#or caleb

Bernadette's Circus has always walked a fine line in terms of keeping covert. It showed off the full extent of the empowered's powers while keeping it's largely unempowered audience, although there were a few shock and elation daemons who regularly visited their shows, none the wiser. It caused the Department many a headache. So the Circus was put under strict surveillance and the investigation of whatever Detective was bullheaded enough to think that they might be the one to put the Circus under.

Naturally, Sweetheart took the case.

They never found anything. Every audience member was astonished by the incredible special effects and skillful performers; the way the lion tamer could hold his head in between the lion's jaws without even flinching, the escape artist that was in chains one moment and roaming the audience the next, the acrobat who seemed to walk on air.

All they got for their troubles was a mountain of paperwork and too much time spent with the infuriating Bernadette Popovski.

"Oh, please, love- call me Bernie. Everyone does."

Sweetheart never did take that advice, and more often referred to her as "that cocky little shit". Not to her face. That would be against protocol.

So after months of getting nowhere and a perpetual headache from trying to get a straight answer out of the illusory, the case was dropped. That was the only case Sweetheart never solved.

"If this whole- detective thing falls through, feel free to give me a call. I'm sure we could find a place for you here."

It took everything they had not to deck her right then and there, and just walk out of the tent. It took even more to push their frustration and humiliation down and move on with their life, to forget that goddamn circus.

Four years passed. They moved onto different cases, different people to be annoyed at. Bernadette and her stupid smile and Russian accent faded into the deepest recesses of their mind.

Until they heard about something. An incident at the Circus. A dead audience member.

The case was back on, and this time they were going to close it.

"Detective. I wish I could say I am surprised."

It was, once again, nearly impossible to get anything out of them. Her voice had taken on a new edge, a farcry from her casual, lilting tone all those years ago. This one was defensive, tired. Now Sweetheart held all the cards, no more grasping at straws.

"I'll tell you what I told the human officer. I was debuting a new performer, a singer. Partway through an audience member fell over. By the time I got over there, they had died."

She had decided it had been a heart attack and that was all she knew. The performer, a sonal energetic by the sound of it, was holed up in her tent and Bernadette's voice took on a deadly edge when they asked to be taken to her.

"She's been through enough, she doesn't need you pestering her."

Apparently doing their job was pestering. The conversation went almost nowhere from there, and they were able to ascertain very little else. An audience member had tried to perform CPR, and clearly failed. The lion tamer, a telepath the name of Caleb, had seen the victim collapse and gone to tell Bernadette. They didn't get any further than that, but it was a start.

It was more than they'd gotten four years ago.

The ringleader didn't object as heavily to them speaking to Caleb. She was even somewhat helpful, directing them to where the telepath would probably be. But it was not without a warning.

"I understand, Detective. Go ask your questions. But, what's the phrase- my circus, my monkeys. So please don't tap the glass."

Cocky bastard couldn't even bothered to not seem suspicious during a murder investigation.

[MM4A] Interrogating Two Stubborn Circus Performers

Apparently Bernadette had trained her people well. They were just as tight lipped as she was.

They clearly knew Sweetheart had been coming, along with what that might mean for their circus; as they made their way through the rows of tents and caravans dozens of eyes had followed them, along with a a trail of whispers just loud enough for them to overhear. When they found Caleb he wasn't alone; sat a few feet away a man was giving them the death glare while simultaneously looking at Caleb like a kicked puppy. They cocked their eyebrow at that, to which the telepath laughed.

"Oh, sorry about Aslan. He's just a little bit antsy, I'm sure you understand."

When they remarked that he looked like he was about to bite their head off, he just grinned at them and turned towards the shifter. They were pretty sure he was the only one smiling in that whole field.

"Don't worry, he'd never. I'm living proof of that- hey babe! You can go, I'll meet you by the ticket booth, alright?"

That seemed to calm him down; he nodded, got up from where he was sat, and made his way over to the pair. Eyes moderately less murderous, he kissed the telepath goodbye and began to stalk through the rows of tents, checking back over his shoulder every now and again, somehow making eye contact with Sweetheart every time.

Thus the interrogation began. And while Caleb was more friendly than his boss, he was certainly no more helpful. Each question was artfully dodged or optimistically spun.

"You want to know about Bernie? Hell- she's family to me. To all of us really, even Aslan. He's a big softie, would never admit it."

His story lined up neatly with Bernadette's. He's seen a disturbance in the crowd and gone to tell her about it, since she was more experienced healer than he was, but by the time she'd made her way over there, the victim was already gone. It had been too late. The audience had been quickly cleared out after that and emergency services had been called, for all the good they could do.

As they pressed for information on the new performer, his smile faltered. Only for a moment or so, almost imperceptibly, but it was stark in Sweetheart's mind.

"Oh- well, I really think it was a spot of bad luck. They'd been singing, putting their all into it, and that person just happened to- well."

He laughed nervously, his fingers twitching at his sides.

"Look, I really should go find Aslan. We're supposed to be practising, do you mind if I go? I really have nothing else to say."

Before they could reply he was already halfway across the field, still grinning, but the smile quivering at the edges.

"Good luck, Detective! Sorry I couldn't have been more helpful!"

And with that he was gone.

And they were no closer to piecing things together.

Shit.

Surely the singer wouldn't mind if they just popped into her tent, asked a few questions. And if Popovski said not to do it, then they basically had to.

It took a few minutes of searching but they eventually found the tent, on the farthest reaches of the field, the amount of tents slowly thinning out as they approached. They hadn't necessarily meant to eavesdrop, but who were they to complain if their footfalls were particularly quiet, or the thrum of distant conversation muffled the sound of them stepping on a branch just as well as cloaking would.

"I know- it's okay. I know you didn't do anything, nothing that happened was your fault."

Sweetheart held their breath. The brittle way Bernadette spoke was so alien to her, it's previous edge still there but now akin to shattered glass. There was a gentleness to it, a tenderness.

"I'm going to protect you. I'll protect everyone."

Sweetheart wondered how far they'd go to do that. How much they'd cover up. How much they would sacrifice.