The ghost shook the Magic 8 Ball vigorously and then threw it to me.
“So, Agamethus, what do you want to tell us?” Since Agamethus was ethereal, I expected the ball to sail right through him and shatter on the floor. The Magic 8 Ball’s the best form of communication we’ve got. “We’ve been trying for seven years, ever since Agamethus joined us. “It’s no form of sign language that we can figure out,” Jo said. His aura darkened to the color of a blood orange. “Wouldn’t it be faster if Agamethus simply wrote down what he wanted to say?” I asked.Įmmie shot me a warning look. The Magic 8 Ball struck me as a very shady form of divination-more like a Hermes game of chance than an Oracle worthy of me. I still had no idea what she was talking about. Sometimes the Magic 8 Ball picks up on Agamethus’s thoughts and conveys them in writing.” You shake it, turn it over, and an answer floats up in this little plastic window on the bottom. “I’m not familiar with this form of sorcery, either. I know every form of divination, and I have never heard of a Magic 8 Ball.”Ĭalypso leaned forward. I scowled at the sphere, wondering if it was some sort of bomb. On one side, painted in the middle of a white circle, was the number 8. In one hand, she gripped a black plastic sphere the size of a honeydew melon. Why would his brother Trophonius have decapitated him, and why did I feel so guilty about it? But I had no success-just a vague sense of unease, and the feeling that despite his lack of eyes, Agamethus was glaring at me.įinally, Josie trotted back over. As we waited for Josephine, I tried to dredge my memory for more specifics about this ghost Agamethus. Leo hopped onto the couch next to me, bouncing up and down with such enthusiasm I had an annoying pang of nostalgia for Meg McCaffrey. We might as well sit.”Ĭalypso and Emmie took the armchairs. The name tag on his borrowed overalls read GEORGIE. “The Magic 8 Ball?” Leo grinned at Emmie.
“He wants the Magic 8 Ball,” Josephine interpreted. Then he again made the gesture of holding a sphere. But the ghost pointed at me as if to say, This dude knows what’s up, or possibly, more disturbingly, It’s your fault. I was not sure myself where the information had come from. He…” There was something else, something that filled me with guilt, but I couldn’t remember. “Agamethus was the brother of Trophonius, the spirit of the Dark Oracle. The memory surfaced from the dark stew of my mortal brain, though I did not recall the details. “His brother cut off his head,” I supplied.
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