced at Cody to explain. “Imps see souls—everyone’s life energy. They can tell whose soul is good and whose is bad.”

“I know that,” said Cody. “I just thought there was . . . more.”

Hugh sighed. “You can’t imagine it, Georgina. Not having that ability now. It’s like losing one of my senses. Or going colorblind.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” I told him.

“Not likely. When you can’t see energy and souls around living beings, the world is so . . . empty. It’s dull.”

“Why did it happen?” I asked gently, trying my best to squelch my own escalating fear. Internally, I was still reeling. My shape-shifting was gone. My immortal signature was gone. The marks that defined me as Georgina Kincaid, succubus, were gone. “What’s going on?”

Hugh’s eyes were still sad and unfocused, but finally, he looked at me and studied my face, like he’d just noticed me in front of him. “We get our various gifts and immortality for selling our souls,” he began slowly. “Those unique abilities—and their side effects—come from our contract with Hell and are filtered through our archdemons. It’s what lets them keep track of us. We’re . . . connected . . .” He frowned, grasping at how to best explain the system through which Hell managed its employees.