Free Lynn Viehl - Darkyn 1 - If Angels Burn (v1.1) by If Angels Burn Page A

graft materials, and my head examined. You know. Just the little things.”
    “I will serve as your nurse,” Éliane said. “The alloplastic grafts are already prepared.”
    Le Bitch was seriously beginning to get on Alex’s nerves. “I prefer to harvest my own grafts, thanks. Just what do you think
you
know about craniofacial reconstructive surgery, Blondie?”
    “I know enough to hand you the correct instruments.” She turned to Cyprien. “Shall I set up the trays now,
maître
?”
    Cyprien nodded. “Dr. Keller, if you would prepare, please.”
    “Now?” Alex gaped at both of them. “I haven’t even had time to check your blood work.”
    “That is not necessary. You have everything you need, and the skill to do the work.” Cyprien went back to the table. “We will do the rest.”
    “Hold on a goddamned minute,” she demanded. “What if you die under the knife? What happens to me?”
    “Whatever you do to me on that table, I will survive.” There was a click behind her, and she turned to see Phillipe holding a large, ugly gun pointed at her head. Cyprien shrugged out of his robe. “I cannot say the same for you if you do not begin preparations now.”
    Alex didn’t argue with guns in her face, but she did make one final protest to Éliane as they scrubbed. “I can’t keep him anesthetized and do the cutting.”
    “That will not be a problem.” She tugged on Alex’s gloves for her like a pro. “Mr. Cyprien does not require anesthesia.”
    Alex ripped the gloves off and threw them to the floor. “That does it. I’m outta here.”
    “
Vous l’aiderez
,” Phillipe said, making a jabbing motion with his gun toward the operating table, where Cyprien lay waiting.
    A flower smell—honeysuckle?—seemed to wrap around Alex.
Does everybody in this place take a bath in perfume
? “I can’t operate on a conscious patient,” she told them through gritted teeth. “He won’t be able to stand the pain. He’ll
fight
me.”
    The big French goon simply cocked his gun.
    So this was staring death in the eyes. “I’m a doctor, not a butcher.” Alex folded her arms. “I won’t do it. Go ahead and shoot me.”
    “He will not move,” Éliane said, pulling out Alex’s hands and putting fresh gloves on her. “He will enter a trance state, and remain in it until you are finished.” She held out a mask. “You must trust us, Dr. Keller. We know what we are doing.”
    Phillipe gave Alex a nice little shove toward the table.
    She went along with it, figuring on getting a scalpel and slashing her way out of there. Yet when she checked Cyprien, he appeared to be unconscious: heart rate and BP low, his breathing regular and steady. There were some doctors who advocated using hypnotism to put patients under for minor procedures, like wisdom teeth extractions.
    But she was going to reconstruct a man’s
head
.
    The blonde unwrapped the instrument tray. “Shall we begin?”
    Sweat ran down the back of Alex’s gown, and her hands were shaking so hard she couldn’t have held a suction tube. Despite Cyprien’s trance state, despite all of his assistant’s reassurances, she knew it was wrong, and her body was rebelling.
    “I’m sorry. This goes against everything I was taught as a doctor. Look at my hands.” She showed them to the blonde. “Don’t you see? If I try to cut him now, I’ll kill him.”
    Something touched the back of her neck—a big, hard hand—while a weird, tickling sensation spread out on the inside of her skull.
    For a moment Alex thought she was standing in a field of tall, ripening grain… wheat?… with the sun beating down on her shoulders. She had something heavy in her hands and on her shoulders. The image went away, but the smell of honeysuckle grew smothering. A man’s rough voice spoke in low, rapid French.
    “You have the ability,” Éliane murmured, “to make him whole again. You will do this. Your hands will not shake. You will help the master.”
    Alex’s eyes