Marjorie looked around. The yellow light of her flashlight showed a big iron pot set over a bed of glowing embers. Pale gray steam rose out of the pot, but no smoke came from the red coals.

She flashed the light over the uneven dirt walls. “I don’t see any door to the outside, but somebody must live here.” Marjorie pointed to a tattered blanket thrown over a pile of dry leaves. “There’s the bed.”

A big table stood in the middle of the cave. Nick sat down on a three-legged stool next to it. He opened a large book on the table. “Look at this, Marge.”

Marjorie went to shine her flashlight on it. She saw a bookplate inside the front cover. “This book belongs to Stella,” Marjorie read.

“Stella was the name cut into the tree,” Nick reminded her.

Marjorie began to turn the pages of the book. They were dog-eared and stained. Some of them were stuck together. “It looks like a cookbook.”

She started to read. “Nick! These aren’t recipes. They’re magic spells!”

Nick leaned over the book. “Now’s our chance! Maybe we can work one.” He started turning the pages.

Marjorie looked over his shoulder. The flashlight seemed to be getting dim. She could barely make out the words.

“It’s no use,” Nick said. “To make yourself invisible, you have to have six tigers’ teeth and a cup of sand from the Sahara Desert.”

“You’re right.” Marjorie shut the book. “We could never do those spells. Anyway, we need steaming brew to make them work.”

“Maybe that’s brew in the big pot,” Nick said.

The light from the flashlight was very faint now. In a few seconds it was just a spark. Then it went out.

“I must have had it turned on too long.” Marjorie put the little square flashlight on the table.

The cave was very dark now. There was only the red glow from under the pot.

Marjorie was quiet. She was thinking. When she spoke it was in a whisper. “Nick,” she said. “I read in that book that you have to use a special spoon to work those spells. It’s a wooden spoon. The book says it’s something every witch must own.”

Nick tried to see into the dark corners of the cave. “Stella must be a witch!”

“And we’ve got her spoon,” Marjorie said. “That’s why she was trying to get into our house. She can’t work her magic without it.”

Nick reached for the spoon. “Let me have that for a minute, Marge.”

“Be careful what you do with it.” Marjorie handed the spoon to her brother.

Nick picked up the flashlight and walked over to the iron pot. He put the flashlight on the bowl of the big wooden spoon. Then he lowered it into the dark, steaming brew. It started to hiss and sizzle.

“One,” Nick counted, “two, three—” When he came to “seven,” a light began to glow down in the depths. Nick raised the spoon out of the pot. He grabbed the flashlight and waved it in the air.

It was brighter than Marjorie had ever seen it before.

“How’s that for magic?” Nick grinned. “I think I’ll write this spell in Stella’s book.”