“Oh, Ambrose,” Galinda said, horror in her violet eyes. “I'm so sorry.”
“For what?” His synapses were still misfiring badly, and his marbles would never work the same again.
She gestured to the center part of her gray hair. “A zippered skull is the mark of a criminal. Surely, the surgeon could...”
Trying to think was like attempting to leash a cat, but somehow he managed it. “I asked the surgeon to leave it.”
He touched the metal teeth that split his crown. “The Witch spent a lot of time rewriting history. I won't allow her a last victory.”