Really she was going to rifle through Aunt Lily’s bags to confirm her suspicions of, well … suspiciousness. Rose tiptoed down the carpeted steps and saw a ribbon of misty yellow light from beneath the door of the tiny bathroom. The whole basement was filled with steam and the scent of lavender body wash. No wonder Aunt Lily always smelled like a garden. Lily’s suitcase sat open on the little yellow chair in the corner. Rose padded over and looked into the bag. There were a red leather jumpsuit, a blue lace dress, and a tall black bottle labeled magic potion. Bingo! The secret to Aunt Lily’s mysterious charisma: She was a witch. Rose hated to think what was in that magic potion—maybe something even worse than a warlock’s eye. She carefully uncorked the bottle and cringed, fearing that something horrible would waft out—a howling demon spirit, perhaps? A ghost? A talking bat? But nothing wafted out except the mild scent of chemicals. Rose peered over the rim of the bottle. Inside was a goopy white substance.
