Felix kept almost primly to his side of the back seat, his posture quite correct as if he meant to contrast to Jag's slouch. He leaned toward the front and gave the driver an address in a much more posh part of town. When he sat back, he gave the other man a tolerant little half-smile. "You can call me what you like, but my name is Felix Harrowgate."

He offered his hand. If the dark-haired man did know about the reality of magic in London, he would recognize the Cabal's tattoos.