tiger balm

Fortunately, I had access to Charity Carpenter, who had been patching up her husband and his idiot friends for years. So, in addition to my cast, I got stitches in several places, a painful shoulder relocation I didn’t know I needed, a bunch of bandages, a shoulder wrap, elbow wraps, wrist wraps, knee wraps, ankle wraps, a couple of two-gallon bags of ice for my knees, and Tiger Balm.
(Which not even the Winter Knight can ignore when it gets in a cut, it turns out, and which is one ingredient and a little will away from being an excellent ointment against fae glamour, if you can keep your eyes open. Seriously, that stuff is borderline magical off the shelf.)
By the time the needs of my body had been seen to as best as possible, I looked and felt like a mummy, wrapped and way too herbal scented, dried out and too stiff to move when I finally crashed into the bed in the Carpenters’ (original) guest room. They had some extras now. I think I slept for about a day. I remember eating ravenously a couple of times. And then I just lay there with my eyes closed for a long time, weeping silently. And I woke up holding a sleeping Maggie, with Mouse curled into his tiniest ball on the bottom two-thirds of the bed, on what I think was the second morning, and felt battered and exhausted and mostly human.
I made my daughter breakfast. And I did a lot of thinking.
Those first few days, when I moved around Chicago at all, I did it careful. Real careful. Like, having four full-grown werewolves with me or nearby at all times careful. I got out, got my bearings, and started moving.
Will and the Alphas came with me to the session of the first-ever Unseelie Accords Executive Ministry meeting. War with the Fomor had been declared by unanimous consent within the Accorded nations, and the Ministry was supposed to determine what to do about it, starting with dealing with the aftermath of the Battle of the Bean.
No one invited me to the Ministry meeting, in a private club in one of the gorgeous old stone buildings in Oldtown, so I did it myself. The place was hidden behind a web of veils and glamours so thick and intricate that it made me a little dizzy just sensing it. If I hadn’t known exactly where I was going and exactly what I was looking for, I’d have wandered right past the place.
When I came in, there was a waiting room where several people came to their feet—a Sidhe warrior from either Court, Miss Gard, a svartalf I didn’t recognize, and Freydis, who was covered with bumps and bruises and still-healing cuts and looked relaxed for the first time since I’d seen her.
“Easy, people,” I said. “I came to talk.”
They all eyed me warily, which was to say down the barrels of their guns. Except for Freydis, who kept reading her magazine and just looked amused.
Well. Granted I looked like ten miles of bad road in my battle-stained black leather duster. And my eyes were watery from the damned hurry-up Tiger Balm antiglamour ointment I’d whipped up to help find the place. And also I had four battle-hardened werewolves with me.

Battle Ground Chapter 36, Page 374-375