"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."