Who the fuck blesses a bus stop? (this is part of a novel I'm trying to write, I know it makes little sense to anyone but me)

The old man worries at his rosary beads, black collar of his long coat slanted against the cold. Tyler senses it, feels the cord between the man's knarled old fingers start to tighten around his throat like a hangman's noose. As he begins to choke for breath, the old man starts muttering; Tyler knows latin, but right now he's too busy listening to the roaring of holy fire in his ears to pick out the words.

Scrabbling in his backpack for his inhaler, Tyler gasps like a half-dead fish, stumbling out into the rain. The icy sting chases away the fire and brimstone racing through his veins, helped along by several puffs from his inhaler, one of the Professor's newer inventions. "Who the fuck blesses a bus stop?"

The words don't come, his throat still closed, but he's glad; if he drew the old man's attention now, he's get a lot more than a blessing for the darkness he can feel creeping into his usually hazel pupils. The familiar stab of something trying to burrow out of his temples starts to split his head open as the old bastard's bus comes.

The bus' passengers seem not to notice a skinny kid in a too big hoody leaning weakly against the wall behind the bus stop, face upturned to the rain. Or they think he's a junkie. Tyler avoids the bus stops all the way home. A twenty minute sprint in the rain cause some religious old fuck thinks bus stops are worth blessing.

The Professor has him brought to the office the minute he's home. Drip-drying onto the shabby worn carpet of the library-with-a-desk-in, Tyler tries to think of a way to explain. "Professor..."

"Blessed bus stops. Yes, I know, Johnson told me. All over town. He says the church don't have anything to do with it. Some radical, demon-hating branch, he thinks." Tyler nods, lets his shoulders slump, his backpack falling nearly to the floor. Father Johnson keeps an eye on most of the clergy, but there's only so much he can do without letting on how much he knows. He's good at it though; growing up with a psychic can do that to a body. "So, how do we de-bless the bus stops?"

"Now, that's a little homework for you lot.Your brothers are in the stacks already. you need to dry off first, then you can have a look, too." Tyler nods and strts to trudge off. "Oh, and Tyler? I thought I told you to stop going to see that angel?" Tyler pauses, closes his eyes, and keeps walking. "She's bad news, son."

Tyler slams the door on his way out.