bad at sleep

Josh had a mouthful of whatever it was. He nodded. “Always tired.” And he shuffled over to the dazed-looking group in the corner.
“A lot of cults do that,” Molly said quietly. “It makes them easier to influence and control.” She closed her eyes for a moment, then took a slow, deep breath and opened them. She lifted her right hand and murmured, in a silken-soft tone, “Neru.”
And the dozen or so Big Hoods just sank down to the floor.
“Mother of God,” Murphy said softly, and turned to stare at Molly.
“Sleep spell,” I said quietly. “Like the one I had to use on you, Murph.”
I didn’t mention that the spell I’d used on Murphy had taken every bit of skill I’d had and ten times as long to put together. Molly had just done the same thing, only a dozen times bigger—touching each individual mind and crafting the spell to lull it to sleep. What she’d just done was hard.
In fact, it was what one could only have expected from a member of the White Council.
Maybe my godmother had a point.


Ghost Story Chapter 46, Page 488-489