A Deal with the Devil

It was well past midnight, after a month in Legion captivity. Seated in my regular chair with the remains of two very good cigars in an ashtray as I prepared to light the third cigar and paused to slosh a generous measure of whisky into a crystal tumbler. I knew it could see everything as a talon slid out of my forefinger. "Cuban?" it sighed.

I gave the box a smug smile, "Cuban, Colorado Maduro, Corona Parejo." The second sigh was of longing and jealous envy as my talon capped the cigar, and then I sparked a ten-centimeter match, drawing out the process of lighting the cigar for as long as I could.

Puffing slowly, I let the tobacco slowly warm as it took on a ruby brilliance. With its invisible eyes watching my every move I blissfully exhaled a cloud of smoke and blew it in his general direction.