The Midnight Side

The Midnight Side is a chilling tale of a seductive woman who, even from the grave, is able to manipulate events to her satisfaction. A haunting story of obsession and loss, Natasha Mostert’s novel is an intricately plotted psychological thriller with an ending that will leave you breathless.Isa de Witt is not alarmed when she receives a phone call in the early morning hours from her cousin Alette—until she discovers that Alette has been dead for two days. Grief-stricken, Isa travels to Alette’s house in London where Alette had left behind three envelopes and a request. The envelopes contain instructions on how to bring about the financial downfall of Alette’s former husband: a man who had made Alette’s life a misery while she was still alive.But as Isa sets out to fulfil Alette’s last wish and exact revenge on her cousin’s behalf, she is in peril. Unbeknownst to her, Alette was murdered, and now it is Isa’s turn to be drawn into the killer’s world of dark fantasy and lethal obsession.

From Publishers Weekly

A telephone call from beyond the grave sets in motion South African writer Mostert's auspicious debut thriller, a gripping tale of obsession and revenge. Alette Temple, psychic to the British elite, senses her life is in danger long before someone tampers with the brakes of her car, sending her skidding to her death on an icy road in London. In her will, she leaves everything to her South African architect cousin, Isa DeWitt, but requires Isa to fulfill a final ruthless request: she must financially destroy the pharmaceutical company belonging to Alette's former husband, Justin Temple, using incriminating information Alette had been hoarding. In London, Isa, not realizing Alette was murdered, carries out her cousin's last wishes by way of anonymous phone calls to stockbrokers and information leaks to leading financial newspapers. As Alette's posthumous plan takes on a life of its own, Isa begins to wonder about her cousin, uncovering Alette's darkest obsessions and secrets. The more Isa probes, the closer she comes to Alette's demented killer, who will stop at nothing to silence his pursuer. African mysticism, paranormal experiences and terrifying dreams set the tone for this eloquently written novel. Though the deus ex machina ending disappoints, Mostert's solid prose and chilling premise should make this a crossover success, satisfying fans of ghost stories as well as readers of mainstream suspense thrillers. Agent, Harvey Klinger. Copyright 2000 Reed Business Information, Inc.

From the Publisher

Fast-paced and suspenseful, with a chilling ending that will leave readers breathless, The Midnight Side is an elegant ghost story with demons real and imagined lurking at all times.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

PROLOGUE They had shaved her scalp. All that beautiful red hair was gone. Alette's face seemed mottled and bruised in the cool, green dusk of the hospital room. Four o'clock in the morning. The time when death's angel is walking, as his mother would say. "Mmmgh." The sound was tiny - a soft rattle of phlegm in her throat. He leaned over until his face almost touched hers. He gently placed his finger into the soft hollow beneath her eye. She would be dead soon. "Worm's meat," as the good Dr. Donne wrote so elegantly. But no, she would be cremated...she had stipulated it so in her will. No maggots and slow decay for his red-haired love. Fire and cleansing and brittle ashes. "Precious dust," said Thomas Carew. Another seventeenth-century poet with an ear for a clever conceit. He sniffed gently at the scent of her skin. His lips barely touched the lovely, high ridge of her cheekbone. He pulled back. Alette was jerking her head and rolling it slightly from side to side on the pillow. Her eyeballs were moving underneath the curved, veined lids. He wondered if she sensed that she was in danger. Maybe fear was able to breach even the soft, implacable hold of the coma that was shuttering her brain. She had been conscious of danger yesterday just before she drove back to London; of that he was certain. He had watched as she lingered for a moment beside the open car door, slapping her gloves against the palm of her hand: back and forth, back and forth. She had hesitated, he knew, because she sensed a rage in the air. He always marvelled at her psychic abilities. Although she sometimes prostituted herself doing readings for stupid, bored, rich women just like any other common fortune-teller - pandering to their wishes, telling them what they wanted to hear - she was the real thing. She had the gift. He was awed by it and enchanted. Catching a glimpse of this gift was like catching sight of a furtive flame through the closed fingers of a cupped hand. Back and forth went her gloves. Back and forth. He watched her. He held his breath and his mind silently screamed at her to get into the car. Get into the car. To reach this point had taken months. He had engaged in extensive research on how to sabotage the car. Detective novels aside, it's a tricky business: tampering with brakes. It's not easy to get it just right. To inflict just enough damage so that the brakes would keep functioning normally and only give way once she steered the car through those hairpin bends. Of course, he had also ensured that her seat belt wasn't working. Get into the car. With a slight shrug of her shoulders she turned her body side-ways, pulling both her legs into the car with one feminine, graceful motion; her skirt riding up slightly against her thigh. What was it Alette had said during their last conversation? "My life is obsession. At times I'm obsessed with keeping my own freedom. At other times I'm obsessed with robbing someone else of theirs." She had spoken slowly, sounding almost puzzled. The light streaming in through the window had blanked out the expression in her eyes. Her face had the flawless, un-human look of a face caught in the cold shock of a flashlight. Obsession. Obsession is an open wound; a trickle of rotting pus. Only a clean cut can stop the green poison from spreading. Amputation. Severance. Brutal, uncompromising and quick. Soft hands make stinking wounds, as his mother was fond of saying, and she's right. A break has to be clean and absolute. Final. With no possibility of a comeback.

About the Author

Natasha Mostert is a South African novelist and screenwriter. Educated in South Africa and at Columbia University, New York, she currently lives in London, United Kingdom. Her fourth novel, SEASON OF THE WITCH, won the World Book Day:  Book to Talk About Award 2009. She is an avid kickboxer.  Future goals include executing a perfect spinning crescent kick, writing poetry and coming face to face with the ghost of Edgar Allan Poe

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