Vintage soul

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The private elevator had been busy since sunset, shuttling guests from the sub-basement parking area to the top floor penthouse suite. Long, sleek limousines and dark roadsters were lined up like soldiers, and their drivers had gathered in the comfortable lounge provided for them just to the left of the elevator entrance.

By nine, the outer doors had been closed and secured, and the last well-dressed couple had been ushered into the plush elevator and deposited on the upper floor. As the elevator door closed for the final time, a short, wizened man stepped up to the doors, laid his palm across an intricately designed panel imbedded in the metal and dropped his head forward. A greenish glow seeped out around the edges of his fingers. His lips moved slowly in an almost silent incantation.

None of the guests paid him the slightest attention. In the garage below, the drivers watched in silence as the wall where the elevator doors had closed only moments before grew dark, shimmered, and solidified. No trace of the elevator’s existence remained. The outer wall of the parking garage made a similar transformation, leaving the drivers alone in the comfortable lounge.

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