Wendy risks a look at the girl. Instead of Tiger Lily’s shining plaits, the girl’s black hair hangs loose about her face. It isn’t tangled, but it’s un-brushed even though the distinctly clean smell of soap hangs about her. Her skin is darker than Wendy’s, but now that she’s inches from Wendy’s face, it’s clear the resemblance to Tiger Lily ends there. This girl’s face is rounder, and there are scars pock-marking it, like the ghosts of some childhood illness. There’s a gap between her teeth, which she bares in something that’s closer to a challenge than a smile.

“You reminded me of someone, that’s all.” Recovering from her initial surprise, Wendy lifts her head farther, hardening the line of her jaw. Neither of them has any choice in being here; why should she let this girl intimidate her or chase her away?

“There’s no one here who looks like me.” The girl’s chin juts out, defiant. “My people are part of the Kainai Nation, and now that my mother is dead, I’m the only one in London.”

She speaks the words as if the sheer force of them could make them true. Wendy is taken aback, but there’s hurt behind the anger the girl wears like a cloak, and that’s something Wendy understands. Now it isn’t so much Tiger Lily the girl reminds her of, but Peter’s boys, so very far away from home, not daring to admit they miss their beds and mothers.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what you’re talking about. What is the Kainai Nation?”

Wendy can’t guess at this girl’s age. In one instant, she looks younger than Wendy, the next much older.

“They’re my people.”

“Is that… I mean, you’re an Indian, aren’t you?”

“Kainai. The Blood Tribe. Part of the Blackfoot Confederacy. I don’t know anything about India.” She draws the last word out, glaring, and Wendy’s cheeks flush hot.

“I’m sorry,” Wendy says quickly.

To her relief, the girl doesn’t leave. She settles back, arms crossed, but under her annoyance Wendy sees a glimmer of curiosity, and she seizes on it.

“I didn’t mean to upset you, and I truly am sorry. How did you end up here if…” Wendy stumbles over the words, feeling as though she’s stepping onto a frozen lake, uncertain whether the ice will hold.

The girl snorts, a sound almost like laughter.

“Do you mean here?” She gestures at the room. “Or London?”

“Both, I suppose.”