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“What was your other reason for coming here?” Zaira asked.
It took me a moment to remember. “Oh. Yeah. Do you know anything about Jorõgumos?”
She frowned. “I am by no means an expert, but I can tell you they are particularly nasty spirits.”
“That,” I said grimly, “they are.”
She shot me a glance. “Meaning there’s one active here in Melbourne?”
“Maybe. Anything you can tell us about them would be helpful.”
She grimaced. “They’re often called whore spiders, and for good reason. When they come into season, they take on the form of beautiful women and lure their chosen victims by playing magical Biwas, which is a type of Japanese lute. Once their prey is ensnared, the Jorõgumos bind them in order to either devour them or feed them to their young, depending on where the particular Jorõgumo is in her breeding cycle.”
Which was an exact description of what was happening. This thing was a Jorõgumo. “Do you know how many kills they need per breeding cycle?”
“Up to half a dozen.” She shrugged. “Depends on the size and age of the Jorõgumo.”
Meaning this spider spirit wasn’t finished hunting yet. “I don’t suppose you know an easy way to find this one.”
“No. But they rarely stray from established hunting patterns. Work that out, and you should be able to ascertain where she will attack next.”
In other words we were already on the right track. Zaira opened a door about midway down and flicked on a light. As had been the case in the hall, warm light spread across the room but barely lifted the shadows.
We were in a small, sweet-smelling office that was basically furnished. An old wooden desk dominated the center of the room, and with it was a leather chair that had seen better days. Shelves lined all the walls and were overflowing with books of every size and color. The weight of them had many of the shelves bowing, and the smell . . . I drew in a deep breath and sighed in appreciation. There was nothing quite like the scent of old books, even when it was almost overwhelmed by the richer scents of lavender and rose.
Zaira sat down at her desk, pulled open a drawer, then carefully lifted a silk-covered ball onto her desk. This wasn’t any old ball, but one of power. I could feel the energy radiating off it even from where I stood in the doorway.
“I’ll attempt a scrying,” she said. “But there’s no guarantee it’ll work. As I’ve said, she learned long ago to block my efforts of tracking her.”
I crossed my arms and leaned a shoulder against the doorframe. “I just want to know if she’s okay. I know I may be panicking over nothing, but—”
“But you are your mother’s daughter and, in many respects, even more powerful. I would never ignore your premonitions, however slight, and neither should you.”
Surprise rippled through me. More powerful than my mother? That was unlikely, because her talents had been sharpened and honed in a madman’s laboratory. While I was more than adept at using my psychic skills, I’d certainly never honed them—something that had frustrated the hell out of Mom.
But all I’d ever wanted was a normal life—or as normal as it could ever be given who my mother was and how wealthy we were—and in many respects, my psychic abilities had stood in the way of that desire. I had learned to control and use the skills that being half Aedh endowed, simply because Uncle Quinn had always stressed the danger of doing otherwise. I might be stubborn, but I wasn’t a fool.
But it was moments like this, when I was standing here in Zaira’s office, having to rely on her for information, that I wished I’d listened to Mom.
Zaira unwrapped the crystal and placed her hands on either side of the ball. Light flickered deep in its heart and sent sprays of silver cascading around the walls. Zaira took a deep breath, released it slowly, then closed her eyes and placed her palms on either side of the crystal. Her breathing grew deeper and, after several minutes, the crystal became cloudy and the silver cascade muted.
I watched, wondering what she was seeing and whether it involved Ilianna. Mom had sometimes used a crystal ball when trying to contact the dead for her clients, but it was never her favorite method. She preferred séances, simply because a physical connection with the living relative made communication with the dead easier. For her, it was also less taxing and more accurate.
But Zaira was witch trained. She would be able to do far more with a crystal ball than Mom could ever have imagined.
Time seemed to slow to a crawl, and tension curled through me. I hating waiting, hated not knowing what, if anything, was happening. The only reason I didn’t start pacing was the knowledge that it would more than likely disrupt Zaira’s scrying.
But eventually she sighed and removed her hands from the crystal. The cloudiness eased immediately and the swirling silver light returned.
Zaira leaned back in her chair and rubbed her forehead wearily. “Well, the good news is that she’s not dead.”
That was at least something, though it didn’t exactly ease the tension still curling through me.
“But?” I said, because there very obviously was one.
“But I can get no feel for her. Something is blocking my ability to pin down her essence, and I cannot tell whether that something is her own magic or something else.”
I frowned. “What else could there be?”
