On the stage, conflict never resolves until the third act—at the eleventh hour. I tried to comfort myself, but the words felt empty. The eleventh hour had passed, and we were no closer to finding Jamie than we’d been at eight—or nine—or ten. With less than an hour left to save Doon, each futile minute scraped through me as if I were the narrow center of a sand timer.
Throughout the day Addie had grown more Grimm-like in my mind, until she epitomized evil incarnate. Just like the storybook kingdom and fairy-tale princes come to life, the wicked witch lived in the flesh—and she was a mean, cunning old hag. Her magic had messed with Doon’s enchantment. If she was powerful enough to prevent the Brig o’ Doon from opening and fill us with such despair we were ready to roll over in defeat, what chance did our little Scooby Gang stand of defeating her?
Unfortunately, we had to find her first. Despite Vee’s irrational insistence Jamie was here, we hadn’t found any evidence that Addie or the king of Doon had ever been in Dunbrae Cottage. We’d investigated every inch.
With nowhere inside left to search, Fergus and Duncan had gone to inspect the riverbank while Vee and I reexamined the house. Exhausted and in desperate need of a timeout, I wandered upstairs to grab a few things. In the flickering candlelight, I hurriedly ransacked Vee’s drawers, stuffing cotton undergarments, jeans, a couple of hoodies, her jogging gear, and a few of her favorite books into a canvas bag. None of her other possessions would be of much benefit for her new life in Doon. After everything she’d gone through today, I refused to accept she and Jamie wouldn’t end up together.
When I finished with Vee’s room, I headed to my own. I hastily searched for anything else that might be useful and added it to the bundle. Rifling through the closet, I grabbed my favorite jacket. As I shrugged it on, a crumpled rectangle of paper fell from the pocket to land faceup at my feet. My acceptance letter to the Adrenaline Theatre Company internship program, personally signed by Weston Ballard. Ever since I’d gotten it in the mail, I’d carried it around like a talisman, to ward off the spirits of an unremarkable life.
Although half dead with fatigue and fear, that letter caused something inside of me to break. What would happen if I failed to save the boy I cared about? My life—my goal of a successful career on the stage—wouldn’t matter if Doon and all its inhabitants perished.
And if by some miracle they were saved, what then?
To his credit, Duncan had done his best not to gawk at his strange new surroundings, and he hadn’t said one word as I crammed him into the taxi. Although he was desperate to find Jamie, I knew a little part of him had been trying to prove he belonged in my world.
But how? And as what? I suspected there weren’t too many job openings for the position of prince. And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t reconcile the idea of Duncan working in a random office, or worse yet flipping burgers at some greasy fast food joint, with the daring Scotsman I’d first seen trying to pummel his brother to death.
I guess he could always keep house. Shop at the local Walmart and cook misshapen meals while I pursued my career. Survive on misplaced infatuation while I embraced my dreams.