Doon

hand, we made our way toward the people—our people. Somewhere in all the well wishes, hugs, and tears, I became a part of Doon in truth.

Finally, I’d found the place where I belonged. My destiny.

EPILOGUE Mackenna

I stowed my intern orientation packet under my folding chair and concentrated on the rhythmic voice of Adrenaline Theatre’s artistic director, Weston Ballard. Butterflies tapped through my stomach, choreographing a frenetic rendition of All That Jazz. We were on the stage, seated in a circle, doing our first icebreaker of the season. Thanks be to Kander and Ebb, the patron saints of Chicago, we were not playing Scene Freeze.

Chills raced up my spine as I struggled to direct my mind away from the most horrifying night of my life and back to the present. Today was huge—the beginning of everything I ever wanted. Well, not everything. Mostly everything.

And I could—I would—live with that. It’s not like I had a choice.

“For the next eight and a half months, this theater will be your home. It will be your privilege, your possibility, and your passion. It will be your sanctuary.”

I focused on the cadence of Weston’s voice as he strolled among us. The speech no doubt was the same one he delivered each year for incoming interns. But the way he lingered in my space seemed special.

With precise diction and perfect projection, Wes continued, “Let’s get started with a creative exercise. I want you to envision the most fantastical place imaginable.”

I drew in a deep breath and held it for two beats. As I exhaled, I relaxed my shoulders and let my mind wander.

Tendrils of mist, thick and damp, began to roll in from backstage, engulfing the other interns. I stood and turned stage right. The artistic director’s hypnotic voice grew hushed, like a footnote, as the building vanished. The murky outline of a wild forest became discernible through the haze. And directly in front of me, the Brig o’ Doon appeared—beckoning.

It had to be a dream, except I was wide awake and standing at the mouth of the bridge.

The mists coalesced to take on a familiar form—one that caused my heart to leap with joy. I hadn’t thought about my imaginary friend, Finn, in ages. He’d appeared that first summer in Alloway, when I was lonely for the company of other kids. Like Peter Pan, he’d filled my childhood with magic and, inevitably, captured my first kiss.

He looked just as I remembered. His lopsided grin, equal parts smirky and awestruck, promised benign mischief. His large brown eyes sparked with confidence as he raked his fingers through his dark hair to form chaotic peaks.

Holy Hammerstein! I knew that gesture—it was imprinted on my heart.

Before my eyes, Finn grew into a tall and broad shouldered boy of eighteen. His dark gaze crackled with expectancy as I drank in the ridiculously gorgeous face of Duncan MacCrae.

“Come ta me, Mackenna—”

I listed to one side, and the cold metal of the chair snapped me back to my surroundings as I gripped the edges to keep from sliding off. I was still on the empty stage with the other interns. The mists and bridge were gone. So was Duncan.

Weston’s speech continued, “Nowhere—not even that place you just went, is better or more real than where you are. The Adrenaline Theatre—this is your calling.”

He was wrong. I knew what a Calling was—and it was exactly as Vee had described, a waking dream that feels more vibrant and tangible than anything else in life.

My imaginary friend wasn’t a delusion.

Duncan Rhys Finnean MacCrae and Finn were one and the same. That familiar, elusive something I’d felt when I was with him made perfect sense now. How could I not have seen it before? The handsome, flirty prince with the easy smile wasn’t a fling—he was my destiny.

Not only was I crazy in love with him, but I suspected he’d been appearing to me—Calling to me—since I was six years old. And in the end, I’d betrayed him … broken my promise and his heart. The monumental weight of my mistake paralyzed me like the gravity of a foreign planet.

Now that I’d let him go, would either of us ever get to live happily ever after?

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

We would like to thank all the people who’ve shared this journey: rooting us on, picking us up, and sharing in our triumph. You are the Destined, and we could not have done this without you!

Extra special thanks to:

Nicole Resciniti, who loved this project enough to want to represent it—twice. And who worked tirelessly to make the dream a reality. You are a godsend!

Jacque Alberta, editor extraordinaire, for loving this story enough to want to share it with the world. Sara Merritt, marketing maven, and the devoted people at Blink for making it happen.

Melissa Landers, our not-so-silent third partner, for your hours and hours of labor on this project, for being Switzerland, and for being so much more that a crit partner.

The DARING HonestlyYA Crew—Jenn Stark (writing as Jennifer McGowan), Kristi Cook, Kim MacCarron, Jen McAndrews, Lea Nolan, Mari Bates, and Pintip Dunn.

Mike Heath and Magnus Creative, for our gorgeously epic cover.

The guys of Combatants Keep, for repeatedly demonstrating that pivotal medieval sword-fighting sequence Jamie and Duncan play out in the tournament scene.

Ashley Klaserner, Daria King, Dinah Luneke, Jennifer Heisey, Noel Albers, Mary Plye, Angie Grogean, Kathryn Miller, Zoe Jordan, Sienna Condy, Malin Coughlin, and Lucy Briand for being early readers and for loving this story.

Our village—Mindy McGinnis, Liz Coley, Julie Cross, Mark Perini, Amanda Brice, Jessica Lemmon, Tina Ferraro, Cinda Williams Chima, Linda Keller, Tonya Kappes, the fabulous women of OVRWA (past and present), and our Seymour Agency sibs. Your support and faith in us is truly humbling!

Carey would like to personally thank:

God—first, last, and always—for giving me a life more abundantly and richly blessed than anything I could ever conceive of.

My family—Michelle, Tori, Jessie, Mary, Dylan, Sean, Beth, Mark, Jamie, Ty, Gram, Dad, Shey, Jani, Josie, and Mom. My undying gratitude to each and every one of you for enabling me to pursue my dream. I love you like crazy!

Harrison, Athena, and above all else Aaron—for taking up the mantle of my dream with willing hearts. For sacrificing more than you should. Somewhere in my youth or childhood, I must’ve done something very good to deserve you.

Lorie Langdon, my first crit partner, constant spiritual supporter, the best cowriter in the universe, and the other half of my brain—I’m still amazed you don’t throat punch me after some of our revision sessions. Thank you seems inadequate.

My MargaRITAs, and my AMAZING crit patners—Jenn Stark, Kristi Cook, Kim MacCarron, Jen McAndrews, Erica O’Rourke, Vanessa Barneveld, Shea Berkley, and