21 October 2026
Wednesday. The Count’s diary is to go on public display, and so, I am told, is mine. Good. I have nothing to hide but my relics, and those are hidden for a reason.
Readers should know how to use these pages. His entries come from Perth, from the graveyard where his Bride lies. Mine come from Melbourne, from the catacombs under Collins Street. Where we write about the same night, one entry points to the other. Read both. Then believe me.
Two dates here are true in every sense: the night his crypt opened and the night my catacombs did. The rest of the calendar is our own, and the Count’s memory for dates is not to be trusted. He once told me he was born on a Tuesday. He was not specific about the century.
And nothing in either diary gives away a single puzzle. I spent my life keeping notes for hunters. I am not about to start keeping them for cheats.
— Prof. Van Helsing
