Chapter Text
The radio in Gertrude's car was turned up almost to maximum volume. This, of course, didn't exactly help the audio quality of the antiquated speakers, but they wouldn't have been able to handle the drums of Fleshgod Apocalypse's 'The Forsaking' anyway. Essentially, the tiny, old Fiat had turned into a screaming, shaking box of scraps on wheels, barreling forward across the motorway.
There were no passengers, only a lonely driver. Gerard Keay was tapping his fingers on the wheel, gracefully pretending not to be bothered by the fact that he was missing nearly every beat. Gertrude had lent him the car to chase after a lead up North. He had barely left London now, and his knees were already hurting - at some point during its decades of existence, the driver seat had decided that it only ever needed to be in place for Miss Robinson's needs, and stoutly refused to move backwards to accommodate long, black-clad legs.
Gerard rolled down the window, at least a little bit. The air was already getting colder as the seasons were changing, and smelled of rain. God, as much as he loved a good thunderstorm - this really wasn't the time for one. If the seat was rusty, he didn't trust the tires too much either. On the other hand, a thunderstorm upon arrival - now that'd be something. Gertrude had, as usual, been rather tight-lipped about the rumours she'd heard, but she'd been very amused to tell him that he'd be going after "an avatar right up your alley".
He wasn't entirely sure what that meant this time. The archivist had previously used this phrase to describe a cannibalistic nun, Grifter's Bone, and a literal haunted dildo.