For a good ten seconds, all I can do is stare. This can't be happening.

Finally I feel my lips move. "Felix... Lockhart?"

"In the flesh," he says.

I take in the familiar features, looking for some difference which would prove he's just some lookalike having a laugh.

I take in the beautiful, perfect face, vampire-pale skin, high cheekbones framed by dark hair. It's his eyes however that banish any doubts – they're recognizable anywhere.

Intense hazel green with a ring of brown around the pupil, with a few gold flecks near the rim. Cold and cat-like, predatory even – but somehow too beautiful to be real. I've always wondered if they're actually contacts, but up close I can see his eyes are perfectly clear.

No contacts. No Photoshop.

"They're real," I murmur. "Wow".

"What's real?" He asks.

I just stare.

Felix Lockhart is here, standing right in front of me. The real deal, totally legit. Living, breathing, not just in the magazines or on Tumblr or YouTube. Staring at me with his trademark cold, deadpan teenaged rock star expression.

I can hear him saying something, but the words aren't registering. His presence is so overwhelming, the shock so intense. His name keeps going through my head over and over. Felix Lockhart. Felix Lockhart. Felix Lockhart. The real Felix Lockhart.

Ever so slightly, Felix narrows his eyes at me.

"Is there something wrong with you?" He asks.

That's all it takes to snap me out of it.

A hot flush creeps across my face. I've never blushed so hard.

"No! Yes! I mean, I'm ok." I hate myself for being excited to talk to him. For wanting to impress him. Wanting him to like me. It doesn't matter that I've always thought he comes across like a jerk in interviews. Or that he can be a bit abrasive sometimes. Or that he's the only member of Fable that I've never really liked. Right now, I'm totally star struck.

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"I'm sorry about earlier," I say. "It's just that... you're Felix Lockhart, and... oh my god. Sorry. I just can't believe it's really you... Felix... Felix Lockhart."

I need to stop saying his name so much. I have to make good impression. Don't say anything dumb. Be cool. Act normal.

"What's your name?" He asks me.

"Felix Lockhart," I say.

"No... that's my name." He says. He doesn't smile.

Fail.

"I mean Ashling, I'm Ashling Shields," I say, hoping he hasn't noticed that my face is now redder than a tomato.

A limo pulls up alongside us.

I half register through my daze that it was the limo driver Felix was signaling a moment ago. Not a murderous gang of street thugs. He goes up to the window and speaks to the driver while I stand glued to the spot, my mind both blank and racing at the same time.

I've imagined this moment a hundred times over – the moment I meet Fable. The whole band, or any one of the boys. I'm sure every fan has. I'd imagined myself keeping my cool, saying something witty, maybe a little mysterious.

Not standing frozen with my mouth hanging open.

The driver steps out of the car and opens the back door, giving me a wary glance.

Felix turns back and opens his mouth as if he's about to say something, and I awkwardly cut him off, blurting out the first thing that pops into my head.

"Aren't you supposed to be at the concert right now?" My voice sounds distant and tinny, as if it's coming from far away. Maybe I'm about to faint.

"The concert starts at seven," he says. "And I felt like a decent cup of coffee. Not the noxious swill they're serving at the hotel."

I guess that makes sense. The Night Owl is known for having the best coffee in Portland.

"But why... why did you take my guitar?" I ask.

"To get you out here," he says.

"But why?" I ask. "I don't get it."

He side-eyes me, and his face stiffens ever so slightly. "I heard what you said to that guy back there," he says. "About wanting to go to the show. I can get you in. Away from the crowds, if they're a problem for you."

Felix Lockhart is doing a good deed? The sarcastic, unfailingly rude demon prince himself? No way. It's a set-up.

I look up and down the street, trying to spot hidden cameras. Felix Lockhart surprises No 1 Portland superfan, Ashling Shields. Any moment my parents will come running out of the restaurant, I'll hug them crying while Ellen, or some MTV presenter, bursts out from the limo with a TV crew.

Nothing happens. Felix stares at me a moment longer, before turning on his heel in one graceful movement and walking over to the limo.

He climbs in and moves out of sight. Any second, the driver will close the door and they'll drive away.

I don't know if the invitation still stands, and I don't understand what's going on, but there's only one thing to do.

I practically sprint towards the limo.

I'm about to get into a car with a guy I've never met before, a total stranger.

But actually, he's not a stranger. I know Felix Lockhart. Better than I know myself.

It's me who's the stranger to him.