Sofia didn’t even let him get a word in. She saw him physically gather up his resolve as he pushed himself off the steps. As soon as he got up in her face, she swung on the asshole, a short-arm roundhouse punch into the jaw. Put all of her body into the pivot, snapped her hips in there too. Felt the jawbone go under the impact, heard it crunch. But in the rush of the moment, she’d hit him the old-fashioned way. With her fist bunched up, leading with the knuckles.

Sofia knew it was a mistake less than half a heartbeat after she’d felt his jaw shatter, as pain suddenly lanced up through her wrist. It didn’t stop her swinging a boot into his face as he went down, and then again into his stomach when he’d hit the ground. And she still put her fists up when she spun around to face the others – when she could actually see she’d done something stupid. Her knuckles were badly damaged; one of them had been sort of pushed back up her hand. It was enough to make you a little sick, just looking at the thing.

But it was one of Scotty’s bitches who threw up when he saw it. And then Malleson Lite puked too. The posse all ran off, leaving their leader choking on his own vomit at her feet.

Sofia sighed now and left the arctic vista of the picture window. She clenched and unclenched that same fist. It still hurt.

She pushed the thermostat up a couple of degrees. The day was getting so cold, they might even need to draw the heavy curtains across the large, exposed windows of the former warehouse space, to keep in the heat. Rubbing at her swollen right hand again, she had to acknowledge that Papa was right: he had to be seen to punish her, or the boy’s father would become involved. Not that Malleson senior wasn’t straining like a pitbull at the end of his leash, anyway. Oh Lord, had there been trouble over Scotty’s broken face . . .

Her heart beat a little faster just thinking about how she’d endangered their position here by beating up the city councillor’s boy. Papa was right. If it wasn’t for the government in Seattle looking after them – or, to be more accurate, having an interest in them because of their road agent stories – Scotty’s old man would’ve had them out of the loft and probably even barred from bunking down with the Indians over at the railway camp. They’d have been on the road again, run out of town.

Her father and the principal of Northtown High School had decided that she should serve a three-day suspension. And there would also be the supplementary grounding to contend with, of course.