That was news to her. “I’m not meeting with the full council?”
“The full council only convenes when there is a problem between the realms or when there is an issue that could disturb relations between the supernatural and human communities. It’s a new policy we put in place because most of us freaking hate meetings.”
“Ah.” She couldn’t blame them for that.
“We decided to meet somewhere less formal today. Trust me, anywhere is better than the council room. Have you ever been?”
She shook her head.
“You aren’t missing much. The place is completely sterile and white. I always feel like I’m going snow blind in there. I’m trying to avoid the place as much as possible until the renovations are complete. You’ll only be meeting with one representative from each of the realms today, so it shouldn’t be as stressful. I volunteered to come get you. Ready to go?”
Without waiting for her reply, Kingston teleported them away from the library and toward the meeting that had the potential to change the rest of her life.
Chapter Two
Lana knew Kingstonhad teleported them directly to his mate’s bakery before she even opened her eyes by the enticing scent of the sweet, sugar-laced air.
The Sweet Spot was located close to the Trifecta University campus and had become a favorite gathering place for students, professors, and anyone with a serious sweet tooth. The interior décor somehow balanced between playful and elegant without feeling overdone. Pale pink walls were accented with sleek black trim and polished chrome fixtures that reflected the soft lighting overhead.
Chrome café tables with pink and black chairs filled the seating area, while glass display cases stretched along the counters like sparkling treasure chests overflowing with macarons, cupcakes, fruit tarts, and elaborately decorated cakes. The back counters were lined with pink boxes arranged with near-military precision, and floating shelves displayed canisters filled with colorful toppings and shimmering edible glitter.
Rising from the center of the café floor was a magnificent cherry blossom tree that stood as a testament to everlasting spring. Its dark, polished trunk twisted upward toward the high ceiling before exploding into a wide canopy of soft pink blossoms. Tiny crystal lights had been woven through the branches, making the petals glow like they’d been kissed by moonlight.
Small pieces of paper had been tied to many of the branches. Some were delicately folded, while others were rolled tightly and tied with ribbon to prevent anyone from reading them. A few hung freely for anyone curious enough to steal a glance. Each piece of paper carried a wish, a dream, or a worry written by one of the many customers who frequented the bakery.
Students from the university scribbled desperate prayers for passing grades and scholarship approvals. Young couples left hopeful promises about love, while heartbroken individuals left petty requests for payback. Parents wrote quiet wishes for sick children, and others requested better jobs or a little relief from mounting bills.
Some notes were lighthearted and silly, while others carried the unmistakable weight of heartbreak and loneliness.
The wishing tree was quickly becoming a local legend in the city of Mystic. Customers whispered stories over coffee and cupcakes, trading rumors about impossible coincidences and miraculous turns of luck. Some swore their wishes had come true within days of hanging their notes among the cherry blossom branches. Then, there were a few who had completely forgotten about the wishes they made until they came true months later.
A struggling student claimed she received an acceptance letter to her dream graduate program after tying her wish on the tree. An elderly man reportedly reunited with his estranged brother after leaving behind a handwritten apology he never intended anyone to see. An abused mother and son had begged for a way out, only for it to be granted hours later when their abuser had gotten a taste of his own medicine.
Even skeptics found themselves lingering near the tree longer than intended, staring up into the soft pink blossoms as though hoping something inside them might shift. Some insisted there was nothing supernatural about it at all. They claimed anonymous good Samaritans occasionally took the notes from the branches and quietly helped however they could.
Rent money would mysteriously appear in an envelope. Job opportunities arrived through unexpected phone calls. Lost pets somehow found their way home. Fresh flowers and encouraging letters occasionally appeared beside especially heartbreakingwishes. No one ever caught the mysterious helpers in the act, which only fueled the growing mystery surrounding the tree.
The truth was a mixture of all of the above.
The wishing tree had been created by the Goddess of Revenge to help her access more people who might need her particular area of expertise. But in doing so, it also attracted other powerful supernaturals in the area who were looking for quick fixes. Some helped for altruistic reasons, while others acted out of pure boredom.
“The wishing tree really did turn out better than any of us expected.”
Lana blinked as a gorgeous female with bronze hair and glowing gold eyes suddenly appeared in front of her. Before she could speak, the Goddess of Revenge grabbed her in a brief hug that squeezed the breath out of her.
“Hi, Lana. Don’t be nervous. I’m sure everything is going to work out well today. Kingston will make sure of it,” Autumn assured.
Her mate chuckled. “If my mate says so, then I guess I will have to make sure it does.”
Autumn laughed brightly as she danced over to his side, making the flowing skirt of her dark green dress flutter around her legs.
“Damn right.” Leaning against him, she glanced over at the tree. “The wishing tree has become so popular, I even have a small army of supernaturals who volunteer to take care of some of my smaller revenge cases.”
“So, you are outsourcing now?” Lana asked, amused.
Autumn grinned. “I guess so, but I think they agreed to help me simply because they like having a legitimate reason to beat the crap out of people. Who am I to spoil their fun?”
“You have to admit, they are enthusiastic about their work,” Kingston said dryly. “But we have more violent volunteers thanwe need at this point. And we have other gods sniffing around here more than I’m comfortable with. If they truly wanted to help people, you’d think they could handle the groundwork on their own instead of stealing ours from the damn tree.”
