Destined for Doon- Excerpt!

By Carey Corp and Lorie Langdon
Published on September 2, 2014
Published by Blink
The second book in the popular new Doon YA series that takes on a classic story, Brigadoon, and spins it in a new way to give readers a fresh, modern experience.

In this sequel to Doon, Kenna Reid realizes she made a horrible mistake-choosing to follow her dreams of Broadway instead of staying in the enchanted land of Doon. Worse, she's received proof she and Duncan are meant to be, along with torturous visions of the prince she left behind. So when Duncan shows up and informs Kenna that Doon needs her, she doesn't need to think twice. But even if Kenna can save the enchanted kingdom, her happily ever after may still be in peril.

 Ahhh this book!  If you have read this site you KNOW how much I loved Doon.  I can't wait until I get my hands on he sequel- I have to know what happens to Kenna!  To hold you (and me!) over until September- here is a never before released bonus scene:

DOON Bonus Scene - Kenna’s Graduation

(This scene takes place between chapters 1 and 2 of Doon.)

Holy Hammerstein!—the quad was trashed. Lockers disemboweled. Nine months of scholastic entrails scattered as if the school had been set upon by a horde of ravenous weremonkeys. The institutional, post-apocalyptic wasteland baked in one hundred and three degree heat, the air thick with the mildly repulsive stench of toasted paper.
Judgment Day had not visited Taylor, Arkansas—despite all evidence to the contrary, merely the final bell of the last day of the school year. The abandoned commons served as a vivid reminder that summer break had begun. Apparently, the only ones foolish enough to linger were the janitors and me. Even the lunch ladies had hightailed it out of Dodge.
I picked my way around a John Deere ball cap fused to the moldy remnants of what looked to be a sandwich and breathed a sigh of relief that I would never walk this route again. My empty locker testified to my complete and utter withdrawal from all things high school. Once I vacated these grounds, the only evidence of my last four years would be a few ensemble cast pictures on the drama room wall and an airbrushed senior photo in the yearbook. “Good luck with Broadway, Kenna. KIT!”
In contrast to the deserted school, the parking lot seemed to be celebration central. The entire student body loitered with determined abandon. Some of the more daring kids set off firecrackers. A few of the girls wept while their friends patted them on their inconsolable backs. Someone with a sense of irony had defaced the “No loitering” sign so that it made an exception for male genitals.
As usual, I watched from the sidelines. Mackenna Reid, the quirky redhead from Indiana who ate raw fish and idolized Sondheim like he was the championship head coach of the Razorbacks. The theater geek who walked among them, but would never be one of them. From my vantage point, they seemed to be a single party-minded organism punctuated by sobs and mini-explosives.
Armageddon—perhaps—after all.
Automatically, I reached into my pocket for my phone—my big girl version of a security blanket. Before I could hit speed dial, it chirped to life in my hand. The custom ringtone from Wicked announced my best friend. Her freaky knack for coincidental timing bordered on supernatural.
I swiped my finger across the screen and started talking as I lifted the phone to my ear. “Hey Vee. Are ya packed yet?”
A comforting chuckle greeted me from the opposite end of the connection. “Wow, Kenna. Is that how they teach you to answer a phone in the sticks? In the civilized world, we say ‘hello.’”
I answered her with a rude noise I’d perfected playing Narnia’s White Witch in community theater. “Are ya packed yet?”
“I don’t suppose there’s any hope of you stopping until I answer y—”
“Nope. Are ya packed yet?”
“Yes, Kenna,” she replied, in a voice thick with the verbal equivalent of an eye roll. “I’m packed.”
“In that case…” I channeled my most proper, Southern debutant. “Well, my stars! Is this the Veronica Welling? Howdy do, sugar. How was your little ole last day of school?”
Her bright mood shifted into something heavier with my final question. “Oh—fine…” The hesitation in her voice told me it’d been anything but—.
Dropping the drawl, I became one-hundred percent me again. “Is Strippy still giving you trouble?”
Strippy, a.k.a. Stephanie Hartford, was the patron saint of trailer trash—every part of her fake, from her bleach-blonde hair and tarantula eyelashes, to her padded bra and orangey, spray-tanned skin. The girl was dumb as a box of packing peanuts, with the morals of Medusa.
“It’s fine.” Vee liked to pretend nothing consequential had happened between them—like the wicked witch of the Midwest had never poached her boyfriend.
“I should’ve kicked her anorexic butt when I had the chance.”
An exasperated huff of disapproval erupted in my ear. “Are you ever going to let ‘The Ding Dong Incident’ go? It was second grade—and it wasn’t even your dessert!”
“It’s the principle!” Strippy thought being head cheerleader entitled her to anything her shriveled heart desired. “First she steals your Ding Dong—then your boyfriend. What’s next?”
“Who cares? By tomorrow we’ll be on another continent, having clotted cream and crumpets. Is your dad still taking you to the airport?”
Rather than point out her not-so-subtle change of subject, I decided to give her a pass. “Yep. I can’t figure out why he’s being so supportive. I keep waiting for him to say ‘April fools.’ Or for a pod person to come bursting out of his belly.”
Vee’s short burst of laughter ended in a dainty snort. “I think you’re mixing up your horror scenarios. Aliens would burst from his belly. Pod people would grow a whole new body to impersonate him.”
Vee’s ex loved scary movies. He got off on the fear they caused my bestie. For Vee—who’d been squeamish of things that go bump in the dark since our R.L. Stine days—they tied her stomach in knots and incited vivid nightmares. Yet, for the sake of their relationship, she’d let Eric drag her to every gross, gory piece of garbage Hollywood managed to churn out.
“Earth to Kenna?”
Somewhere along the conversation, I’d become completely absorbed in my own thoughts. “Sorry. I spaced out. What were you saying?”
Silence, as Vee decided whether the subject merited a recap. Apparently, it didn’t. “It’s not important. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.”
“About that.” I pulled the list that I’d scribbled during English from my bag and skimmed it. “I’ll meet you in Newark, at your gate. If either of us misses our connection, we’ll meet next to the car rental counter in the Glasgow airport. Not baggage claim. Okay?”
“Thank you, Miss Bossypants. I think I remember my own plan.”
How she could make me cringe from several states away, I had no idea, but she did. “Sorry.” At times, I still thought of her as the twelve-year-old whose dad had bailed without a word of explanation. “I’ll work on that.”
“Sure you will.” She drew out the sure so that it had the opposite meaning. “And I’m flattered. You may not realize it, but you only boss the people you care about.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Greg Miller leaning against his beat-up Toyota in the parking lot. His close-set eyes met mine as he stepped forward with a friendly wave. Dropping my voice, I hissed, “Hey. I’ve got to run. Greg’s about to intercept me.”
“Greg, the stage tech?” Vee’d never met him in person but she’d heard plenty of stories. “Have fun with that.” Her laugh filled my ear and then cut off abruptly as she ended the call.
As fellow Midwesterners, Greg and I were buddies of sorts. We were friendly, but not really friends. I’d only ever had one boy as a friend and he didn’t count, since Finn technically didn’t exist.
“Hey, Kenna.” Greg’s thin lips stretched into a smile that revealed slightly crooked, coffee-stained teeth.
As a general rule, I tried not to encourage him. But this year he’d been appointed head lighting designer and as a theater professional, I depended on him to make me shine. Consequently, I continued to walk the fine line between friendly and flirty, hoping it wouldn’t blow up in my face.
“Yes, Greg?”
I placed my left hand on my hip, tipped my head to the side and raised my eyebrows expectantly—a carefully cultivated gesture that I’d perfected while playing “Maggie the Cat.” Whenever I felt uncomfortable, I pretended to be someone else. Someone who wouldn’t be intimidated no matter the circumstances. Now it came as second nature—like slipping into my most comfortable pair of jeans.
For a split second, he hesitated. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed and turned the color of beets. A trickle of sweat rolled its way down the side of his red face. He shrugged and hastily brushed his jaw against his shoulder to wipe it away.
“Hey Kenna. Everyone’s heading down to the lake. You wanna come?” His voice broke at the end of the question in a way that would’ve been endearing if he’d been someone else.
“I really appreciate you asking me but I can’t. I’ve got a family thing.”
It wasn’t a lie exactly—more like a teensy weensy mendacity. Tennessee William’s delicious word for untruth seemed to strip all the deceit from the meaning.
“Oh—okay.” He stared at me for an awkward moment. “I hope you know how much you’ve meant to me.”
With regret for my impulsive character choice, I dropped the femme fatale posturing in favor of something more honest. “Thanks. I hope you have a great summer.”
Greg blinked twice and then dropped his head in defeat. “Well, see you at graduation.”
He wandered back to where the drama club kids were attempting to power a karaoke machine from a car cigarette lighter. Tomorrow, Greg and the rest of the senior class would file across a makeshift stage in the middle of the football field for commencement. A ceremonial beginning.
While they marinated in their caps and gowns, I’d be crossing the Atlantic—already starting the next chapter in my life. It was an epic plan. I would embark on a summer of adventure in Scotland with my best friend and return in the fall to a prestigious internship with Chicago’s Adrenaline Theatre.
I dug right down to the bottom of my soul and tried to conjure up the tiniest bit of remorse, or nostalgia, for what I was leaving behind. But I felt … nothing. For me, Arkansas had been an inconvenient bus stop on the way to Broadway.
While I headed away from Greg and the revelry of Taylor High’s graduating class, I shot Vee a quick text. Crisis averted! Going home to pack. ;)
As usual, Vee’s response was lightning quick—like she’d anticipated my message, drafted her response and then waited with her finger poised over the send button. U better! Thank your dad for me, again.
I returned my phone to my pocket as my brain started to tumble with unsettling thoughts. As a graduation present, my dad paid for two plane tickets to Scotland. However, something was wrong. Off.
He’d never wanted me to spend summers in Alloway, or get to know my great aunt Gracie—but it had been my mom’s dying wish. Every June, when it came time for him to put me on the plane, he appeared to be holding his breath, the way one waits out a tornado warning. After Aunt Gracie got sick and I announced I didn’t want to see her anymore, he seemed relieved.
So when I’d first informed him about my plan to spend the summer after graduation in Alloway, Scotland—to sort through my late aunt’s belongings and put the cottage she left to me on the market, I’d expected him to flip out and forbid his only daughter to go halfway around the world. Object to two defenseless girls living alone in a foreign country of kilted boys where eighteen was the legal drinking age. Do something dramatic and paternal like ground me for life.
Instead, he’d turned quiet. His eyes—the identical shade of slate gray as mine—grew shiny and he seemed to disappear inside himself. When he finally responded, rather than talk to me, he spoke to ghosts.
“I always knew this day would come. No matter where we went, it was inescapable.” Then he stared at me with a hard, haunted look. “Even when you spend a lifetime running away, your destiny always catches up.”

Want more Doon?
For a complete schedule of Doon bonus scenes and a chance to win custom Doon swag visit the Summer of Doon giveaway at

Doon is available wherever books are sold. Destined for Doon releases 9/2/14.
Doon Bonus Material
Copyright © 2014 by Carey Corp and Lorie Moeggenberg

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.

Thank you to the Alan Jay Lerner Estate and the Frederick Loewe Foundation for use of the Brigadoon premise.

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