I stared.

And stared.

And stared at the dreadful thing my current employer called an 'efficient system of communication.'

Any minute now.

Aaany minute now.

Any. Minute. Now.

And then, plink!

Ha! Right on time.

The metal missive-container landed on my desk. Hurriedly, I reached out and unrolled the message inside.

Mr Linton,

Bring me file 459M

Rikkard Ambrose

The side of my mouth curled up into a sneer. Well, back to basics huh? What happened to us in Egypt and in the Brazilian jungle must have now been stuffed together with all of these files before me.

That's the typical Mr Rikkard Ambrose for me though. He's the only man I know who could keep a horde of secrets until his death.

Ours included.

So, with a deep breath, I placed the cylinder down and proceeded to locating the file he needed.

Lifting my head up, I searched and sifted through the boxes, taking note of the particular number and letter he mentioned. It didn't take me long to realize the file he needed was located at the top most of the shelf.

I huffed and placed my arms akimbo.

Alright! What to do?

Out from the corner of my eye, I noticed a stool near the door. Without a second, I neared it and dragged the thing right under the location of the box. I stood on top it and stretched my arms up.

But guess I made a wrong choice.

Quickly, all manner of balance and the perception of being upright vanished before me. I came hurtling down the ground with not so much as a cushion or warm arms - preferably my employer's - to cut the impact of my fall.

With a loud thud and a radiating ache in my head, back and buttock, my sight quickly dimmed.

But you know what was seriously funny?

I saw the face of Mr Rikkard Ambrose in a body of a white rabbit wearing a top hat. He was grinning down at me, mischief clear in his eyes.

My bones chilled right on the spot then. He doesn't grin. Oh no. But if he does, things get problematic.

*

*

*

'Mr Ambrose, Sir, the Queen of Ifrits asked you a question,' someone said in front of me.

But 'me' as in me - Lillian Linton - a feminist, fighting for women equality and the right to vote and hold office - now somehow got called as Mr Ambrose?

Now that's a new thing.

With a surprised face - or lack thereof, I looked at the man with hard eyes.

The man, whom I recognized as Karim, was dressed as a butler. A butler! Ha! Would you look at that! Complete with a starched black suit and white gloves, he gazed down at me as if I'm nothing but a measly cockroach.

'Come again?' I asked, narrowing my eyes at him, showing confusion.  I felt my pinky finger twitch.

Wait. What? That part of my hand doesn't twitch like...like Mr Ambrose does!

Open mouthed and brows knitted, I traveled my gaze down my body and there I found why I felt so stiff. So cold. So like a stone.

Immediately, I believed a Higher Power was against me.

If not, then why am I inside the body of the King of Chauvinists?!

His body just as I had long thought was as heavy as a boulder, or maybe even heavier.  His torso - lean and constructed to fit the definition of masculinity - stood straight as an iron rod.  With powerful thighs I had already noticed too many times in our many travels, it suited well with the marbled floor.

With me as him, I felt air around me venerate me.  The cool confidence I exuded just sucked the other air inside the hall. It felt surprisingly good to be like this.

From sitting on a sofa, I darted up with my hands curling into a tight fist. I glared at Karim the butler. In response, he stepped backward and bent his head.

'The Queen, Sir.  She's inquiring as to where her papers are.'

Queen?

Noticing it for the first time, I glanced up at a throne sitting high above a platform.  Both gilded and bejeweled, the seat catered to one being alone whose calculating chocolate brown eyes were fixed on me, like that of an evil queen ready to chop off my head.

Well, well.  Now that's how Mr Ambrose looks at me!

'It would seem you lack the ability to give me what I need, Mr Ambrose.'

Her voice was lulling but icy.  Full of demand and power that I only know one person held.  The real Mr Rikkard Ambrose of my life.

My brow arched up.  I wanted to smile - finding this uncanny situation we were in funny - but I refrained, not allowing myself to be rattled by her.  Or him. But with me in this body, I'm starting to think smiling would be a great feat.

'Queen of the Ifrits huh?' I mused.  'Lillian, I can give you anything you need.  Name it.  Write it.  Yell it to me.  I can give it to you in a snap.'

'Then where are the papers? And that is 'Your Highness' to you, Mr Ambrose.' Her fingers tapped the armrest looking impatient.  'Pray tell what happened to your words 'give it to me in a snap?'

'I must admit.  I'm a little lost.  What papers are we talking about?' I asked, stepping closer to her platform.  I noticed a tiny show of emotion there, but she covered it quickly with her blank mask.

'Mr Ambrose, I believe it's adequate enough to tell you once, but for your species' sake,' she stressed the word like she meant my being a male, or a female, and showed a disapproving twitch of her brow, 'I will reiterate again.  Bring me file 459M.'

She shifted in her seat and positioned her legs to the side in an awkward manner.

I smiled to myself at that.  Guess Mr Ambrose wasn't as comfortable as being me as I am with being him.

But blast it, the position of her legs made a manly anatomical part of my body rise to the occasion. Involuntary might I add.

What in the world?!

I cleared my throat, unclenched and clenched my hands again. The blasted thing was beginning to tighten my pants.

"Alright, I'll bring you that file as promised.'  I walked up the platform and in one move, jailed her in her seat.  I leaned close to her ear as I said, 'But before that, down payment first.'

Fluidly, she grabbed the lapel of my suit and pulled me down. 'Straight to the point, eh?'

'Yes, straight to the point.'

'Is this an order?'

'This is an order,' I replied, still feeling thight down south.

And then, the queen of Ifrits or so it looked, made a bold move by grabbing my jaw and wrenching my mouth open for a kiss.

*

*

*

But.

Our mouths didn't connect.

In a heartbeat, I was in another room.  In a police interrogation room specifically.

And this time, I was glad I'm back to my normal feminine body.