He wiped out, his feet sliding out from under him. She shuddered as he slid to the edge of the wing, cling briefly then disappeared. She jumped, smacked her forehead on the window.
"Oh my gosh! What happened?" Her father exclaimed, seated next to her.
She turned around quick and glared.
He laughed, "that never gets old!"
She shook her head and turned her attention to a book about voodoo.
Her father stood and started doing a jig down the aisle.
She buried her face in the book.
Now he was doing a Russian dance, kicking his feet.
She held her hand up so she could not see him.
He proceeded to do hand springs down the aisle.
She sighed, patted the seat next to her. Mid-hand spring he faded and reappeared next to her.
"Miss your alarm clock?"
"Nope, just stretching the ol' hamstrings."
She shook her head. "Fine. So what am I running up against with this voodoo stuff."
He shrugged.
"What?!"
He shrugged again.
She was starting to turn red with anger. "You can't just shrug when I ask you important questions."
He shrugged again.
"Tell me what you know. Who is this Rafael character and how did he get into my dream?"
"It's your dream, daughter."
She paused. "So you have no clue?"
"None."
She sighed.
He tried to wave over the flight attendant.
She looked up, smiled. He was making faces at her.

They landed without incident. She deplaned, grabbed her small luggage and walked to the cab stand. She hailed one and got in. It looked like every other cab she had been in. "You were expecting voodoo dolls and Mardi Gras beads?" Her father asked.
She told the driver to take her to a hotel in the French Quarter.

She settled into the hotel room, flung her luggage on the bed and stood by the window to look out. It was sunny,  plenty of leaves on the trees still, people walking on the street.
"Well this is just great."
She looked over.
"Who in their right mind uses a wind up alarm clock?"
She laughed. "People who have forsaken the digital age in favor of technology from the past?"
Her father was not amused.

Part 4

She sat up in bed abruptly. "Witch Doctor." She blurted.
The alarm clock gazed at her. "Marriage material or medical procedure?" It queried.
"What?" She shook her head realigning herself with the cosmos.
"The doctor. I would avoid any that work directly with corpses though."
"No, like a voodoo priest. I had a dream about needing to visit one."
"New Orleans or the Caribbean are the most likely locales to find one."
"That means getting on a plane."
"Unless you learn how to fly."
"Do I possess secret talents I don't know of?"
The alarm clock appeared to shrug.
"Well?"
Silence.
"Fine, I'll just pack my bags and fly to New Orleans."
No response from the alarm clock.
She got out a suitcase and stared at the blue numbers. "Would you like to come along?"
"Thought you'd never ask!" Her father emerged from the alarm clock.
"What about permanency for ghosts?"
"What about it?"
"Is it a thing?"
"I went to your schools, I can travel to your apartment."
"So no permanency."
"None."
"How will you get to New Orleans?"
"Plane."
"I don't think they let ghosts on planes."
"No, you take along an object and I'll hang out inside it."
She sighed.
"How about that class ring you love?"
She held up the ring with her birth stone. He disappeared into it.
"Brilliant, now you're haunting my finger..."
 "Haunting is such a strong word. What about inhabiting?"
She shook her head. "Nope, that and my finger has taken a bluish tint. Maybe you should 'uninhabit' my ring while we're at the airport."

She took a cab to the airport, paid her fare and walked to the counter. She purchased a ticket and boarded a plane bound for New Orleans. She was lucky to grab a window seat over the wing as it was a nearly empty flight. She stared out the window, wondering about the presence of gremlins and of one might settle on the wing. Instead she saw her father wearing Bermuda shorts and a business shirt, his tie flapping up around his neck hanging ten on the wing. She laughed. It was the kind of thing he would do when she was little.
He saw her and waved his hand, thumb and pinky finger extended. She laughed again, "hang loose, dad." She thought.
Her mother would always point out the times she laughed in appropriately, usually it was driven by her father's ghostly presence acting out in some crazy way to make her grin.

Her phone buzzed.
It buzzed again.
Two more buzzes.
She rolled over in bed, picked it up, looked at it. Facebook. She sighed and put it down.
She looked at the alarm clock. Pale blue numbers.
"Hello, father."
"Hello, daughter." Her alarm clock responded.
She sighed and sat up.
She tucked her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, holding the sheet tight to herself.
"Why are people bothering me? It's Saturday right? Can't a college girl get some sleep?!"
"Unlikely." Her alarm clock commented.
"Hush."
Her phone buzzed again.
"You also."
"Daughter, you're a hero."
"No."
"But you are." Her father emerged from the alarm clock. "Have you not seen the video?"
"Video?"
He held his hands vertical in front of him like a shield and a video began to play. It showed a purse snatcher running across a street. The street melted enough to engulf his shoes then sealed around his feet. It panned out and showed her walking to him, "purse please." She took the purse back and returned it to it's owner, then asked the woman to call the police. The camera followed her as she walked away then zoomed back in in the criminal stuck in the street.
She groaned.
"You're a hero."
"Not."
Her father shrugged. "Coffee?"
She nodded.
His had moved through the coffee pot and he looked back at her with a mischievous grin. "All this power, but no ability to affect the physical world."
She laughed and got up, slipping her feet into her slippers. She yawned, stretched and walked to the cabinet. She took down instant coffee, a mug, a spoon. She added water to the mug, a spoonful of coffee then waggled her fingers at the mug. It was suddenly boiling.
"Nice trick." Her dad said.
She looked over at him.
"So have you thought of a super hero name?"
"No."
He waited.
"I'm not a super hero, I'm a grad student studying geothermal energy patterns."
He waited.
She looked at her mug. "Super heroes don't drink coffee."
"The Flash."
"More likely espresso."
"Quicksilver."
"Adderall."
"Speedy."
She shook her head, "He's the Arrow's side kick, also not all that fast."
"Hmmm."
"No, we're done here." She walked to the balcony with her coffee and watched the cars for a minute, blowing on her coffee absentmindedly. She took a sip and frowned, it was cold. Her hands warmed and so did her coffee. Took a sip. "Better."
"We need to discuss super hero names!"
"No."
"You have to protect your identify if you're going to continue to be heroic."
"Also no."
"What about 'Fire Starter'?"
"Like the book? No."
"How about 'Flame Princess'?"
"Nine."
"'Volcana'?"
"Nyet."
"'Niña en fuego'?"
"'Girl on fire'? No, that was the Hunger Games chick. Lenny Kravitz made her dress look like it was on fire."
"'Heat'?"
She looked at him cross. "Fine whatever."
"You need a costume!"
"Still no." She got up, walked across the room to her closet. "Show me the video of me walking away again."
He complied.
"I like that look, red pants, black t-shirt."

 Science class.
Her hand shot up, "Mr Smith, does this chemical react negatively to heat?"
He looked at her. "Yes. Good job on your reading!"
She looked down at the beaker worriedly. "Can I be excused?" Her beaker was smoking.
"Holy smoke screen!" He dashed over, flung open the window and grabbed the beaker.
She glanced out the window, her dad floated that with his big cheesy grin. She couldn't help but smile.
Mr Smith flung the beaker out the window. Her father's incorporeal form fading all but for his grin as the beaker passed through the air where he had been. She thought of the story he used to read her at bed time, "a ghost without a grin I've seen, but a grin without a ghost is something else entirely" she thought.
Mr Smith looked at her sternly and excused the class, asking her to remain behind.
"Well?" He asked.
She shrugged, "do you believe in ghosts?" She inquired.
"Turn out your pockets, you're not hiding a lighter are you?"
She shook her head and emptied her pockets.
"Ghosts..."
She nodded.
He sighed deeply and sat down. "I guess we can start from there..."
She began to tell him about her ghostly father and the glowing orb.

She was 6 when her father died. No fanfare, just a simple case of illness.
When she was 10 he came back.

"Daughter," he said.
She looked up sleepily. "Father!! You're back!!"
He smiled and bowed his looping bow that he always used to, brushing his hat across the floor on his hand, then standing again and plopping it back atop his head.
"I brought you something." He extended his hand, a glowing ball of light hung above his palm, first blue then orange then red then white. It pulsed. She stared at it, mesmerized.
"What is it?" She asked, reaching her hand out.
"Your destiny," he said, letting the glowing ball move from his hand to hers.
"What does it do?" She asked pushing it from her left to her right hand then back, it never leaving the air nor touching her hands.
He smiled and waited as she clutched both hands around the ball, it suddenly disappeared when she opened her hands.
"It's gone!" She exclaimed.
"Not so," he corrected, "it's part of you now."
She looked puzzled.
"The ball is your new power, you can manipulate heat sources" her dad said.
"Does that include people?"
"No, you can probably figure that bit out later."
He got up from the table and walked out then. She watched him go. It felt suddenly colder in the dining room than it ever had before.
"I love you, dad." She whispered aloud, wondering if his ghost heard her. He probably did and was just being difficult. Ghosts were like that in those days.