Excerpt from THE INEVITABLE UNDOING OF ZAHARA DOUGLASS by Leslye Penelope:
December 12, 1999
A sound like the manic warbling of a robotic bird cuts through the all- too- familiar melody of Tchaikovsky’s “Waltz of the Flowers.” Zahara is in the middle of a series of whipping fouetté turns when it hits, and she stumbles.
A cell phone.
Somewhere in the first few rows.
Its high- pitched dissonance is at odds with the orchestra’s faultless tones. The phone’s distinct melody is also well known but grating.
The first chair flute, a ghostly pale young man with a shock of unruly orange hair, copies the ring tone subtly, then re-joins the rest of the woodwinds without missing any additional notes. A smattering of laughter breaks out in the crowd as the conductor bulges his eyes and purses his lips. Perhaps the young ginger will not be first chair for long.
Zahara wobbles her way out of the turns and into the leaps that take her to the edge of the stage, a delighted smile never leaving her face. Breaking character would turn the disaster of her mistake into a catastrophe.
She holds the final arabesque, briefly becoming a statue carved from marble. Then she exits stage left and, once out of sight of those seated in the first row, bends over, gripping the curtain and gasping for breath.
When was the last time she lost her feet? The horror of it washes over her with a powerful undertow.
“Everybody’s a comedian,” Ekaterina mutters, coming up next to her, wearing the red- and- gold Spanish Dancer costume. “And what the hell is wrong with people? Didn’t they hear the announcement at the top of the show to turn their phones off? Zahara, you all right?”
She stands, her vision swimming, grip still tight on the black fabric of the curtain. “Fine.” Gritted teeth bite out the single word. Normally, she would stay to watch the “Grand Pas de Deux,” imagine the day that she would be dancing in the coveted principal role of the Sugar Plum Fairy. But, not wanting any more pity, and feeling a growing sense of shame for her mistake, she retreats farther into the backstage area, seeking to lick her wounds in private before the curtain call.
A gaggle of small children in angel costumes flitter in her peripheral vision, trying their best to stay out of the way of the other dancers, but failing. They should really be back in the dressing room until the end of this number, but that’s not Zahara’s responsibility. She turns the corner to the stairwell, where she finds a lone girl lit only by the orange- red glow of the EXIT sign. She’s a little angel, too, separated from the rest of her flock, wire and gauze wings tilting crookedly on her back. But this child isn’t gaping with wonder at the professional dancers scurrying around. She’s crying.
She’s only about seven or eight, scrubbing at her cheeks with the palms of her hands and sniffling wetly. Zahara could slip past her. The girl would likely not even notice. She doesn’t recognize the child, but there are far too many kids in this performance— different groups each night— for her to have really gotten to know any of them. They’re bused in from dance schools around the county, an unending parade of tiny ballet students tottering around on unsteady legs. Zahara had been one of them once. So, though children are, in general, confusing to her, what with their unpredictability and penchant for wild, unhindered emotion, she stops. Crouches.
“Are you all right?” She firms her lips. Obviously, this child is not all right. “What’s wrong?” she tries again.
The little girl, skin a light brown, cheeks almost comically rouged with stage makeup, looks up. Then she whispers something completely unintelligible.
“What was that?” Zahara leans closer to hear.
“I messed up my steps.” The girl’s missing front teeth give her an adorable lisp. Her lips quiver with the promise of more tears.
“Is crying going to help?”
The question startles the child. Her mouth parts slightly and she blinks.
“Everyone messes up sometimes. Even me.” She winces slightly when she says it. “But you know what’s important?”
“What?” the girl breathes.
“That you practice more and try again. And you never give up. Do you know your steps for the finale?”
The child’s blinking speeds up, and she gives a little shrug.
“Well, maybe— instead of crying, which won’t help you dance any better— you should spend more time practicing them.”
The girl’s eyes widen, and Zahara isn’t sure whether she’s going to cry again or see the inherent logic of the advice, when the sound of running footsteps behind them makes her turn. An angel with an almost identical face, though a little taller, maybe a year or two older, appears in the doorway to the stairwell.
“There you are!” the new girl says. “It’s almost time to line up. We have to do the last dance!” Pure excitement pours off the older girl. She brushes past Zahara, looking up at her briefly but displaying no recognition or interest, and grabs what must be her sister’s hand.
“Do we have time to practice?” asks the younger girl, who apparently never speaks louder than a whisper.
“Maybe a little.”
Even softer, “Did you see my mistake?”
As the older girl tows the younger one away, she brushes it off. “If you made a mistake, I bet nobody noticed.” Their dubiously constructed wings brush together as they retreat.
Zahara stays crouched there, watching the two sisters walk away, a shard of pure pain slicing her open.
An excerpt from THE INEVITABLE UNDOING OF ZAHARA DOUGLASS by Leslye Penelope
Text copyright © 2026 by Leslye Penelope
All rights reserved
THE INEVITABLE UNDOING OF ZAHARA DOUGLASS by Leslye Penelope
For five years, Zahara Douglass has been haunted by her sister’s impossible disappearance. Now, in December 1999, with the world on the brink of chaos, Zahara sets out to find her sister no matter the cost in this twisty and compelling modern fantasy from Leslye Penelope.
In April 1994, Zahara watched her twin sister, Annica, get hustled into a stranger’s car and disappear—only to return to a world where no one remembers Annica ever existed. Not her mother. Not the police. No one.
Now, as the world braces for the looming Y2K crisis, Zahara finds evidence that proves her sister was real. Determined to uncover the truth, she hires a private investigator and begins digging into her family’s shadowed past. When the investigation leads to two charismatic men who once served with her father in Vietnam, Zahara realizes she and her sister may be pawns in a dangerous power struggle with unthinkable consequences.
To find her sister, Zahara must face the truth about her family, her memories, and the power lurking within her. But the sisters’ reunion comes at a price—one that could unravel reality and bring about the end of the world.
Fantasy Urban [ Redhook, On Sale: August 11, 2026, Trade Paperback / e-Book / audiobook, ISBN: 9780316594691 / eISBN: 9780316594707 ]
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About Leslye Penelope
Leslye Penelope, who also writes as L. Penelope, has been writing since she could hold a pen and loves getting lost in the worlds in her head. She is an award-winning author of fantasy and paranormal romance. Her debut novel Song of Blood & Stone was chosen as one of TIME Magazine’s 100 Best Fantasy Books of All Time. The novel also won the inaugural award for Best Self-Published Fiction from the Black Caucus of the American Library Association. Her 2022 novel The Monsters We Defy won the 2023 Audie Award for Best Fantasy Audiobook.
She was born in the Bronx, not long after the birth of hip hop, but left before she could acquire an accent. Equally left and right-brained, she studied film production at Howard University and minored in computer science. This led to a master’s degree in multimedia and a career in website development. She’s also an award-winning independent filmmaker, co-founded a literary magazine, and sometimes dreams in HTML.
Leslye is an alumna of VONA/Voices and Hurston/Wright Writers Workshop. She has spoken and taught at conferences and festivals around the country including the Baltimore Book Festival, Romance Writers of America, Writers Digest Annual & Novel Writing Conferences, and the Historical Novel Society.
Her podcast, My Imaginary Friends, is a journal of her publishing life, perfect for readers and writers alike. Leslye lives in Maryland with her feline dependents.
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