Free The Night Marchers and Other Strange Tales by Daniel Braum

rock video with the sound off. He smiled big and greedily when we stepped into his gringo heaven in-the-middle-of-nowhere bar. He wouldn’t be smiling so wide if he knew that unlike the hippie holdovers in the corner who are probably running from themselves and their perceived sins of the world, the horrors I’m hiding Alexa from are dangerously real. 
    Tomas hired me to take her from St Louis across the Darien into Columbia. Told me she’s the daughter of some big time mystic, but not who. Told me her Pop’s enemies want her dead, but not why. I’m guessing a lot of people don’t want her to grow up big and strong like her Daddy. Now she’s got some bad stuff on her trail. 
    You can’t run from these things, Tomas said. They’ll keep coming forever. Her Dad is gone and we are all she has. Her only hope is to stay ahead of them long enough to get her across the Darien Gap, onto my ground. My hemisphere. I’ll stand a real chance of hiding her there.  
    I don’t know why he chose me. Probably ’cause I’m small-time enough to slip under the radar and not be noticed. I know just enough arcane tricks to make a living, keep me alive out here, and to piss a lot of people off. 
    The band stops so Boston-Dreadlock man can tune up. The din of peeping frogs, chirping lizards, and pulsing hum of insect night sounds fills the lull. The Indian keeps spinning, his hands almost slapping Alexa. The group laughs at him. Alejandro and Rita indulge in yet another public kiss. “Get a room,” David taunts. Alexa rolls her eyes, then notices me. A glowing smile grows on her beautiful face. She walks over to the window. 
    “Nate, get in here and dance with me,” she says. 
    I screwed up right from the start and used my real name. Some instinct in me mistakenly reacted as if “she and I” were real, and not just another job and fear born fling.  
    She tosses her freshly-showered, long, curly hair. She smells like soap and flowers. 
    I flick my cigarette and lean in. “In a minute,” I say, trying to manage an earnest smile, hoping it hides the sick feeling I get thinking about all this running. I walk across the dirt road to check the wards I placed in the edge of the jungle. 
    The leaves on the cibolas and ferny underbrush still lean south as I directed. Nothing has disturbed my “barrier.” Tomas said these simple wards would fool Alexa’s pursuers. Magical masks, he called them. Nothing outside will detect anything magical inside. Anything stronger will announce your presence for miles, like a flare. Keep it simple, and safe. 
    I walk along the barrier to check the next ward point. 
    A faint blue glow shimmers in the darkness. Something has walked into the barrier. Blue mist peels off a man-sized form, its pointed ears tight along its bald head. It turns, revealing stunted reptilian features, on an almost human face. Its eyes are the solid milky-blue of a snake about to molt. It moves its arms and legs slowly, deliberately though its wiry frame looks built to run. 
    I freeze. What the hell did Tomas get me into?  
    It keeps moving, apparently unaware of me. The bent plants all flip direction as it passes. 
    I didn’t bargain for this. Just figured I’d cast some wards, baby-sit some kid, and return home six months ahead on the rent. 
    The ward works. Simple and safe.  
    It circles an ancient strangler fig a few times, then steps out of the barrier—mist wisping off it as it disappears. Tendrils linger and settle on the ferns before dissipating. 
    I stand motionless, hoping it is gone. 
    A twig snaps. A dark shape close to the ground moves toward me. I release the breath I can hold no longer. It freezes. A black feline head regards me with intelligent yellow eyes. A jaguar. What is it doing this close to shore? A few heartbeats pass then it lifts a paw, slowly then gently puts it down.  
    Nostrils flaring, it crawls closer, its belly pressed to the ground, and I smell its musky stink. It paws the air