Old Gods of Appalachia - Episode 101: Keeper of Ways

Episode Date: June 11, 2026

Rachel Harlow arrives to greet her past and her future.CW: Discussion of murder of family members, mind control, and dismemberment and burial of dead bodies; small aircraft and door pounding sounds.  Written by Steve Shell and Cam CollinsProduced and edited by Cam Collins and Steve ShellNarrated and performed by Steve ShellSound design by Steve ShellThe voice of Haman Locke: Alex McDonald VillarealThe voice of Marlena Locke: Glenna GrantThe voice of Rachel Harlow: Dax Dupuy Intro music: “The Land Unknown (The Where the Light Don’t Reach Verses)” written and performed by Landon BloodOutro music: “Can’t Wait ‘Til Armageddon” by Those Poor Bastards (download)Special equipment consideration provided by Lauten Audio.LEARN MORE ABOUT OLD GODS OF APPALACHIA: www.oldgodsofappalachia.comCOMPLETE YOUR SOCIAL MEDIA RITUAL:FacebookInstagramBlueskySUPPORT THE SHOW:Join us over at THE HOLLER to enjoy ad-free episodes, access exclusive storylines and more.Buy t-shirts, hoodies, mugs, and other Old Gods merch.CLASSIC MERCH: merch.oldgodsofappalachia.comTOUR MERCH & SPECIALTY ITEMS: oldgodsmerch.com.Transcripts available on our website at www.oldgodsofappalachia.com/episodes.© 2026 DeepNerd Media. All rights reserved. No part of this audio production or its written transcript may be used or reproduced in any manner for the purpose of training artificial intelligence technologies or systems.Support this show http://supporter.acast.com/old-gods-of-appalachia. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Well, hey there, family, if you love Old Gods of Appalachia, I want to help us keep the home fires burning, but maybe aren't comfortable with the monthly commitment. Well, you can still support us via the ACAS supporter feature. No gift too large, no gift too small. Just click on the link in the show description, and you too can toss your tithe in the collection plate. Feel free to go ahead and do that.

Right about now. Old Gods of Appalachia is our whole. Horror Anthology podcast, and therefore may contain material not suitable for all audiences. So listener discretion is advised. Marlena Locke gazed out the window of the Cessna 195 as it circled over the mountains of Western Pennsylvania. Beginning at descent to a small private runway located on the sprawling compound, her late-stepson Brutus and his wife had established outside Pittsburgh.

No one had been able to tell them whether or not Calliope had been notified about her husband's untimely demise, nor had any of the family been able to reach her. Thus, it had been decided that this was news best delivered in person, and Haman, acting in his role as de facto head of the family, had saddled his mother with the task. Marlena hadn't particularly cared for Brutus, let alone his ghostly blonde wife, always hovering over her tarot cards and muttering cryptically about their vague but menacing premonitions of doom. Calliope had always been a bit flighty and given to fits a whimsy, but since the death of their son Nathaniel, the woman seemed barely tethered to this world.

She had not involved herself in the family business, nor had she managed to produce another heir for Brutus. Calliope was quite useless in Marlena's estimation, and she never had to be. She never had been able to fathom why Brutus had never packed the woman off to an asylum so he could marry again. With Brutus out of the way, she supposed, that chore would now fall to Haman. She didn't know yet if her stepson had left a will, or if so, whether it had been updated in the years before Nathaniel's death. But his widow certainly couldn't be allowed to inherit. Brutus had held far too great a stake in lock rail to entrust it to some outsider. Marlena was certain her son would act in the best interest of the family in this manner,

though it would be up to her to steer him in the proper direction. She should have ample opportunity in the coming days to gather all the intelligence they would need to relieve Calliope of the burden of legal agency. After all, Calliope's own mother was long dead. Who better to stand at her side, providing comfort and advice in her time of grief than her own loving mother-in-law? The Cessna glided smoothly toward a long, wide strip of land at the back of the family property, its wheels touching down on the sandy runway with a soft bump. When the small plane came to a stop, the two men from the company's security division who had accompanied her on this excursion deplane,

pausing for a second to scan the area for potential threats. Then one of the pair, Smith, Smythe, she couldn't be bothered to keep them straight, turned smartly around and offered his hand, assistant her to the ground. The three of them waited in silence while the pilot filled out his logs and completed various systems checks. And waited, and waited.

Marlena glanced down with the elegant mother-of-pearl face of her watch. It had been nearly 15 minutes. The staff at the yardhouse, Brutus and Calliope's estate, should have come around with a golf cart to ferry them to the main house as soon as their plane was sited. She had never waited for more than five minutes at most for someone to bring the cart around. Marlena sighed. It was just like Calliope to allow basic courtesies to fall by the wayside while she wallowed in tears.

Exasperated, she snapped her fingers at the pair of security drones and began the long, slow trudge along the grass in the direction of the house, her high heels sinking in the soft earth. Twenty minutes later, they emerged from the thick copse of trees surrounding a Tudor mansion constructed of pails. grayed stone. A perennial garden sprawled over the front lawn. The ride of daisies, black-eyed seasons and lilies interrupted here and there by sculptures, some classical, others more contemporary. Marlena picked up speed when they reached the flagstone path that wound through the greenery towards the house, her heels clicking over the pavers with purpose as she strode toward her late stepson's front door. No one emerged from the house to welcome them or to challenge their

presence there as the house's security details should have done. As Marlena and the pair of drones walked up the steps to the front door, it was almost eerily quiet. There should have been the sounds of landscapers working, the growl of a lawnmower engine, or the sniffing of hedge trimmers, or the chatter of the household staff as they went about their tasks. But all was still. There was a sense of emptiness about the place that told Marlena before she even rang the doorbell, that no one would answer. When her summons roused no one, she gestured to the black-suited man to her right, and he dutifully pounded on the door. Still, no one came. And finally, Marlena tried the latch.

The front doors swung inward on silent, well-oiled hinges. She took a step forward, but the security drone laid a restraining hand gently on her arm. When she turned a furious glare on the unremarkable young man, he removed the offending appendage and gestured to his counterpart. The second black-suited man preceded them through the door calling out. Mrs. Locke, it's Smythe from the security division. We have an important matter to discuss with you. This, too, was answered only by silence. Though it seemed clear the yardhouse was deserted,

Marlena instructed the man who had identified himself as Smythe to search the house, while she and the other bodyguard proceeded upstairs to Brutus and Calliope's private quarters. A pair of French doors opened into a cozy sitting room, lined with bookshelves, and furnished with elegant carved chairs with plush cushions, Tiffany reading lamps, and thick soft rugs. A door to the left stood open through which Marlena could see a massive four-poster bed, heaped with pillows and thick soft blankets. The bed had been neatly made, and nothing appeared out of a place that she could tell. A quick perusal of various dresser drawers and nightstands revealed only what one might expect. Men's socks, undershirts, and drawers folded neatly in their places, loose change, various keys, a few books, and other odds and ends in the nightstand.

The master bath beyond was equally tidy and equally empty. Marlena walked back to the sitting room to a door at its opposite end, which had remained closed. When she tried the knob, it turned smoothly in her hand. opening into what was clearly the dressing room of the lady of the house. That lady's mother-in-law sniffed in disapproval as she gazed around the untidy space. Bottles and tubes and pots of every size and description littered the vanity table. There were lipsticks and compacts and brushes of all manners of perfumes. Strands of pearls and other gems had been draped carelessly over the corners of mirrors,

slips and dresses and coats were heaped over a silk divider, almost completely obscuring its elegant print of cranes and flight. A hamper in one corner overflowed with blouses, skirts, and undergarments. Had Calliope and Brutus stopped paying the chambermaids? Marlena wondered. Or were they merely too lenient with them? Young people these days required a firm hand to mold into proper servants, a chore Calliopee was no doubt unfit for. She filed the observation away in her mental dossier on Brutus's widow. Her inventory of Calliope's closet yielded nothing of note. It was filled to bursting with designer dresses and suits, a couple of pairs of slacks for more casual outings,

silk blouses in every color of the rainbow, and shoes in a similar array of colors and styles. An unlocked safe mounted on one wall held Calliope's jewels, glittering necklaces, rings, and bracelets set with diamonds, sapphires, and emeralds. Marlena was admiring a ring set with a ruby the size of a robin's egg and contemplating putting it in her own pocket when she spotted the small round table hidden behind the silk. divider. A small stool with a lavender velvet cushion sat beside the table which had been draped in a purple silk scarf fringed with jet beads. Calliope's ever-present tarot deck rested on the table. That in itself was unusual. Marlena had never known the woman to be parted from them. It also struck her as odd that her daughter-in-law had left a three-card spread lying face up atop the scarf. She peered down at the cards curiously. The love of her. The love

The Seven of Swords, the Wheel of Fortune. Interesting, Marlena thought. Had this been the catalyst for Calliope's flight from the yardhouse? Had she fled at all? Perhaps someone had, in fact, sent word of her husband's death, and she'd gone to North Carolina to view the body for herself. But if so, why dismiss the staff? The drones she had sent to search the house had determined the estate was utterly deserted.

though it didn't appear Calliope had packed a bag or taken any other measures to secure the house for an extended absence. She needed to notify her son so that Hayman could take appropriate action. With the two security drones trailing after her, Marlena went back downstairs to locate the telephone. She found it in the library and quickly dialed her son's office. Put me through to Heyman. This is his mother, you addled-brained little friend.

Fool, get him on the phone now. Within moments, her son's voice came on the line. Must you insist upon terrorizing the staff, mother? Colleen is an excellent secretary, and I'll be very put out if I have to replace her. If her supposed excellence had more to do with her skills than with the size of a brazier, perhaps she might recognize my voice by now. What can I do for you, mother? I thought you'd left to visit Calliope.

Comfort her in her time of grief in a life. all that. I did. And I would if she were here, but she's gone. Gone? What do you mean she's gone? Mother, what are you talking about? What I mean, son, is that I am calling you from Pittsburgh. I am standing in the yardhouse as we speak, and Calliope is not here. No one is here, not Calliope, not even the staff. Where the devil could they have gone? With Brutist, do you think? I don't. I don't. I don't know, but I suggest you find out, son. Yes, I'll get someone on it.

Thank you for letting me know, Mother. Get back here as soon as you can. And be careful. I don't like this. When the fire does down in the woods go quiet and you think you

told every tale you know old flame blooms to reshape the darkness So you lock your eyes on the trembling glow The faces you find are so familiar They could almost speak Their stories fall where the light won't reach And you can feed the fire

To curse the darkness When the voices call But in the end longshed shadows His half-brother had been dead for two days, and Haman Locke still didn't have any answers. Running on very little sleep and more coffee than was humanly advisable, he sat at his desk, phone pressed to his ear. You're telling me that no one saw my brother boarding number 16 with anyone out of the ordinary. Hmm. No one at all?

Yardmaster, my brother was six foot four and weighed over 250 pounds. That man was a walking household appliance and no one saw him bored. Yet the family car was prepped and ready for him, and from what the police tell me, there were at least two empty bottles of very good whiskey left on the table, with two tumblers. Brutus was on that train and someone was with him. Haman Locke glanced up to see his secretary standing in the doorway of his working quarters. Colleen pointed to the receiver in her hand and held up two fingers,

mouthing the words, funeral home. David, I have to go. I've got to finish making the man's funeral arrangements. If any new information surfaces, it stays within the family. You come to me. Do you understand? All right. The head of Lock Rail shifted his own handset to the opposite ear and punched a button with a blinking red light.

Mr. Hagey, thank you for getting back to me. Yes, I believe we will have the service here at Pandaren and the family plot. Hmm? Full graveside service. But no, minister. My brother was not a religious man. I'm sure you understand. My mother will be in touch about the flowers.

Hmm? Budget. There's no budget, sir. My brother was a great man, and he will be honored as such. Whatever my mother asked for, just do that. Thank you. Yes, yes, such a tragedy for us all. He will be sorely missed.

Thank you. Good day. Heyman hung up the phone and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. He could already feel a headache coming on. How like Brutus to be as great a pain in the ass in death as he was in life. If someone had killed his brother in an act of vengeance meant to strike at Lock Rail or the family itself, then he would have other calls to make. If on the other hand, Brutus had orchestrated his own demise in an attempt to harm Haman and his supporters, then the lumbering ox could rot in the ground next to his worthless mother.

Heyman already had enough on his plate without the added responsibilities of riding a eulogy, procuring a suitably opulent casket, and burying a man who he frankly considered an obstacle to his own ambition. The girl was scheduled to arrive today. And then there was the matter of dinner tonight with his mother, patience, Bonaparte, and Solomon. A lot was riding on this supper. If she made the right impression tonight, then she would be presented to the rest of the family. If not. Well, they would deal with that problem if and when it arose.

At the sound of shuffling footsteps, Haman peered out of his office down the hall to the sitting room of his luxurious quarters. Solomon Locke paced the spacious confines of his father's sitting room, his stomach a veritable kaleidoscope of butterflies. When he was a boy, he felt like he'd spent most of his waking hours on edge, nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs, as Granny Ambergi used to say. Whether it was helping out with the little ins at Granny's farm or during those brief days of freedom when he and his friends had set out on an improbable quest to find their people, being anxious came naturally to the young Locke sign. He'd like to think he'd learn to manage it as he grew older, and there were days that he felt

secure in his purpose. Other days, like today, he spent his time waiting for the russes. to be pulled out from under his feet and the pointing and laughing to begin. You stupid hick, you really believed you belong somewhere? You actually thought your family were rich and powerful people who would swoop in and make everything all right in your life? How stupid are you, Jojo? Being delivered to his father's estate a decade ago, still seemed like a dream.

He remembered the wonder and gratitude he'd felt when he was brought through the majestic front gates of Penderan Hall to meet his father. almost as well as he remembered the sting of disappointment when he learned he was not in fact a legitimate son of this great and revered bloodline, but a bastard resulting from an illicit affair between his father, Haman, and his uncle Mordecai's wife. Most of the family had believed he was the child of Mordecai and Delilah, but the two of them had tragically passed away in the years while Solomon had been away, and when he returned to the fold, his true father thought it was best to clear the air and claim him as his own. own. Haman's own wife, Ada Jane, had died of the influenza, and the two daughters she bore him, Constance and Persephone, had been married off years ago. Solomon had never met his half-sisters, though he did receive the occasional holiday greeting or postcard in the mail. His father had never called him a bastard, and had fully intended on marrying Solomon's mother after Mordecai had been

murdered just a few short months before her tragic fall down a set of rickety-cellar stairs. Married to his mother or no, Haman Locke was proud to be Solomon's daddy and had declared him his heir. If anyone else in the family had a problem with that, he'd made it clear they could take it up with him, but thus far, no one had the stones to challenge his father or his grandmother. Solomon couldn't say which of them they or he feared more.

Today was a day that he had both worried about and wished for in roughly equal measure. his father and uncle had worked for the better part of two years to find him a suitable match. The two of them had made it clear that romance had little to do with high society marriages. Passion and order led to unplanned children and other unfortunate circumstances. His own existence was an ample evidence of that. And as much as he loved and respected his father and uncle, their outlook on marriage struck him as remarkably archaic and high-bound for men of industry. None of the potential matches they had presented to him,

thus far had proved suitable, and he'd come to dread these introductions. On the other hand, he had always hoped he would one day see Rachel Harlow again. They'd lived through some of the most harrowing days of their lives together, and she was more family to him than the parade of Locke, cousins, and in-laws that glad-handed him at company functions on a weekly basis. The fact that she was going to be the one coming to meet him in the context of a potential marriage compounded the number of butterflies currently escaping their cocoons in his guts. Ten years had passed since he'd seen the raven-haired rot witch,

and he held a boulder-sized knot of guilt between his shoulder blades over the way they'd parted. He knew it wasn't directly his fault, but his people had left her on the side of the road for dead. He wouldn't blame her if she never wanted to see him again. He hadn't looked for in the intervening years, not really. He'd been swept up into his new family, and the myriad responsibilities he had quickly learned were parted and parcel of the locked name and he'd simply let her go.

When Skeeter had left them to join his own people, he had left Rachel with Solomon, assuming he would keep her safe, but Solomon had failed. And from what Uncle Bonny had learned about her life since they parted ways, he knew now that he had failed spectacularly. All the power at his fingertips, and he hadn't been able to keep his best friend from harm. Hell, he'd barely tried. He was amazed, she'd agreed to. to see him after all this time, let alone to consider becoming his wife.

The butterflies might have carried him deeper down this rabbit hole, but his spiraling thoughts were interrupted by his father's voice. That rug was expensive, son. I'd appreciate you not walking a hole through it. What? Oh, sorry, father. It's just... I'm only teasing, son. I get it. You're nervous about seeing your old friend. What will she think of you now?

Does she remember you fond of? Will she dissolve a priceless piece of antique furniture with her gift and be killed on the spot by your grandmother? Oh, Uncle Boney says she's gotten much better at controlling your gift. In fact, he thinks she could teach me how to... I'm joking, my boy. You're going to be fine. As I said, your uncle has been in close communication with Miss Harlow, and she is very excited to see you again. Heyman glanced down at his wrist on which he always wore an elegant gold Rolex chronometer.

In fact, she should be arriving any minute now. The ever-punctual staff of Lockrail's car service had not kept them waiting. There was a knock at the outer door of his father's quarters, and Solomon could hear the voices of Haman's butler and Uncle Bonie exchanging pleasantries. A few moments later, the double pocket doors of the sitting room slid open. Sir, your brother and his guests have arrived? Shall I show them in? Haman Locke raised an inquisitive eyebrow at his son.

Solomon blew out of breath and nodded. I'm ready. Haman motioned to the butler, and the man bowed deeply and withdrew. Bonaparte Lopp bustled into the room, all smiles and handshakes, followed by a lovely young woman in a deep red boatneck dress with a full skirt. It was clearly purchased off the rack and didn't fit her nearly as well as the expertly tailored designer dresses that filled the closets of the women in his family, but the color was striking with her fair skin, dark hair, and liquid eyes. Good evening, brother, nephew, aren't you looking smart? Love that tie. Bonaparte shook

Hayman's hand and chucked Solomon on the shoulder, then cleared his throat and stepped off to the side, as if seating the floor to the lovely young woman who had followed him inside. Heyman, if I may, I would like to present Miss Rachel Harlow, most recently of Louisville. Miss Harlow, meet my brother and the chairman of the board of Lock Rail, Haman Locke. Rachel thought by now she should have been accustomed to walking into opulent places while in the company of the Locke family. But this house was something beyond even the luxury of that private train car.

Solomon's father was as Uncle Boney had described him, small, unassuming, and a bit awkward, but charming. Behind him stood a solidly built young man in a perfectly tailored suit. Her breath caught as she recognized Jonah, Solomon, rather. She had to get used to calling him Solomon. Rachel couldn't quite meet his eyes. Not yet. She had to get through this part first. Uncle Bonie had made that very clear.

She had to give Hamon Locke her undivided attention when he was introduced or risk offending him. Rachel smiled demurely and offered her gloved hand. Heyman took it in one hand and clasped the other. over it in a gentle fatherly gesture. Miss Harlow, at long last we meet. My son has told me so much about you. Rachel looked up to meet Haman Locke's eyes and almost fell into them.

Waves of gentle affection and fond regard rolled over her like a warm bath. For a moment she felt as though she was being truly seen by someone for the first time. Here was a man who would understand her, appreciate her, and treat her as she had always deserved to be treated, while she would do anything for... Rachel blinked, and realized that Heyman Locke wasn't that, Charmy. It was his gift that made her feel this way, and it was a powerful one. She had experienced her fair share of things that liked to rifle around in a person's mind over the years, most recently on the train ride here. so she recognized that sort of influence quickly resisting it on instinct. Using a technique she learned from a witch in Tennessee,

she slowly and gently raised the protective wall in her mind, and the waves of ingratiating pleasure lessened, and then slid away entirely. Haman Locke's lips tipped up into the slightest smile, and he dipped his head to her in subtle acknowledgment, as if to say, well done. regaining her composure, she returned his greeting politely. It's a pleasure to meet you, sir.

The trip here was delightful. Thank you for your generosity. Oh, no need to thank me, dear. It is the least we can do for an old friend of Solomon's. I understand there were several situations he might not have walked away from in one piece, if not for you. Well, I don't know about that. And to be fair, he saved my skin a few times, too. Rachel glanced over at Solomon.

and for a split second, he was Jonah again. The goofy smile she remembered trying to steal over his features, then she blinked, and his expression turned sober again, and she couldn't be sure whether she'd imagined it or not. Well, don't let us old men keep you. I'm sure the two of you have a lot of catching up to do. We will retire to the drawing room for coffee and leave you to get reacquainted. Come on, Bonaparte.

Let's give these youngsters some. privacy. Bonaparte smiled broadly and fixed Rachel with a meaningful look. She nodded back and smiled. Solomon followed the two older men to the threshold, closing the doors behind them. Rachel finally allowed herself to really look at her old friend, and she had to admit little Jojo had grown up to be a nice looking man. He wasn't overly tall, just under six foot, and he was lean and well-proportioned. Some of the boyishness that had made him an easy-heed. target to pick on when they were kids still clung to his handsome features. His eyes, though, those had changed. The eyes of the boy who called himself Jonah Hellbender had been hazel

with a faint halo of emerald. Any hint of brown had been banished from Solomon Locke's eyes, leaving the iris a pale mossy green. She let him speak first, curious what her old friend would have to say for himself. It's been a long time, Rachel, or should I call you Miss Harlow now? Rachel smiled. All the power and money in the world couldn't quite polish all the rough edges from the awkward boy who'd learned his manners in an orphanage. You can call me what you like. It's good to see you, Jonah. I know that's not your name now, but I needed to say it one last time. Now that I've got that out of my system, it's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Solomon Law. Solomon grinned, and when he spoke, a bit of the old Eastern Kentucky twang danced at the edges of his voice.

You've not changed a bit, have you? Well, on the inside, on the outside, well, you grew up real nice, Rach. Has it really been ten years? Feels like longer to me. And thank you, Mr. Locke. You turned out pretty well yourself. I wanted to say, I know you told Uncle Bonny that you didn't want to come with him back then, but And, well, I'm sorry. He said you had a pretty rough time of it, and I'm sorry I didn't come find you and ask you again or at least try to make things easier for you. I appreciate you letting me help now. I missed you. Rachel Harlow looked at her friend perplexedly.

I didn't exactly tell your uncle I wouldn't come with him. I was being held prisoner, Solomon. Me and Mr. Fields. Uncle Boney turned up to bring me to you, and I didn't know him from Adam. I'll be honest with you, I didn't want to go with him. I didn't trust him any more than I did any grown folks back then, but that had nothing to do with you. Anyway, these people were going to send me with him whether I liked it or not.

I was just lucky Skeeter turned up and busted me out that night. I appreciate the apology, but you've got nothing to be sorry for. I chose my own path and you had your own life to live Skeeter huh well that explains why our people couldn't find you for a long time I wouldn't want to cross Skeeter's folk

after what we saw out in that field but you have to admit rage going to live with blood-sucking monsters rather than coming here send a pretty strong message all the same I wish I'd reached out to you sooner and I'm glad you're here now I hope you are too.

Don't talk about Skeeter's people like that. They were good to me. They're very kind people so long as you don't threaten them or theirs. And I am glad to see you, but this has been a lot. Coming here is like being dumped at grannies all over again, except everyone here's grown and got more money than God. But I've been running, and I'm tired. If y'all can help me get away from all that,

give me some space to breathe and rest, then I'm grateful for it. Solomon gave her a tight smile, nodding his understanding. Good, good, that that's great to hear, Rach. Things can get complicated sometimes with my family and the business, but you'll want for nothing, and I'll make sure nobody ever tries to hurt you again. I promise. Rachel looked into her friend's face and saw that he meant it. He meant every blessed word of it.

Whether he could make good on that promise or not, only time would tell, she supposed. She smiled back. Uncle Boney says you want to marry me. Is that true, Solomon Locke? You want to put a ring on my finger? Solomon's face turned the color of a ripe tomato, and he suddenly found his shoelaces extremely interested.

Uh, well, uh... Because if you do, you better buy me a diamond so big. I can't hardly lift my hand. Whatever you want, Miss Harlow. But we don't have to talk about that right now, do we? We can talk about the future later. After you meet my grandmother. For now, would you like to see the grounds?

There's some really pretty gardens and fountains. Oh, and a topiary maze and just stuff. What do you say, Miss Harlow? The handsome young man who had once been a gangly bull. boys sleeping in the bunkhouse across from herds offered up his arm. Rachel Harlow suppressed a cackle at how easily she could still get his goat and rested her hand on the crook of his elbow with a demure smile. I would be positively delighted, Mr. Locke.

Do lead on. Solomon beamed and led her out of the sitting room, through the labyrinthine corridors of the sprawling house, and out onto the grounds of Pindarren. Moments later, the drawing room door opened, and Haman and Bonaparte Lop stepped into the hall peering after the two young people. Well, she is a lovely thing, and Solomon seems quite fond of her. Good luck getting mother's approval, though.

I could sense the taint in that child's blood as soon as she walked through the front door. Her gift is considerable, but we shall see. You read the prophecy yourself, brother. And lo, when a mighty viper lies with the vessel of the rotting earth, they shall bring forth a great man, a keeper of ways and a master of doors. I know Father called the entirety of the green, the rotting earth, but the girl is a literal embodiment of the phrase.

She's learned to control power that should have killed her almost as soon as it manifested. She would be a great asset to our boy in the future. No, she's the one. I'd stake my reputation on it. You've already done that. If she makes solemn and happy And can bear me a grandson Without causing Mother to have a connipion

So be it Leave Mother to me Haman rolled his eyes Famous last words I've worked too hard on this one I will not see her buried In Mother's Rose Garden with the others I hope for your sake that Mother will approve

If not The Old Girl's Roses will bloom ever brighter Green-touched girls make excellent books. For now, I have other matters to attend to. I'll see you at dinner. That afternoon was one of the best Solomon Locke could remember. Rachel had loved the ornamental gardens and the winding hedge maze, the art gallery.

Its walls bedecked with the work of artists both great and small, including some masterworks thought lost for decades or even centuries, had rendered her almost speechless. They had visited the village of Lockton, where most of Pendarren staff lived, and which furnished the estate with fresh fruit and vegetables and other household necessities. They'd eaten fresh strawberries and drank fine champagne as they watched water dance from a fountain designed by Henri Leon Greber, one of two in existence in the whole country. Hires later, they stood on one of the great houses balconies, gazing out over the 300-acre estate. Over there, you can see the reservoir and the pump house that my grandfather built.

The structure next to it is the power plant. The estate isn't connected to any public utilities. Complete self-sufficiency. That was my grandfather's goal. Oh, oh, and that big building over there, the one that looks like a miniature version of the main house? Rachel nodded as he pointed to a stately edifice that was clearly a mansion in its own right.

That's the lodge. It's where out-of-town family members and important guests stay when they visit. It's also traditionally where the women of the family stay when they deliver babies and for the first few months or so after. Uncle Boney says that's where I was born. It certainly is impressive. Y'all really don't want for nothing out here, do you? It's like I said, Rach, if you stay here with us,

me, you'll never need to move again. It's like our own little kingdom. You'll be completely safe. Rachel Harlow regarded her old friend out of the corner of her eye. The light of the setting sun lit his face in pink and gold, lending his features a youth and softness that brought to mind the teenagers she had known. Enough of the sweet boys she'd grown up with remained to keep the man from being completely rotten, she thought. The stranger on the train's words came unbidden to her mind.

Solomon Locke has driven men and women in his employ, people who trusted him to suicide and worse. Solomon might have blood on his hands if the stranger could be believed, but so did she. Who was she to judge what he had done to survive in the years since she had last seen him? She worked up her nerve and cleared her throat. So, if I choose to stay and your ma'am, your grandmother, approves, do you really think we could make a life here? I do. I mean, I don't expect to call the preacher as soon as the family gives the go-ahead.

We can take things slow, get to know each other again. I've had a really good time with you today, Rach. It's been a long time since I've had a friend outside the family. I think we could be happy, but let's just see where things go. We can worry about weddings and all that down the road. Rachel nodded thoughtfully. But we have to get through this dinner first, so anything I should know before I meet the rest of the family?

Solomon's expression turned serious. He took a moment to gather his thoughts and nodded. Okay, so, Uncle Boney is on your side. He's going to do his best to talk you up and make you seem like the greatest thing since sliced bread. It's probably going to be embarrassing as all hell, but just let him talk. Oh, you're to address my grandmother as Mrs. Locke, not Ms. They expect proper grammar and diction as well as good manners.

Don't speak until you're spoken to and keep your answers short and to the point. I don't know how much any of them knows about your past, but between their gifts and their resources, lock rail, it's best to assume they know everything. That said, don't volunteer any information they don't directly ask you about. My grandmother is going to ask the tough questions. Probably stuff about your mama and where you come from. Don't let her rattle you. She can be very direct. Rachel grinned, leaning into whisper like she used to do when they gossiped about folks at Granny's farm. You mean she's a rude old bitty who thinks she's better than everybody? else because she married a rich man?

Solomon blinked. A sudden fury rose within him. His gifts almost stirring. He opened his mouth to tell Rachel to mind her full tongue or else, but then he caught himself and pressed his lips shut. Rachel must have seen the anger in his face because she pulled away from him. John Solomon? Are you okay?

I didn't mean to upset you. The heir to the Locke family fortune closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Yeah, that's pretty much her all right, but don't say that where anybody could hear you. And don't speak to me that way about my family, please. I know you're just being honest, but there's something that sort of makes me defend them. I don't know if it's love or something else. But I don't want to turn that on you. Rachel nodded consciously.

She'd been around her share of dangerous men over the years and felt, foolish for letting her guard down. No matter who he was or how lovely the day had been, she should know better. She had to remember she was in the snake's den, and any sudden movements might get her bit. The two of them sat quietly for a moment, watching as the last rays of sunlight dipped below the horizon, and then a bell chimed from somewhere within the house. It was time. Dinner was about to be served.

Rachel wondered what would be on the menu. She sincerely hoped it wasn't her. Oh, hey there, family. The stakes keep getting higher for young Solomon Locke, Rachel Harlow, and even old Uncle Bonie. That's going to be one interesting supper time for the Locke family. We hope y'all come back and join us for it. We'll fix you a plate. Speaking of staying for supper, if you're hungry for more stories, see what I did there,

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If you'd prefer to do your trading for more tangible goods, our merch store is stocked with everything from T-shirts to home goods, all bearing the graven images of your favorite old God's characters and settings. To walk the dark path of commerce with us, Visit merch.orgods of Appalachia.com and cover your naked and sinful form today. And this is your, I wonder if Marlena Locke can even make soup beans and cornbread reminder that Old Gods of Appalach is a production of beep nerd media and is distributed by Rusty Quill. Today's story was written and edited by Steve Shell and Cam Collins.

Our intro music is by Brother Land and Blood, and our outro music is by those poor bastards. Find a link in the show notes to pick up their new record, Black Tung. The voice of Heyman Locke is Alex McDonald-Vier-Re-Real. The voice of Marlena Locke is Glenna Grant. And due to emergent circumstances, the voice of Rachel Harlow was Dax DePuy. Feel better, Sarah Doreen McPhee. We'll talk to you soon, family. Talk to you real soon.