Ghosts and Other Lovers by Lisa Tuttle Page A

died -- we're the only survivors. Now we're looking for the Forbidden City. No Westerners have ever been allowed to enter it and live, so we shall be the first -- unless they catch us--"
    At that moment, rounding a bend in the road, three boys on bicycles came into view.
    "The Royal Guards!" said Jean. "If they see us, we're dead! We have to split up -- you go that way -- meet me at the river later if you manage to lose them!"
    She was off. I felt panic at being left alone and would have disobeyed her orders and followed, but she could run so much faster than me that she was already out of sight. Meanwhile, the enemy was gaining on me. I turned and ran toward the nearest house, ducking behind a bush for shelter. My heart thudded painfully as I watched the boys cycle past -- for a moment I had forgotten that they were only children and believed they would kill me, as Jean had said. When they had gone, I emerged. Now what?
    Meet me at the river, she had said, but where was the river? Like the rest of the territory, rivers were defined according to a map that only Jean could read. A river might be a swift rush of water in the gutter (but the day was dry), or a dip in a lawn, or even a street we would have to pretend to swim across. I decided to start walking in the direction I had seen Jean run and hope that she would come back and find me.
    I traveled as Jean would have wanted, as if she were watching me, moving cautiously to avoid being seen, ducking behind bushes and cars, favoring alleys over streets. Gradually I left the familiar landscape behind. The houses were bigger here; the trees shading them were older and larger than those on my street. Golden lights shone from windows. The air was blue with the deepening dusk, and I began to feel afraid. I kept walking, because I didn't know what else to do, but I wondered if every step was taking me farther from Jean and safety and home.
    Then I came to a high, brick wall. This was unusual. In my neighborhood there were plenty of wooden and chain-link fences, but I had never seen such a high, brick wall. Jean would have wanted to know what was hidden behind it; she would have climbed over it, I thought.
    My heart beat harder. Was Jean nearby? Had she been here before me? Was she already on the other side?
    I called her name, but the redbrick surface before me seemed to swallow the sound of my voice, and I knew she wouldn't hear. I flung myself at the wall then, fingers scrabbling at the rough surface. But there was nothing to hold, and so I kept falling back. I jumped straight up, but that was worse than useless. The wall was much too high. I didn't think even my father could have seen over the top of it. And yet, somehow, I had become convinced that Jean was on the other side of the wall. I probably had to believe that because the idea that I might be lost in a strange place at night without my sister was far too frightening.
    "Jean," I said, whispering, since I knew shouting wouldn't be any better, and I began to walk beside the wall, trailing my fingers along the rough surface. At the end of the alley the wall curved away and I followed it across the grass, right up to the side of an imposing, two-story, redbrick house. I ran past the front of the house to the other side, and there was the wall again.
    And there, in the wall, a door.
    The door was very small, made of wood, painted a glossy black. It was an absurdly small door, but at the time the unlikeliness of it did not strike me. The door was smaller even than I was: almost doll-sized rather than child-sized. I crouched down and -- there was no handle -- pushed it open. It swung slowly inward.
    All I could see at first was green grass, the trunks of a few trees, and a flowering bush. I moved forward, on hands and knees, determined to see more. I was a small child, but the doorway was very narrow, and it seemed for a moment that I might stick halfway. But, stubbornly determined, I put my head down and pushed, scraping my