The Shadow Girls

by Nina Laurin

Genres: Domestic Thrillers; Psychological Thrillers

Synopsis

The latest thrilling and intense psychological suspense from the bestselling author of Girl Last Seen dives into the complicated and dark world of a prestigious ballet academy and explores just how far mothers will go to make their daughters stars. 

Release date: April 22, 2025

Publisher: Grand Central Publishing

Print pages: 336

Sample

August

GEORGINA HASN’T MISSED a single meeting since enrolling Anna at the school. Five years has been long enough for everyone to forget the supposed conflict of interest. No one would dare accuse Georgina Prescott of trying to curry favor—not after all the money and time she’s invested. Every fundraiser, midyear concert, graduation gala, and final performance, Georgina was there. Her name might not mean much outside the shrinking world of ballet, but within its confines, it still holds weight. Eyes widen and eyebrows lift as much as Botox allows. “Georgina Mironoff,” they say. “I loved you in Swan Lake in ninety-six!” Georgina smiles, clinks glasses, and the school can afford the fancy costumes, decorations, or new light equipment. What will they do without her?

Her last name isn’t Mironoff anymore since she got married, and besides, Anna doesn’t need anyone advocating for her. Anna’s dancing speaks for itself. It always has, ever since she first donned a tutu at age five.

On her way to the conference room, a windowless, soulless space with suspended ceilings and neon lamps, she catches a glimpse of her reflection in a glass door. The janitor just passed through, leaving smears on the glass; her face is distorted, her red-lipsticked mouth a blur. She stops cold. Her heart thrums, desperate to escape from under her rib cage, from under the tight embrace of her corset. She wants a cigarette, though she quit ages ago—mostly quit, at least when on school grounds.

“G!” A voice startles her. She hadn’t noticed Fabienne sneaking up on her. “There you are. They haven’t started, but the new AD is here. Come, I’ll introduce you.”

Right. The new AD—she hasn’t forgotten. She organized the farewell party for the last one when Edith retired last spring. Edith assured her the replacement was someone worthy, experienced—a former dancer, then choreographer at a prominent European company. Someone with the right ideas to steer the school in the right direction, as Edith put it. Then Edith herself smiled magnanimously through the farewell party, accepted the giant bouquet of white roses Georgina had paid for, shed a single tear that didn’t smudge her perfect makeup, and decamped to Florida.

“Georgina?”

She looks up to see Fabienne holding the door for her.

“Coming,” she says, hurrying over, her heels clacking on the tile floor.

Fabienne teaches here, and the students love her. A little too much, in Georgina’s opinion. A ballet teacher shouldn’t be loved—she should inspire reverence and fear. A god who holds your future as a dancer between her manicured hands. But Fabienne prefers to be more Lilac Fairy than Carabosse, always gushing praise even when it’s not deserved. But she loves Anna and feels almost as invested in her ballet future as Georgina herself.

The conference room door swings shut, locking with a soft, ominous click. Three of the other dance teachers and the vice principal are already seated in their usual spots, dictated by the unspoken hierarchy of the school. Perhaps that’s why Georgina feels such cognitive dissonance: One of these things isn’t like the others.

“Walter, meet Georgina. She helps with fundraising and organizes events. I don’t know what we’d do without her.”

Walter doesn’t take Georgina’s proffered hand. He doesn’t even get up from his chair at the head of the table—where the school principal should be sitting. Walter measures Georgina with a look. She does the same, hovering awkwardly. Walter has a silver ring in his right nostril and several more in his ears. He drums his tattooed knuckles idly on the table.

“Georgina Mironoff,” she says at last when the silence becomes untenable.

“Nice to meet you, Georgina.” If she didn’t know better, she’d swear the name meant nothing to him. And he has a pretentious accent—not British, but the kind of American who wants others to think he’s British. She wants to ask why he’s in Alexandra’s seat, but when Alexandra breezes in, she doesn’t notice—or pretends not to. On the contrary, she’s beaming. Again, if Georgina didn’t know better—

Alexandra launches into exuberant introductions: Walter Graf, here from Boston by way of New York and London. So that explains the accent. Georgina’s apprehension turns to real alarm: The ice queen who rules the De Vere Academy with an iron fist is fawning like a schoolgirl.

“And of course, the all-important subject we’re here to discuss: the ballet for our graduating class this year.”

Finally, Georgina catches Alexandra’s eye, like the woman only now notices she’s there. She acknowledges Georgina with a nod and a smile.

“The class that includes, of course, Georgina’s lovely Anna.”

“Sleeping Beauty,” Georgina says, surprised at the roughness of her voice. She clears her throat. “Sleeping Beauty. We all agreed it should be Sleeping Beauty this year.”

“A classic,” Alexandra says, her usual composure returning. The unbecoming grin slides off her face, replaced by her well-worn half frown. “We’re lucky this year. Many promising graduates, and we need something to showcase their talents to the recruiters.”

Georgina catches Fabienne’s eye, and Fabienne nods in encouragement. And such a beautiful part for our Anna, Fabienne said last week.

The vice principal speaks up. “A beautiful ballet. Youthful. Perfect for springtime. Last year, we did a lovely production of Romeo and Juliet, but the cast…”

Alexandra winces. “Fifty graduating students, and we could barely find a half-decent Juliet. Not all years are equal.”

“I thought it was nice,” Fabienne chimes in, failing to read the room. “Melanie did a good job.”

“Yes, and now she’s probably serving French fries somewhere. With that skill level, we can forget about Sleeping Beauty.”

Georgina zones out. There’s nothing to fear. Anna can dance Juliet—she could have danced Juliet at twelve. More importantly, Anna can dance Aurora, and the role of Aurora is pretty much guaranteed for her. The other girls will be fighting for the remaining parts. Anna’s place is secure. They talked about it at home, and Georgina had time to help her rehearse the more complicated moves, like the Rose Adagio with its impossible balances.

“The sets will be expensive,” someone points out. “And the costumes—we might tailor the ones from last time.”

“Perhaps I can help,” Georgina says. “We’ll figure it out.”

“You all seem to have decided before I got here,” Walter cuts in, his tone noncommittal, setting Georgina on edge.

“We pretty much have,” Alexandra says. “It suits the class perfectly.”

“And I’ll bet you already have someone in mind for the principal roles.”

Alexandra exchanges a glance with a dance teacher. “Of course. No point holding auditions when we already know the outcome.”

“I like auditions,” he says with an infuriating grin. “Good to see the students perform under pressure. Really shows who can handle stress. It’s a skill they’ll need in the future.”

Georgina’s blood boils. Who does this prick think he is?

“I, for one, am not so stoked about Sleeping Beauty.”

It isn’t up to you to decide, Georgina thinks, seething.

“If you had something else in mind—” Alexandra stammers.

“I gave it some thought. Last year, I saw the end-of-year performances—and Alexandra, I agree, half of those students shouldn’t have graduated. But we need the checks from the parents. Although I digress. Forget the subpar Romeo and Juliet—I took special care to pay attention to the junior class.”

Georgina momentarily feels better. Anna sparkled in the junior class performance, a scene from the White Act of Giselle.

“But I also snuck into a couple of rehearsals—”

What? No one told her. No one warned her. Her furious gaze travels across the faces at the table; even Fabienne looks away. She should have been told. She should have warned Anna.

“—and it gave me a better idea of who I’m dealing with than a polished final performance. The more I thought about it, the more I realized the best ballet to play to everyone’s strengths—and weaknesses—will be La Bayadère.”

Georgina’s heart drops. The Temple Dancer, with Nikiya as the principal role. Anna as Nikiya? They haven’t prepared for that.

She, Georgina, hasn’t prepared for that.

“That’s ridiculous,” she hears herself say. The room falls silent. Walter turns to her as if just remembering she’s there—even though she sits directly across from him.

“And why is that?”

“It’s just—” She stammers. “—It’s so… sordid.”

“It’s no more sordid than Swan Lake. And God knows that’s been done to death. Including here at the academy. Every other year it’s Swan Lake or Sleeping Beauty or some other diabetes-inducing Tchaikovsky-Petipa creation.”

“We haven’t done Sleeping Beauty in—”

“You know perfectly well what I mean.”

“And so do you.” Georgina puts her hands firmly on the table. Her rings look dull in the neon light, emphasizing how clawlike her hands have become. To think she once had the best hands in ballet school… But—enough is enough. Someone has to stand up to him, and why not her? Anna will never forgive her if she springs a new role on her like this. “All that backstabbing and seducing. You want fifteen-year-olds to dance that? They could never dance those parts with any conviction. It’s not a ballet for children.”

At first, his face shows stunned incomprehension, and Georgina dares to think she got through to him. But then his eyes narrow, and his mouth stretches into a grotesque grin.

“Yes, I want fifteen-year-olds to dance that. Because no one will do it better.”

“Georgina has a point,” Alexandra chimes in. Georgina feels vindicated. Alexandra will put him in his place. “La Bayadère is a little too…”

“It’s exactly what we need. But we’ll make it simpler, more raw. The Russians’ version, two acts only. And lose those problematic costumes. Save some money at the same time.”

“Walter, with all due respect. Listen to yourself. You can’t insult the ballets that made this school’s reputation. You’re insulting all of us.”

He mirrors Georgina’s stance, putting his hands down as well. Intentional, no doubt. Defying her overtly.

“It’s still classical enough not to ruffle your more… senior… donors, and to uphold your precious reputation for pastel tutus. And I’m sorry, Georgina, but… with all due respect, as you say. When was the last time you danced? Your final ballet, what was it?”

Blood rushes to her face. Oh, if it weren’t for Anna, she’d tell this prick exactly what she thinks. She’d tell him where and when she danced. She’s sure he was in kindergarten when she was promoted to principal.

“Well, things have changed since then.”

“Walter, please.” Alexandra speaks up. “There’s something to discuss for sure. But we’re not going to change everything on a whim without talking it through.”

“There isn’t anything to discuss,” Georgina says. “They’ll be dancing Sleeping Beauty. That’s final.”

She immediately understands her misstep. He goaded her, and she fell into the trap. The frown on Alexandra’s face tells her it’s too late. “Alexandra, you’ve been running this school for how long? You know what’s best. Don’t you?”

Alexandra stays silent, avoiding Georgina’s gaze.

Walter stands up.

“You know why I’m here? Because Alexandra wanted something new. Alexandra wanted a change of image. That’s why Edith Spencer reached out to me. Because every year it’s harder to gather the recruiters, or at least the good ones the students expect from this school. The donors are following suit. And the parents of all the little ballet prodigies, the next big things—everyone needs a little extra motivation to get out here, in the sticks. The academy is falling behind. Outdated. Musty. That’s because your graduates aren’t what the recruiters are looking for these days. Which is not Sleeping Beauty or La Fille Mal Gardée or some saccharine retread of Romeo and Juliet.”

“Let me remind you we specialize in classical ballet. Which is alive and well. And before you break the rules, you must first master them—”

“And you wonder why recruiters from New York are taking a pass. This. This way of thinking.” He jabs his tattooed finger in her direction. “Why are you here? Are you an employee of the school?”

“Georgina is an invaluable member of our collective,” Alexandra pipes up, her face scarlet.

“Unless she’s on the payroll, she doesn’t belong here. So if nobody minds, we’ll be holding our meetings without Ms. Mironoff in the future.”

The late-August afternoon is a shock to Georgina’s system. She checks her gold watch: four o’clock. She’s not usually outside at this time. During the school year, this is when Anna gets home and Georgina prepares dinner. Even though Anna eats like a sparrow, it takes time to chop, slice, and steam everything. During summer break, this is when she supervises Anna’s home rehearsal at the barre, set up in a crisply air-conditioned room.

Just as Georgina succumbs to the siren song of the pack of Benson & Hedges buried at the bottom of her purse, the door bangs open behind her. It’s the emergency exit, but classes haven’t started, so the alarm isn’t connected yet. She looks up from rummaging through her Chanel tote, old but well preserved like an impoverished aristocrat. Fabienne holds out a cigarette to her, and Georgina doesn’t like the pity in her eyes. Georgina danced Giselle and the Swan Queen to sold-out venues—people like Fabienne don’t get to look at her with pity.

“How the hell did this happen?” Georgina asks, taking a grateful puff of the freshly lit cigarette. Fabienne’s brand isn’t to her taste, but now’s not the time to complain. “How could Edith do this to me?”

“Edith didn’t do anything,” Fabienne says somberly.

“Well, she must have known who she was hiring!”

Again, that look of pity. It lasts only a second before Fabienne’s gaze slides away to the toes of her cream-colored shoes.

“Sorry,” Georgina mutters, fighting the urge to tap the ashes from the cigarette onto those satin shoes. That’s a few hundred dollars down the drain.

“It wasn’t Edith,” Fabienne says. “It was Alexandra.”

“No. Alexandra—this academy is her baby. She wouldn’t wreck it like this.”

“Everything he said was true, G. Enrollment’s been at record lows for the last three years—”

“And I’m only hearing about this now?”

Fabienne says nothing. Georgina understands. That prick was right—she’s not an employee of the school.

“There are other things we could’ve done. Galas. Advertising, for heaven’s sake. If Alexandra wanted to bring the school into the present, she should’ve started an Instagram campaign. Not brought in that human wrecking ball.”

“And the recruiters?”

“What about them? We had the artistic directors of the top companies last year—”

“And they left with nothing.”

“That has nothing to do with the choreography. And this year, they won’t leave with nothing. Well, they might, if Alexandra lets him have his way. Did you see how she was staring at him? I thought they might start undressing each other right there on the conference room table.”

Fabienne tactfully ignores the remark. “Our Anna will shine regardless. She’s our star. And the rest of the class is pretty strong too—”

Georgina wants to scream, I don’t care about the rest of the class. She’s not supposed to say that—she’s supposed to keep up the pretense that there’s no conflict of interest. But here, alone with Fabienne, she can be herself. Anyway, no point worrying about conflict of interest now that she’s been thrown out by that tattooed freak. “I care about the fact that my daughter’s graduation role is a freaking belly dancer. La Bayadère. That’s just a glorified stripper, isn’t it?”

Fabienne sputters. “It’s still a lovely part. In a classic ballet. And the Kingdom of the Shades scene is beautiful.”

Georgina simmers down. “If he doesn’t butcher it.”

“Anna will make a great Nikiya. Naomi could do Gamzatti.”

Georgina blinks. Right, Naomi—Anna’s friend. She’d forgotten about Naomi. Now a new layer of dread gathers on top of the existing one. “That prick wants to hold auditions. Auditions! What the hell?”

“I’m not worried. He may hold all the auditions he wants, but he’s not the only one who decides. We’ll outvote him.”

Georgina exhales a big puff of smoke. She already regrets the cigarette: She hasn’t eaten today, and the spoonful of sugar in her coffee doesn’t count. The nicotine makes her hands shake. She stubs the cigarette out underfoot with unnecessary force. “How am I going to tell Anna? We’ve been preparing for Aurora all summer. She was so excited. She’s loved this ballet since she was a little girl.”

Fabienne puts her hand on Georgina’s sleeve, a gesture meant to be calming, but it only puts her on edge. “No matter the role, Anna will shine. That’s not what I’m worried about.”

Georgina watches warily as Fabienne puts out her own cigarette, crushing it with three aggressive staccato stomps of those satin shoes that somehow remain impeccable, and then heads back indoors.

Alone once more, Georgina takes out her phone and looks dejectedly at the notifications on the screen. She left a message for Colter Prescott, her ex-husband, but he has yet to get back to her. She jolts unpleasantly when she spots the number of the one missed call; it’s the second time in a week. She ignored the previous message, the polite, tentative voicemail the caller left her, but apparently avoidance wasn’t enough to get her point across. Some people choose to be obtuse. Well, she supposes she’ll have to call back and make it crystal clear.

The phone rings as she taps her foot. With every tone in her ear, her anger at such insolence grows. They agreed on this years ago, didn’t they? A clean break, a fresh start. So why call her now?

Luckily—or not, depending on perspective—the call goes unanswered, so all of Georgina’s pent-up fury is for nothing. She waits for the beep and then records a message:

“Listen, I don’t know how you even got this number, but whatever it is you want, I’m not interested. You need to let it go. Don’t call me again.”

And stay away from Anna, she almost adds, but before she can do that, she ends the call, and the phone screen goes blank once more.

And then Georgina puts it out of her mind. There are more pressing matters at hand. She’ll have to somehow find a way to break the news to Anna, to prepare for this new curveball, to help her learn and rehearse for her new role.

Anna deserves a chance to shine. That’s all that matters. And Georgina won’t let anyone take that away from her.

So she forgets about the phone call and the message, just like she forgets to ask what exactly it is that worries Fabienne.

September

IN BALLET FICTION, there’s always that trope: the outsider who rises to the top against all odds. To be fair, it’s not just in ballet fiction—it’s in most fiction because the audience is supposed to identify with her. She’s the girl without the natural advantages her nasty rival has, like perfect arches and obliging parents paying for ballet school. But she works harder than anyone. She overcomes obstacles, family strife, personal drama, biscuit feet, big boobs, you name it. In the end, she always dethrones the other girl, who is cast as the villain, the living obstacle to our intrepid heroine, like a human version of a big toe that keeps popping out of joint.

The truth, of course, would disappoint moviegoers and binge readers everywhere. In ballet, there’s no such thing as working harder. Everyone in that studio, every girl in her leotard and pointe shoes, works at 100 percent of her capacity—or she wouldn’t last a month in ballet school. And since everyone is giving their best, the girl with the natural advantages always wins. The girl who works 100 percent and has the right metatarsals. And the right build. And the right look.

At the De Vere Ballet Academy, that girl isn’t me. It’s Anna Prescott.

This is unfair to Anna because, besides being a natural-born ballerina, she’s one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. In ballet, that sets a different standard. When you’re that talented, you don’t h. . .