Ghost Dance Read Online Free Page A

known where to find her."
    Cause of death wasn't hard to guess. There was a slash across Granger's throat so deep it had cut through her windpipe and into the bones of her spine. They shone white against the red flesh and Morgan had seen enough death to know that was odd. Blood should have masked the wound, but there was none either in the cut or pooling on the floor around her head.
    "Can I?" he said, leaning closer.
    When Kate nodded he reached out a hand to tip the woman's head. That was when the smell hit him, the stink of scorched flesh. Close to, he could see the burn marks around the cut and the bubbling blisters on the skin of her neck. The tissue around the wound was blackened and smooth - cauterised.
    He rocked back on his heels. "What the hell happened?"
    "We were hoping you could tell us." She nodded at the back wall of the lecture theatre, where a mirror hung in a chipped frame.
    Morgan knew what she was asking and hesitated. There was a part of him that still wanted to deny the hidden world and accept the comforting illusion of normality. "I can't guarantee I'll see something," he said.
    She smiled at him. "Just try, Morgan. Granger died violently here - there's a good chance her spirit's hanging around, reliving the moment. Isn't that how it works?"
    He shrugged. "Maybe. I still haven't figured it all out."
    His knees cracked as he rose. The mirror was thick with dust, reflecting the room through a haze and bleaching the brown of his skin to a faded sepia. He wiped the glass with his sleeve and the picture sprang into sharper focus: his own face framed by geometric circles of seating.
    For a long moment that was all he saw. He'd tried forcing it before, clenching his muscles because he didn't know how to tense whatever part of his mind allowed him to do this. It was always useless and he didn't bother this time, relaxing instead and letting his thoughts drift.
    As they had before, they drifted to Richard, the man who'd first shown Morgan this could be done - and summoned his long-dead sister on a night train to Berlin. "I only open the door," he'd said. Morgan didn't think Richard had meant it literally, but he'd learnt that in the other world metaphor could be as powerful as truth. He let his eyes lose focus until the glass of the mirror was just a grey blank - then imagined pushing it. He thought how cold the glass would feel under his palm, and he pictured it moving, the creak of hinges.
    When the mirror swung open there was darkness beyond. He thought that if he tried hard enough his eyes could pierce it, but he didn't want to know what he'd see. In that moment of fear his mind released the image and the door swung shut, closing with a soft click .
    The glass was a mirror again and Morgan could see the reflection of a woman - but it wasn't Kate. This woman's cheeks were rounder, her eyes a paler, washed-out blue. Her gaze passed over Morgan without seeing him. She was studying herself, mouth squeezed shut as she applied her lipstick.
    Morgan noticed the man behind her at the same time she did. He was watching her in the glass. His hair and eyes were the same dark brown that was almost black and though he was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, Morgan thought he belonged in uniform. He recognised a soldier when he saw one, the tense shoulders and loose arms, aggression held on only a light leash.
    The woman gasped, then turned and smiled. Morgan fought the futile urge to shout a warning. This was her killer and she didn't know it and wouldn't realise until it was too late.
    The man took a step towards her. His mouth was moving, but the glass didn't transmit sound and the woman's back was to the mirror now, her expression hidden. Morgan could read the sudden stiffening of her spine, though, and knew that whatever the man had said alarmed her.
    But not enough. The man took another step closer and she stood her ground. It was only when he drew his knife that she tried to make a run for it and by then it was too