"We have to make this quick," I said as the front doors slid aside with an airy shh. "If I'm not home when my dad wakes up and I still have a tattoo, he'll put me in the Trinity grave himself." I inhaled the comforting ink and old paper smell, hoping to ease my nerves. "They're open? It's like 5:30 in the morning."

"They're open all the time for Trammelers," Tram said.

A man with glasses behind the front desk carried a stack of books to a nearby cart. He didn't have ...