Kavinsky laughed and grinned at the reaction. His smile was still in place, teasing, even as Cain said things that he didn't necessarily understand. A place that wasn't his own. There was lots of that here. But if he was honest, he could construe what New Volga meant: colonies somewhere, and a place that was defined by Eastern Europeans who would gravitate to each other.

"Virginia," he corrected. "But just my mother and I."

He didn't delve further. Instead, he stepped into a room full of racks and benches, and a wall full of floggers and shockers and pin wheels and all sorts of things that turned pain pleasurable. Kavinsky considered it thoughtfully, then turned back toward the door.

"No, maybe not."