A gothic feminist body horror in two timelines revolving around three Anatomical Venuses—ultrarealistic wax figures of women—that come to life at night to murder men who have wronged them.
Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from A. Rushby’s Slashed Beauties, which releases on September 23rd 2025.
Seoul, present day. Antiques dealer Alys’s task is nearly complete. She has at last secured Elizabeth, the final anatomical Venus in a dangerously intertwined trio. Crafted in eighteenth-century London and modeled after real-life sex workers to entice male medical students to study female anatomy, these eerie wax figures, known as slashed beauties, carry unsavory lore. Legend has it that the figures are bewitched, and come to life at night to murder men who have wronged them. Now Alys embarks for England, where she knows what she must do: sever her cursed connection to the Venuses once and for all.
London, 1763. Abandoned and penniless in Covent Garden, wide-eyed Eleanor and another young woman, Emily, are taken under the wing of beautiful and beguiling Elizabeth, one of the city’s most highly desired courtesans. But as Eleanor is seduced deeper into a web of money, materialism, and men, it seems that Elizabeth may not be the savior she appears to be.
As past and present begin to intersect, it becomes clear that the women’s stories are linked in deeper, darker ways than it initially seems. And that the only method for Alys to end the witchcraft that binds her legacy is to gather all three models in one place and destroy them.
The problem is, Elizabeth is not ready to burn. Far from it. Centuries on, she is determined to rise again, and she will obliterate anything standing in her path. Including Alys herself.
For in the suddenly suffocating confines of the small chamber is a wax model of a woman. Her lifeless form reclines on a bed swathed with the deepest midnight blue velvet, her arms restful as she slumbers. A pillow cradles her head, her neck tilted back for all eternity as if to display the creamy pearls nestled there. There is a cascade of lush ebony hair fanned over the pillow—dark and shiny as a raven’s wing. Luminous skin is lit by flickering lamplight, while flushed, plump cheeks and slightly parted lips tell tales of desire. She is at peace, enjoying, it would seem, erotic dreams. But then . . . oh, then . . .
Down, down the eye goes, and her body tells another tale. The soft skin is suddenly, viciously, ripped apart, revealing abominable, unspeakable secrets—a ghastly maw. In this nightmarish cavity entrails splay themselves, fanning out with malevolent intent, beckoning the living to inspect the macabre scene.
The thing is a horrifying mix of intimacy and science. Here the boundary between life and death is grotesquely, confusingly blurred.
I clutch Emily’s arm as I turn from the scene in disgust. I do not know what to make of it.
Briar rounds the waxen figure. “Do not be alarmed, miss. She is merely a dissected grace, a slashed beauty,” she says. She begins to remove some organs, placing them on the velvet drape. “She is for teaching, as I mentioned. Learning.”
I turn the phrases over in my mind, for I have not heard them before, not even in my father’s books. A dissected grace. A slashed beauty. They are strange terms. I turn back to see Briar stroke the model’s hair in a familiar, motherly way that makes me shiver and wish I had not turned at all.
“Is she not a delight to behold?” she continues. “The models must be beautiful, you see. If the students are to be attentive, the models must be pleasing to the eye.”
Emily scoffs, viewing the model doubtfully. “Men cannot learn to cut off a limb unless they have studied upon anatomical models wearing pearls? Surely this will be problematic at war.” She affects a low, manly voice. “Sorry, sir. I cannot possibly saw your leg off today, for you have lice upon your head and a face marked by the pox. Also, you do not wear your pearls.”
The woman laughs. “I see you are not simply three pretty faces but great wits. The anatomist will enjoy your humor very much. And what think you, madam?”
Elizabeth has been quiet, inspecting the model up close. But now she speaks.
“I know her,” she says.
Excerpted from SLASHED BEAUTIES by A. Rushby, published by Berkley, an imprint of Penguin Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House, LLC. Copyright © 2025
