The teachers’ reaction turns from interest to fear when they see the face revealed in the twister’s violent sands. It looks like an image drawn onto every page in a thousand-page book, then flickered into a moving visage. There are no real features. It’s the white noise of faces, a convergence of every idea of what a face should be. Countless possibilities.

There is no sand here, one of the teachers says. The others have already thought that, but logic was displaced by fascination.

The face grins.

A child approaches to throw a handful of leaves into the tornado. The leaves are drawn from her hand, then her hand enters the swirling mass, her arm, and as she opens her mouth to scream she is swallowed away.

Every child watching screams for her.

When the red remains of the girl are spat skyward to patter down around the moving windstorm, the adults scream as well.

The children scatter in chaos, and as the teachers attempt to corral them and get them back into the building, the twister jigs back and forth, the demon within—its name is Ulb, and it ate thirteen knights and a prince during the Fourth Crusade—relishing this chance to take its fill without having to hide itself away.

Like a dog let loose in a butcher’s shop, it only stops consuming when it is fit to burst.

* * *

The three women have been friends since they were girls. One is French, one Indian, the other from San Francisco, and over the past few years they have become internet sensations. Their greatest and most daring feat so far is base-jumping the CN Tower, for which they were all arrested and lumbered with hefty fines. They’re careful to promote safety, and they always push the idea that they’re vastly experienced at what they do. It’s not just anyone who can parachute from a tall building, or kayak over waterfalls, or any number of a dozen other adventures they’ve undertaken together.

Today’s might be the most widely followed yet. The three women have their trusted friends live-streaming the attempt to a select group, and several hundred people have gathered to watch. That no rumours have reached the ears of the authorities is something of a miracle, but also testament to how dedicated and passionate their fans are.

One day we’ll end up in jail, they often say to each other. One day we’ll end up dead. But their fires burn bright, and the same flames that brought them together also keep them safe.

Today, the flames come from a different place.

As they fly through the artificial canyons of New York, wing suits stretched to their limits, a shape appears and joins them in flight. At first they believe it’s another wing suit, and the three women each experience a moment of annoyance that someone else is stealing their limelight.