Cornered Prey – The Piccadilly Assault
Jonathan: “Broke into Piccadilly—found Dracula in his box. He leapt at us, eyes blazing—‘You’ll pay!’—but we held him off with crosses. He fled with one box; eight burned. Mina’s worse.”
The trap snaps shut on Kaeltripton! Last time, Mina’s curse fueled the team’s fury—now Jonathan, Seward, Van Helsing, Arthur, and Quincey storm Dracula’s Piccadilly hideout, facing him in a fierce clash that tests their grit. We’re serving this free slice of Dracula with a teaser excerpt below, followed by the full text from roughly pages 313 to 327—covering the raid and its explosive fallout. We’re dishing out Dracula in chunks—keep checking back for more, or grab a $ subscription to unlock the whole saga now, plus my takes on its nail-biting action. Ready to corner the beast? Let’s charge in!
Jonathan Harker’s Journal (Continued)
15 October.—We hit Piccadilly to-day—Arthur got us in with a locksmith, no questions. The house reeked—dust, damp, and that foul earth-smell. Downstairs, nine boxes, just as I’d tracked. Van Helsing blessed them fast, but we kept one open—bait. Near dusk, he came—Dracula—bursting from it like a devil, pale face twisted, eyes red as hellfire. ‘You’ll pay for this!’ he roared, lunging at me. Seward and Quincey flanked him, crosses up—Arthur swung a hammer—and I slashed with my kukri. He dodged, laughing, but the holy signs held him back. He grabbed one box, smashed through a window, and vanished—mist again. We torched the rest—eight down, one left with him. He’s hurt, but free.
Mina’s worse—paler, quieter, like she’s fading. Van Helsing says the link’s tightening: ‘He’s drawing her in.’ I’ll kill him—nothing else matters.
Dr Seward’s Diary
15 October.—The Piccadilly raid was madness—Dracula’s rage shook me, but we stood firm. His strength’s unholy—threw Quincey like a rag doll—but the crosses burned him back. He’s down to one box; we’ve cut his roots here. Mina’s our worry now—her eyes are distant, and she flinched from my cross to-night. Van Helsing’s grim: ‘Time runs short—we must find him.’ Arthur’s a rock, Quincey’s bruised but game—we’re set to chase him anywhere.
16 October.—Mina slept all day—unnatural, heavy. Van Helsing tried holy water again—it blistered her cheek. She woke crying, ‘He’s stronger—I feel him calling.’ Jonathan’s half-crazed, sharpening his knife. We’re scouring London—every lead, every rumor. The Count’s wounded, but he’s turned it on us.
